The Bones of Broken Songs: A Historical Mystery Romance (Mortalsong Trilogy Book 2)

by J. M. Stredwick

  Alphonse stops. His slightly muscled frame sagging. It is as if his arms are loosening in their sockets. I can tell that he is thinking, that he is working a story up in his mind. I know that this is what he does. I’ve seen him do it many times in situations of business, of friendships that were feigned to progress his merchant company. I know him well, and it is a critical pierce to our solidity, seeing him like this. Nineteen years. I’ve spent the best of my life with him. What would it mean if now, if after all these years he has been lying?

  “I don’t know what you want from me. Would it matter if he did? Benjamin was there. He made no attempt to stop it. He was working with my father!” Alphonse bellows.

  I stand still now, hold a hand to my forehead, and draw deep breaths.

  “Benjamin didn’t want everything for himself, did he? That is not why he killed your father.” I spit the words at him.

  Alphonse’s eyes flash with degradation as if he has been caught. He continues walking, taking great strides so that I have to race to keep up with him.

  “Don’t do this. Don’t lie. I know you better. You think I’m a fool? That I’ll just let you keep this from me?” I screech.

  My voice echoes off the dark walls of the tunnel. I am raw with emotion.

  “Alphonse!” I wrench him by his shoulders, jumping out in front of him so that he has to stop walking. He tears himself away from my hands, but stops again, severe face caving into me. His brows upturn and he takes a deep breath.

  “Listen,” he begins. “My father was the one that murdered your sister. But Benjamin helped him. Does it really matter who used the blade?”

  “It matters. Of course, it matters. How can you say that?” I sneer. “I’ve been angry at Benjamin for killing her this entire time. I assumed that he was the driving force behind everything, behind the search for her soul…Vauquelin’s ally. But Benjamin’s actions do not align with my idea of him. This only confirms it. I thought he’d kill Gia, offer her to the Bone Woman the first chance he got. Why do you think he has not done so, Alphonse?”

  He grits his teeth at this.

  “Perhaps he has already. You don’t know what happened to her after she escaped.”

  “I saw them bring her into his grand Maison,” I remind him. “I saw that he marveled her when he first saw her on that ship. That desire looked more like longing than the malicious want to sacrifice her. Why would he dress us up and bring us to his ball? This…this cannot be happening.”

  I clamp my hand down around my mouth.

  “Why do you say nothing?” I scream.

  “I have nothing to say other than that I am sorry…” he looks at me, sober in his mannerisms. “But I am still on your side. I want to avenge your sister's death, and my fathers…no matter what his reason was for doing so, you can’t deny that he is a threat to us. To everything we know now.”

  “Not if he is on our side. If he wants to destroy Vauquelin, any traces of the Cabal…he could help us,” I speak gravely, as this is something I have just come to realize.

  I need to have a true conversation with him. I have to know his account. His side to the story. It is strange now, looking at Alphonse, I see the glimpse of unreliability, a budging up of some mistruth, ruffling up to reveal something I have long ignored.

  “We have shared many good years,” I tell him. “But that does not mean I will not part ways with you. If you are keeping something from me, it will be the end.”

  His face is drawn, shadowy in the dark. It is hard to imagine that close above the sun beats down on the trees and sand, humidity sucking the life out of all creatures. He gives me a short nod to show his acceptance of my words, but this only enrages me further. He begins to walk but then stops.

  “Don’t move,” he whispers.

  I notice it too. A strange shine that meets our eyes from midway up the wall. It looks like a large watery dewdrop. The clear liquid within it seems gelatinous. But then, I notice a creature. A face of reptilian nature with slatted shut eyes, a thin strip revealing a milky swirling sclera. It looks to be a contorted creature, in a sack of sorts. My heart thuds in my chest, working its way to my throat. Alphonse slowly moves the flame towards it, and it does not move. It doesn’t look to be living.

  “What the fuck?” he mutters, and hesitantly moves forward.

