We obliged with equal vigour even if I for one had even less desire for the past than I did the future.
“So, where do we start, gentleman?” Gorgon heaved.
“I have told you how much Jean knows,” Grella replied.
“You have, and I believe you.”
Grella nodded his appreciation.
“Are you ready to divulge the secrets you carry, Master Merryweather?” Gorgon turned his attention to the dandy, who picked at his nails with one long talon.
“Not yet.”
“Then how are we to know what to do if we only know half the story.”
“That depends on what you think you know,” Merryweather said, undeterred.
“We know the who, the where, but neither the why nor the how,” Grella replied. “And all four of us know the legend.”
I let that particular miscalculation slide for my future betterment.
“I see,” Merryweather replied. “Might I enquire, what do I have to gain from any such divulgences?”
“Your life,” I cut in.
“I have no life.”
“This!” I snapped. “This is what I've had to put up with for weeks. We might as well have started with what I know.”
“You know nothing,” said Gorgon with deliberate candour.
“Pardon!”
“He said you know nothing,” Merryweather whispered out of the back of his hand. “He's right, too.”
“I think it better we switch, Sir Walter. A little extra space between Jean and yourself, until our discussions are over, anyway.” Grella stood and swapped seats with the Britannian, who looked bewildered by its necessity.
“Ooh, it's still warm,” he cooed.
I shook my head in frustration.
“I shall recap on what Gorgon and I have pooled. If Walter feels the ability to chip-in with additional information all the better,” the Nordic continued.
Gorgon nodded his agreement; Merryweather carried on cleaning out his fingernails. I took a deep swill from my glass, then refilled it.
“We have all been deceived, Gorgon and I for longer than most. The sun, our once deadliest enemy, is no longer that. Neither of us are aware for how long.”
I kept my mouth shut due to a withering glance cast by the Nordic. Bearing in mind his people had known the truth for longer than anyone, I thought he had a nerve, but trusted to his deception.
Merryweather bit the nails he'd spent so long attending to. We watched and waited. He continued to chomp.
Grella gave the dandy a hard stare, but again it went unmet. “The one man with answers, we both presume, would be our past ally the Marquis de Rhineland,” he continued.
“Pfft!” Merryweather spat.
“Something to add?” I chided.
“He was never a friend of mine.”
“Was anyone?”
“Only you, Jean,” he beamed.
I almost choked on my drink; most of it went back in my glass.
Merryweather sniffed.
“Gentleman, you don't have to agree with every minor detail just the overall picture,” Gorgon said shaking his monolithic head.
“Back to the Marquis,” Grella, persisted.
“Marquis this! Marquis that! Marquis pass me a handkerchief blah, blah, blah,” Merryweather bemoaned.
“Ignore him,” I said walking to a window to stare out at the naked mountains.
“You see. Jean has the right idea,” Merryweather chirped.
“Pardon,” I replied.
“Less talk, more action.”
“If we do not know the facts, then what action can we take?”
For the first time since our arrival, Grella's facade of cool slipped and the chill of his tone sent ice down my spine.
“All right,” Merryweather huffed. “Pray continue with your little appraisal.”
“Thank you, Walter, I shall.” Grella poured himself another drink and paused. He half raised the crystal glass to his lips, studied the contents, sloshed the blood around in the light from the window, and then paused again.
“Ah, now you see,” Merryweather oozed.
I was at a loss as to what he referred, but Grella was not.
“Blood,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. “It is all about blood.”
“Almost,” Merryweather purred, uncurling from his chair like a cat.
“Everything is about blood,” Gorgon huffed. “Are we not Eternals?”
“We are, your dukeship. And, yes, everything is about blood, or rather, bloodlines.” Merryweather grinned at his host.
Grella and Gorgon looked to each other wide-eyed.
“That is a myth,” said Grella.
“Is it?” the Britannian replied.
“You have seen our kind stand before the sun, a veritable impossibility, yet you'd question the truth behind your own origins. Are you so shallow? Are you so small-minded? You of all people, you who have remained set apart, free of gossip and new beginnings, you of all people should remember, Grella, King of the Dead.” Merryweather poured himself another drink, downed it in one and said, “Cheers.”
