by Sam Ferguson
Eleanor didn’t want to disappoint her mother, but she also didn’t need any silly toys. She was a young woman now, after all. She turned back to give her mother a goodbye kiss. She stepped across the room in four steps and started to bend down, but then noticed that her mother’s face was much paler than ever before. It was a ghastly grayish-white.
Eleanor sucked in a quick breath and shook her head as she bent low to her mother. She couldn’t hear her mother’s breath.
“Mum?” Eleanor said as she dropped her ear down to rest upon her mother’s breast. There was no breath, nor was there any heartbeat.
Eleanor dropped to her knees. Her mouth fell open and tears filled her eyes. If only she had known that last night was going to be the last. She would have stayed awake and rested beside her mother. She would have held her hand. She would have kissed her on the cheek and told her goodnight.
She looked down through her tears and studied the comb in her hand.
Why hadn’t her mother let her sell it long ago? Maybe it could have saved her. Now there was nothing the young woman could do. Her mother was gone, and was never going to wake.
She sat there, in a silent stupor, staring at her mother’s body. She reached up and slipped her hand in her mother’s and then rested her head upon her mother’s shoulder. She didn’t want to move, ever.
There was no way for her to know how long it was. Perhaps an hour or two had passed. Then, a tap came at the doorway.
“Hello to the house,” an old man said.
Eleanor turned and saw the physician she had hired the day before. He used his cane to keep the blanket moved to the side as he ducked low to enter. His black over cloak was caked with mud along the bottom, and water was soaking up past his ankles.
“Terribly sorry, young lady, but the Shiftens had their baby yesterday. It took some time, but they had a nice, healthy baby boy. He and mother are doing just fine, but by the time it was over…” he looked up and saw Eleanor. His eyes flicked to her mother and his pleasant smile faded. “Oh, I see.” He reached up and removed his hat, revealing a head of snow-white hair neatly combed to the side. “I’m terribly sorry.”
Maybe it was the insult that the physician had arrived after it was too late to do anything for her mother. Perhaps it was the cruel joke played by the gods that another family should have life brought into their family on the same night her mother died. Whatever it was, it put her over the edge. The tears fell and the anger rose. Before she even knew what happened she was up, crossing the room, and kicking the physician directly in the groin.
“You should have come!” she screamed as she kicked the man again.
Somehow, she ended up in his arms. The physician hugged her close, holding her tightly and leaning in with his head. She tried to wrestle free, but it was no use.
“Shh, quiet now, child.” The physician held her tighter as he spoke. “It’s all right, you go on and let it out.”
“I hate you!” Eleanor shouted through tears. Then she broke down into sobs and melted into the man. He continued to hold her, loosening his grip just slightly and turning the embrace into a more comforting one.
“That’s all right,” he said softly. “That’s all right.”
After a while, she pushed away and wiped her eyes. Somewhere deep inside herself she knew she should apologize, but the words never found their way to her mouth. She just glared at the man and crossed her arms.
The physician fished in his pocket and pulled out a few coins.
“I don’t have any copper on me, but I have some silver pieces. Take these, it’s the least I can do.”
“Take them and eat them for all I care, they won’t do me any good,” Eleanor spat.
The physician sighed. “All right. I’ll just set them on the crate over here.” He moved to the crate and dropped all of the silver coins onto the crate. Then he turned and offered a smile. “If you need someone to talk to, my door is always open.”
“Just go,” Eleanor shouted. She knew it wasn’t his fault. The physician had told her days before that there wasn’t much he could do anymore. Consumption was not an easy disease to fight. Still, he was the closest object onto which she could project her sadness and anger, so that is what she did.
She stared at the doorway for at least an hour before she finally was able to calm down enough to think. She looked back to her mother and thought of the last conversation they had had together. Eleanor moved to her mother and kissed her cold forehead, and then she left, taking the six silver coins with her.