  With the light, I see that the passage widens into a cavern, and along the walls and floors shimmers of similar sacks gleam. It is a wide circular area, that arches at the top. I notice that there are metal brackets along the wall spaced along. I take the torch from Alphonse and light them, going around in a circle along the wall until I reach the other end. The illumination brings horrifying images into reality. What should stay in the depravity of dreams becomes reality.

  There are hundreds of them. Each creature within is different. Some look almost like human children. Others mutilated by distorted limbs or features, creatures with fishtails and jagged teeth, one with pointed ears and ivory skin; all of them rest safely within the glass-like orbs, unmoving. I feel my jaw dropping, my lips parting as I examine the open space before us, now lit as if it were a medieval dungeon built to enact black magic. And perhaps it is. I swallow, mouth dry.

  “What monstrosity is this,” his voice is hushed as if we are in a damned place where gods have walked.

  I have not seen creatures of magic since the day when I was a youth in Monsieur Chardones’ flat in Paris. I blink back misgivings, thinking I may be imagining it. That the sun and grave situation we are in have clocked me into madness.

  “You don’t think…” I begin, but then think better of saying it.

  “I do,” he smirks and chuckles darkly. “I am thinking it all. Only I don’t know which thought is right.”

  “We’re dead if they wake,” I remind him. “What a gruesome death that would be.”

  “You’re such a morbid woman,” he comments, and I smile, eyes lit with zeal.

  “Benjamin must know of this place,” I say, near breathless. “People created this place, set it up to keep these…things safe.”

  “But why?” he leans his weight into one hip and puts a hand to his face. “How?”

  “How? Sidra. You know there is magic in her. The power to give and take life. This reeks of her doing!” I react wildly.

  “Hush,” he holds out a hand. “We should get out of here. There’s no telling if these creatures can awaken, and if they can, well, I’d rather not be here to witness their birth.”

  I look about at the countless sacks. They remind me of fish eggs I had once seen in a stream on the Bonteque lands, the stream that cut through the orchards. It is revolting to look upon these beasts, these creatures that should not be forming. Sidra’s doing, I think, but what of Benjamin? He must know. He has to at least be aware of the brood of damned beings forming underground.

  Alphonse takes me by the upper arm and draws me away. Back up the tunnel that leads to the ladder. We walk in silence, attending to our own somber thoughts. But as we go, we find no natural light filtering through to us. No light that tells us that there was once a space where we climbed down into the earth. Alphonse jumps and clambers up the ladder, banging on the hard wood.

  “Someone moved it,” he says angrily.

  “Oh really? How’d you come to that deduction?” I balk, sarcasm thick.

  Who moved it? I cannot fathom. I feel adrenaline kicking in my heart. My limbs feel hot and cold all at once. I rake a hand through my mess of hair.

  “Who could have done it?” I wonder aloud.

  Alphonse works his way back down the ladder and comes to stand before me.

  “Well, one thing’s for certain. If you’d wanted to part ways before, you’re unable to now. You’re stuck with me till we find a way out.”

  I glare at him.

  “Prove to me that we’re in this together, then. Show me that we want the same thing. To keep Gia safe. If she still is. Everything else, the magic, the immortality…it should mean nothing to us. We have t
o rid the earth of this nonsense. What did we say in the Cabal’s tomb? That this was abominable. Humanity was never meant to live forever.”

  “You said that,” he remarks swiftly. “But regardless, I am with you. We will get your sister. We’ve been in this together for years. We’re married, in a sense.”

  I laugh then, and cross my arms, rubbing the fear from my limbs.

  “I’d never marry you,” I snort. “You know that.”

  He gives me a sneering smirk and pats me on the shoulder. “Well, we’ll see. You might love me enough to marry me if I find us a way out of here.”

  Alphonse is joking, of course. This is our way. He backs away and begins to walk back towards the atrium of creatures in sacks. There must be another tunnel. I worry that it leads to the Bone Woman, but that we will face when we come to it. I lose my smile when he walks ahead, feeling the distraction of our amusement fleeting. He has lied to me about something, and I will find out what it is. Decoding him is difficult, but if there is anyone able to do it, it will be me.