If a dark cloud could have drifted into the room and settled over the would-be Nordic King, then at that moment it seemed so. Grella brooded, and the world mourned the loss of a star. Even in the relative shortness of my knowing him, I knew when to leave him be.
“I still see the Marquis as the instigator of our troubles,” Gorgon persisted, as he took up the reins from his royal colleague.
“Oh, doubtless he has had his hand in many little conspiracies. Fingers in pies are the obligatory state of a fat man. A petty, fat man,” Merryweather added, for good measure. “But I'm equally sure most of his antics were due to his realising long before the rest of you, he had a relatively short time left to do something about his looming demise. In short, he is not an instigator but a reactionary. Those who truly pull the strings are those who have known things for much longer, those who have manipulated everyone and everything into acting just the way they wished.”
I didn't like the way he looked at me then. I could not help but bite back. “You've said rather a lot for a man who was picking his nails in blissful ignorance not two minutes ago,” I said.
“I was bored.”
“You didn't get the chance to grow bored.”
“Didn't I?”
“No”
“Then, you don't know me at all.”
“Thank goodness,” I retorted.
“Sticks and stones…”
“Gentleman,” Grella interrupted. “If I may be excused, I think I should like to retire for the evening.”
“But we haven't learned a thing. We haven't even started on this Chantelle.” Gorgon got to his feet all of a bluster.
“We have,” Grella countered. “But I need time to think.”
“You have all the time in the world to think,” Gorgon snarled.
“No, sir,” Merryweather said in an unusually serious tone, “he does not.”
Gorgon looked for help; I had none to give.
“Harrumph! Then to hell with all of you. I knew being nice was a bad idea.”
“Duke Gorgon,” Grella said in sombre tones. “Do you believe me a man of my word?”
I watched our host contemplate speaking out of turn, the veritable cogs whir in his oversized cranium. “Yes,” he replied. A correct decision.
“Then, if I might commandeer a room for the evening, or whatever now is, I should be most grateful. I give you my word, my friend, by the morning, I shall reveal a more definite plan.”
Grella offered his hand to his larger companion, which Gorgon took and shook. Merryweather watched it all with the close studying of a scientist mid-experiment. I knew, for I had seen the selfsame look on my father's face many times before.
Gorgon clapped his massive hands together with the instantaneous response of several resplendent Baltic females entering the room. Gorgon bid us all a good evening and headed off the way we had entered the palace, whilst
Grella was led a second way and Merryweather, much to my annoyance, and I, were led a third.
We trailed the two girls, who remained silent throughout our brisk walk, for about five minutes until presented with adjoining first floor rooms. A nod of deference and the two left; Merryweather did not.
“So?” he said.
“So what?”
“You know very well what. Do you think Grella will come up with some master plan to deal with our situation?”
“What situation?” I replied like a petulant child.
Merryweather deemed not to notice. “Oh, Princess Chantelle, the Marquis, his mother, blah, blah, blah.”
“Is that your word of the day?” I huffed.
“One of many, dear boy, I'm multi-wordal.”
“That's not even a word.”
“Was not even a word. Was.”
I rolled my eyes.
“So?” he continued.
“So what?”
“What do you think?”
“All I want is Linka returned in one piece. If Grella comes up with a swift way of facilitating it, then I'm happy.”
“And?”
“And, I'll be happy.”
“Then what?”
“What?”
“Oh, must we play these tedious games,” he said and shook his head in so pathetic a fashion, I felt like ripping it off his neck to save him the effort of having to do so again. “If or when you find your beloved, what will you do then?”
“Be with her.”
“For how long?”
“However long we have left.”
“And if time was limitless?”
“It's not. We all know the world is to end.”
“We do, dear boy. We also know it's possible to leave it.”
And just like that, the penny dropped.
“Ah, enlightenment.”
“Perhaps,” I replied.
“Bah, you know of what I speak.”
“It is unlike you to be so direct.”
“I prefer being indirect, but not with you.”
“Why?”
“It's a waste of breath.”