Before she made her way to Horace Bagman’s house, she found Mr. Gib, the local mortician.
He was a short, fat man who lived just on the outskirts of the slums where the dirt road met the cobblestone and the shanties became proper, small houses. He was outside, nailing a new coffin together as she approached.
“’Ello, Eleanor. What can I do for you?” he asked with his bright hazel eyes beaming over his round, bearded cheeks.
“How much does it cost for a burial and a proper coffin?”
Mr. Gib’s smile changed to an expression of confusion and the man wiped his hands and set his hammer down. “Now, why should that question cross your mind?” he asked.
“My mother passed away last night,” Eleanor said, choking back the tears and doing her best to hold her head high.
Mr. Gib sighed and shook his head. “I heard she was sick,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear she’s gone.” He turned around and put a hand on his head while he sighed again, this time it went out through his teeth and made a slight, sad whistle. “Eleanor, I’ll tell you what, I can give her a proper burial. I won’t charge for the coffin, deary, okay?”
Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t want her in a pauper’s grave,” Eleanor said. “She deserves better than that.”
Mr. Gib nodded. “Most people do, your mother especially.”
“How much for a proper grave and a proper burial?” Eleanor pressed.
Mr. Gib pursed his lips and scratched his chin. “How much do you have?” he asked after a moment.
Eleanor held up the six silver coins and the ivory comb. “This is all I have.”
Mr. Gib shook his head. “No, no, that comb is for you. Your mother was firm on that.”
Eleanor scrunched up her face. “What do you know about it?”
Mr. Gib pointed down the road. “Mr. Tavers, the merchant who deals with fine jewelry, tried to buy it a year or two ago. I know, because I was there when he made the offer. That was back when your mother worked in the inn serving coffee and such to travelers. Well, your mother told him in no uncertain terms that it belonged to you and was going to be the one thing she would leave to you no matter what.”
Eleanor looked down to the comb, confused why it should matter so much to her mother.
Mr. Gib put on a friendly smile and knelt in front of her. He gently took the comb and then slipped it into her pants pocket. “You don’t show this to anybody, you understand? This is yours, from your mother.”
“She told me to give it to Horace Bagman last night,” Eleanor said without thinking.
Mr. Gib’s left brow shot up and he cocked his head to the side. “Well then, I suppose you should do as your mother told you, but don’t flash it around, not in this town, you hear? You keep it safe and hidden in your pocket. You give it to Horace then, but no one else.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Also,” he continued, “I only need three silver coins to take care of your mother.”
Eleanor’s eyes went up to the two display coffins outside the house. The sign on the simple pine coffin said five silver. Even at fourteen, she knew the man was cutting her a deal he couldn’t afford. She held her hand out, with all six coins.
“I want her buried right,” Eleanor said.
Mr. Gib plucked three coins out of her small hand and smiled. “For your mother, I’ll get it done right for three silver. Now you get on over to Horace’s house. I bet your mother had something special planned for
you.”
Eleanor nodded her thanks and watched the man move back to the coffins. His wife came out from the house just then and talked to him. Eleanor watched as they talked for a minute and then Mrs. Gib put her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, dropping her head and shaking it slightly as Mr. Gib pulled her into an embrace.
Seeing the grief in another person was too much for her. She turned and made her way down the cobblestone street, headed for Horace Bagman’s house.
She turned twice to the left, and once to the right. When she came to the corner of Mercer and Beauregard streets, Eleanor turned to face a tall, skinny building made of brown brick. She went to the door and pushed it inward. A small brass bell jangled above her, bouncing on a type of spring and swinging back and forth. The room was well appointed, a fine woven tapestry hanging on each of the two side walls, both depicting large dragons entangled in battle. Upon the floor was a blue and silver rug with a floral pattern woven into it. Alongside the rug were two long cases of glass that displayed fine pieces of jewelry.