  Gia

  I am dressed in a gown of pearl blue brocade. The gown accentuates my waist and I feel as beautiful as some foreign influential queen. These are newer gowns, with the full mantua attached; a cascade of lustering fabric. My hair has been collected carefully into rising plaits and threaded with silver chains and sapphires; dark waves brush my bare shoulders. The maid paints my cheeks and lips with dabs of rouge so that I do not appear ghostly. But I feel that I am a ghost, haunting these halls.

  I think back to our silence. The long silence that followed him telling me that he would reprieve me of my place here on this island. I felt relief and yet, something worse. A sick feeling, near painful in my gut where I recognize the poison of attraction I feel for him, and the idea of not seeing this handsome foreign man, it confuses. I want to chastise myself, but the delicious way he looks at me continues to flash in my mind. A persistent reminder.

  I hate him. This rogue man who's built his world through the dealing of prisoners. I can only imagine what he does with them. What other designs he has awaiting to unfold.

  I am not afraid when I am led below to the busy dance hall by the guards. The hall is bedecked with vast tapestries and ornaments of jungle flowers and ribbons. A band of violinists play. The noise bellows against the open space. There are long tables on either side of the hall filled with luxurious meats, cheeses, fruits, wines, and ales. Hibiscus flowers are arranged along the tabletop with lovely gold candles.

  He stands stiffly legged at the top of the stairs where his throne-like ensemble is positioned. Great blooms course down the side of his chair. He holds a goblet of wine and watches me without losing me even for a moment. His eyes are two dark orbs of intensity, and I think if he could, he would suck the soul right out of me and inhale my essence as if I were a delectable scent that may cure him of his stormy depression. I remind myself that I am not afraid. Not afraid. His hair is loose at his shoulders and he wears slick black breeches and a white starched shirt, feet clad with leather studded boots.

  Benjamin lopes down the steps and stands just before me, so close that we are mere inches apart.

  “You are beautiful,” he says, and I find that there is none of his usual humor.

  Only an awkward silence.

  I offer him an icy glare in return.

  “You can’t ignore me forever,” he notes. “Relax. Have some wine. This is a feast, is it not? A celebration!”

  His eyes are a bit misty, and from that I can guess that he has already been drinking enough for it to affect him.

  “It is,” I smirk. “Such a lovely celebration. How did you pay for all of this, then, I wonder?”

  “A bit of plundering here, a lot of sacking there…a few murders,” he leans his head back and forth as he says it, voice cold with building amusement. “The usual way in which these things are acquired. Honestly, I’d challenge you to find a rich man whose empire was built off of all things honorable.”

  I look down, feeling hot in my gown. The silk seems heavier now, under the weight of his gaze.

  “I’ll be leaving soon again, and you’re coming with me,” he says.

  I notice that there is a lovely redheaded woman standing across the hall staring at us. Her stare and thread of a smile are so off-balancing that I have hardly heard him. When I realize what he’s said, I turn to assess him.

  “Coming with you? You said that you’d return me home. Safely,” my voice is almost strangled.

  “You want to go back to the Americas?” it seems that his interest is piqued. He smiles a rogue smile.

  “I lived in Maryland my whole life. It is my home. Of course, I’d want to return.”

  “Ah, but where were you headed when you left there?” he asks.

  I pause. Saint Domingue. A world outside of this Island on the sea, lifetimes away in my mind. I imagined it with the same swaying palms, the hot sticking sun, the sand and smell of ocean water. What will happen when my Fiancé realizes that I have not arrived on time? Will he send word to my father? Will he set out to find me? Perhaps he will think our ship succumbed to a storm, swallowed by the ocean. I wonder, will anyone notice that I’ve been gone? What of Alphonse and Claire? People will notice their absence.

  “My time here is going to end,” I say, taking a deep breath. “You cannot keep me beside you forever.”

  “I don’t want to keep you,” he repeats, frustration riling his tone. “I want…”

  He is holding onto a piece of my gown and draws me forward suddenly.

  “Come with me.”

  I follow reluctantly. The woman with looping red hair watches us as we exit. I assume her to be one of his whores. A woman would not be here if it were not for irreputable purposes. He takes me outside the great hall to a wall behind the pillars. This hall I have not been down nor even noticed before. It is hidden, vested as a part of the wall. The boiling pot of noise is muffled as he closes the door behind us. The scream of the violin’s ebbs to a light ring and the chatter of the people becomes like a rustle of wind.

  Ahead of us, I see only shadows. His figure has been darkened and I am unable to move.

  “Come on,” he says as if coaxing a feral cat.

  I follow him through the darkness. I can hear only the rustle of my skirts and the heavy brush and clack of my shoes and his boots on the stone floor. My jewels tinkle like tiny chimes in my hair and ears. He has a small snip of my sleeve and leads me in this way. As if by memory, he stops and finds a door that is just as shrouded as the one we came through. He picks at the side of it and it opens with a small creak, giving way for us to enter into a small room.

  There is a maroon window panel covering a window that is as tall as the ceiling of the room itself. It is embroidered with gold threads depicting scenes of war and fleur de lis. Benjamin goes to this panel and draws it aside, allowing the sleek blue moonlight to illuminate the room.

  I see stacked, bulging, gleaming items littered throughout. Whole jewels, chains of gold, gold and silver plates, painted jugs, ivory elephant tusks, trinkets of all sorts, paintings, diadems, furs, and shiny coins stuffed and dripping out of all surfaces. I have never been in the presence of so much wealth.

  “This is for you,” he says as naturally as if I should know this. “Everything I have.”

  “What?” I gasp, rounding on him. “Have you gone mad?”

  He smirks glumly and tilts his head, “I want it to be yours.”

  If I had this…I would be as rich as a Sultan. I could do anything, be anything. Buy myself a life away from fools and crooks who waste and covet money. I could release my mother from my father’s bonds. My mind whirls. What a sad thing that with such wealth there are so many options. Without it, none.

  I strain my eyes to focus on him and not the mammoth disaster of treasure filling the room.

  “Why would you ever want that?” I am breathless, shocked by his forwardness. My question is so fierce I can feel my heart lurch with the anguish t
hat has built within me. I must know.

  He steps towards me slowly, “You won’t understand. I’ll ask that you just accept it.”

  It is a display of piracy, one that you would imagine in that of a story. I feel myself stumble in a circle, a bit breathless and in a ridiculous stupor. I’ve heard of the Carib pirates, the Corsairs that plundered ships of wealth headed to and from the Spanish isles. It was known that any neutral ship was welcome to being feasted upon by the likes of them. I look at Benjamin. He is so effortlessly handsome, so serene. Yet he has killed, done unimaginable things. Why does this make me sad?

  “Do you hear yourself?” my voice shakes. “You are offering me gold and gems? For what? For lack of better word, this is disgusting. You think I’ll lift my dress for you now? I am not one of your harlots.”

  He lays a heavy hand on my shoulder and I toss it away with a jerk of my chest, backing away from him.

  “What could you possibly want with me?” I rage. “And how could you possibly think that I would accept? That I could agree to take these stolen goods, as my own?”

  Benjamin seems oddly cool-headed in this moment that I am spilling my fury out upon him. My words are hot flares that I want to sting him. He begins to come towards me slowly, with his hands relaxed at his sides.

  “Listen to me,” he urges. “Listen.”

  I do not know what I am saying anymore. I am in a blind rage, and a stampede of distresses and injustices pours out past my lips. It is like hot steam surging out of a kettle, and I hope that it burns him. I am delirious with anger and frustrations, and I find that even his gentle words do not hinder my emotional explosion. I ramble on.

  “No. You play these games with me? I am not to be toyed with. I will never be accepting of this. You offer prisoners to a dead woman, kill and steal to make your life? How could you think-”

  Benjamin pulls me to him by hooking me around my waist and pulling me near. It is without thought, without any sense of reason or logical choice that he does what he does. It is so quick, so brazen, that I am struck senseless in this moment. Everything seems so still; an oozing space in time that god forgot to patch with regularity. His mouth, it has crushed against mine. My senses scatter. Nothing else remains but his warmth and the taste of his lips.