The whole scene made her quite anxious. Eleanor bit her lip and fidgeted with her fingers as she stepped into the room. A short, balding man sat behind the far counter with a strange apparatus hanging around the crown of his head by a long strap that secured it in place. He looked up, one of his brown eyes covered by a series of round magnifying lenses. He reached up and slipped the strange hat off, setting it onto the table next to a ring that was held in some sort of metal vice.
“Come in, come in,” Horace said as he stood up and placed a hand on the small of his back, leaning into a stretch and groaning. “You are little Miss Eleanor Hughes, aren’t you?” Horace said with a wagging finger. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Eleanor approached the counter and stared up at the man. He smiled wide from ear to ear, but somehow it seemed less sincere than anyone else’s smile she had seen lately. Even the physician had appeared to be more genuine. Horace had shifty eyes that hardly stayed upon Eleanor. They constantly flicked back up to the doorway, or over to the window as he leaned over the counter and spoke to her.
“I have something for you,” he said quietly.
Eleanor nodded. “Yes, my mum told me,” she said.
Horace nodded and narrowed his eyes on her. “How is your mother?”
Eleanor didn’t want to answer Horace. Each time she acknowledged what had happened, it felt as if it made it more final. Somewhere inside of her, there remained a sliver of hope that perhaps she could yet wake from this horrid day, and that maybe it was all just a terrible nightmare.
“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Horace asked.
“She’s dead,” Eleanor answered dully, wincing as she felt that sliver of hope deep within herself shrink a bit more.
Horace nodded and tapped the counter with a finger. “I see,” he said flatly. His eyes ceased shifting around the room and he bent forward to gently take Eleanor’s shoulders in each of his hands. “Keep your chin up, yeah? That’s what she would want you to do.”
Eleanor didn’t need a lecture from Horace. She pulled back and reached into her pocket. “My mum said to give you this. Then she said you would have instructions for me.” She fished out the ivory comb and set it upon the counter.
Horace’s greedy eyes lit up, sparkling wildly as his smile returned. This time, Eleanor believed the expression to be genuine.
“Did you know that in the Middle Kingdom, ivory is more valuable than gold? It is only found in the Eastern Wilds, and even there it is a rare thing to find, and usually comes at a high cost of life,” Horace said.
Horace had always had a hunger for expensive items that most people found unhealthy. He wasn’t a cheat, but he was always sure to play any bargain to his favor, and he never seemed to be pleased with his fortune. It was one of the reasons someone of his wealth dealt with people from the slums. Sometimes he preyed upon their desperation, other times he conspired with someone down on their luck to acquire items in a less than honorable fashion. Despite the rumors, Horace had never been caught by the authorities. Even when his first wife left him and threatened to have him arrested, nothing ever happened to Horace. That was why he was called Lucky Bagman.
The man held up the comb and quickly turned to lock it into a silver chest that sat upon a shelf over his workstation. He was still smiling when he turned back to Eleanor.
“Wait here a moment, will you?” he said before disappearing into a door that led to a back room. Eleanor could hear the scrape of a box being pulled from a shelf somewhere in the other room. A metallic click was then followed by a squeaky hinge and the rustling of papers. Horace returned seconds later, a small bundle wrapped in brown paper in his hands and sealed with twine.
“What is this?” Eleanor said as she held out her hand.
Horace held the package back and shook his head. “First, the instructions.” Horace walked out from around the counter and went to the front door. He locked it and then came back to kneel before Eleanor. “This is something your mother was working on for quite some time. Inside this bundle is everything you need for your new life.”
“My new life?” Eleanor echoed.
Bagman sighed impatiently. “I don’t have time to explain everything twice. Keep your mouth closed and your ears open, understand?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Good.” Horace grabbed one of her hands and set the package into it. “Inside this bundle is everything you need. You will find a nobleman’s family pedigree tied to your name. You will also find your new family history. You must memorize everything in this manual and forget about your life here in the slums. You are no longer Eleanor Hughes from Brighton. You are Miss Linny Ravia, a young noblewoman from Nortwyn Abbey. Can you remember your new name?”
Eleanor nodded. “Sure, my mum used to call me Linny when I was younger.”
“Good girl. Now, the first paper you will find is a note to a driver. I have hired a coach to take you to Kuldiga Academy. Your travel charter and your school enrollment papers are all included. Also, in the coach you will find a trunk with clothes, and a wand.”
“Kuldiga Academy?” Eleanor asked.
Horace nodded emphatically. “You have magic in your veins, little Eleanor. Your mother did too, but she never was able to develop it. She lacked the funds for that, you see. She’s been working hard on this for years. She wanted to make sure that you would have the chance she never did. Make us proud little Eleanor.”
“How can I pay for tuition?” Eleanor said. “I can pretend to be anyone I want, but I can’t afford to study there.”
Horace reached out, set his right hand on her shoulder, and gave her a wink. “Eleanor, if I can forge a new life for you, don’t you think I could arrange to make it look like your education had already been paid in full?”
Eleanor’s eyes teared up as she realized why her mother had never sold the ivory comb before. It could have bought life-saving medicine, but her mother was bent on saving another life. “I’ll make her proud,” Eleanor said.
Chapter 4
Kyra slipped her textbook back into her bag as Cyrus wiped the chalkboard clean. The lesson today had been dry and boring, but Cyrus had insisted upon going through each painful detail of the first recorded encounter with a wraith. Truth be told, it wasn’t much different from her own. A young wizard had been out in the woods, plying his magic to the fish in a stream, when a wraith came upon him and nearly killed him. The main difference from Kyra’s own encounter was that the young wizard’s tutor was near enough by to come running in and save the young man. Kyra had had to rescue herself, though it had rendered her unconscious.
She must have sighed a bit too loudly, for Cyrus turned back from the chalkboard and raised a snowy brow as he cast his eyes upon her.
“What did you learn today?” he asked in his raspy voice.
Kyra shook her head and gave her honest assessment. “Nothing I didn’t already learn for myself out in the woods.”
Cyrus
nodded and stepped around his desk before leaning back upon it. “You see no value in the text we studied today?”
Kyra shook her head. “Gamel didn’t even fight the wraith that attacked him. He just froze and shouted for help. It was Master Coen who banished the wraith.”
Cyrus nodded and smiled. “Ah, and so there is nothing for you to learn from his encounter because it wasn’t as exciting as yours, is that it?”
Kyra sighed.
The old wizard moved toward her and slowly slipped into the seat next to hers. “Did you find it odd that the wraith suddenly appeared?”
Kyra shrugged. “No,” she said.
“So, I suppose you also failed to question why the wraith chose to attack the young wizard, even despite Master Coen’s close proximity.”
“What difference does it make why it attacked? What matters is how to fight them.”
Cyrus laughed and nodded as he stroked his beard. “I might have said the same thing many years ago. However, in order to fight your enemy, you must understand them.”
“It doesn’t say why the wraith attacked,” Kyra said impatiently. “It just says what happened, where it happened, and how they banished it.”
Cyrus nodded. “That is why we are studying this account. It is a prime example of why we must stretch our minds beyond the plain text.” He reached out with a bony finger and gently poked her forehead. “You should put yourself there, and ask yourself why the creature attacked. What did it want? What did it hope to gain? Why the boy?” He then indicated the bag with his finger and shook his head. “If all you ever learn to put in your brain are the accounts written by historians, then you will fail to see clearly. Each historian has his or her own bias. They present a passage the way they see fit, sometimes omitting or embellishing truths that ultimately twist or altogether hide the true lesson to be gained from the experience.”
“So what should I learn from this?”
Cyrus shook his head. “We are out of time today. Go and think on it. We will discuss it together tomorrow. Hopefully by then you will have figured the answers out for yourself.” Cyrus then rose and went back to pack his books into his own bag.