“Thanks.”
“You're welcome, dear boy.”
“Walter.”
“Hm, I dislike it when you address me without intonation.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you say what you did about my parents?”
“Ah, I was hoping you might have forgotten that.”
I gave him a dirty look rather than a verbal barrage.
“Well, if you put it like that.”
“I do.”
“I shall tell you, but only if you swear not to do me harm.”
“I cannot make that promise.”
“Well, I appreciate your honesty, but it's not a great way to get the answers you wish.”
“If it is any consolation, Walter, I am tired of hating you. For once, others are more deserving of my ire.”
“About time.”
“It could change,” I hissed.
“All right, all right, I shall tell you something that will shock and disturb. I can, however, assure you of its truth. First, though, I want to know why you haven't already pressed me on the matter?”
“You lied. There was no point.”
“How many times must I tell you, I never lie. I may bend the truth, dabble in inexactitudes, twist the fabric of reality to suit, but I always tell the truth. I am as incapable of lying as you are of going a day without being moody. I was going to say killing someone, but you're better than you used to be.”
“Go on,” I replied through gritted teeth.
“Jean, your parents are alive.”
* * *
“Jean, are you well?”
I opened my eyes to Walter's mouth pressed over my own.
“What the hell are you doing?” I spluttered, shoving him aside.
“Reviving you.”
“Why? And get your face away from me,” I bemoaned, as he crawled back.
“You passed out.”
“I did not.”
“Then why are you on the floor?”
I couldn't argue with that because I was.
“I didn't realise an Eternal could faint,” he jabbered. “Although being around you is as near being bored to death as one can be. I'll grant you that,” he chuckled.
“Thanks,” I said and hauled myself to my feet.
“Vous ne voulez pas me tuer.”
“You what?”
“You do not wish to kill me? Good grief, Jean, I'm trying to accommodate your upbringing, associate with you on a deeper level.”
“Huh.”
“You are French, aren't you?”
“We are none of us anything, as you well know.”
“I see,” he said. “But I reiterate, in Britannian, you do not wish to kill me?”
“Oh, I always wish to kill you just not right now.”
“Fair enough.”
“Do I want to know the ins and outs?”
“I wouldn't if I was you. Not yet, anyway. I promise to tell you at a more appropriate time.”
“Is there a chance I'll bump into father or mother?”
“I doubt it.”
“Then, for now, but only for now, you don't need to.”
“Is this a knowledge truce?”
“Whatever.”
Merryweather gave me an askew glance, struggled with something that made his lips quiver, an uncomfortable decision brewing within. Then, decision made, he leapt to his feet. “Jean, I'm going to do something I should have done years ago.” He took up a heroic pose, chin in the air and ruffled his hair like it blew in the wind.
“Dare I ask?”
“I'm going to give you a history lesson.”
* * *
And he did.
Chapter Thirteen
-
Botanical
“First stop, the botanical gardens.”
“The what?” I said, my head still spinning with his revelations.
“Oh, just follow me.” The Britannian waddled off with me in tow. “The youth of today,” he chuntered.
Walter led us through Gorgon's palace with the assuredness of a man who had done so many times before. He navigated the obsidian and ivory halls as though a rabbit in a burrow knowing every bolt hole and every secret entrance. Despite having declared his new resolve as though a thing of great urgency, he, at best, sauntered, and, at worst, dallied his way up and down the many staircases, taking ninety-degree corners at will. If we'd popped out in front of our own bedrooms having gone full circle, I would not have been at all surprised. Not that I would have recognised them, every damn door looked the same.
Gorgon had an eye for the antique. Merryweather pointed to this or that object declaring it worth a veritable fortune. I returned I thought most of it tat. I had never enjoyed the luxuries of life, what good were they in a world without values. When at the point of optimal boredom, and having descended a long, spiralling staircase, he declared, “There you go,” and flourished his hand before his face.
I rounded the separating wall and wandered into the sparkling light of heaven.
“Argh!” I hissed, much to Walter's amusement. “Why didn't you warn me?” I snarled, squeezing my eyelids together with pain.
“I was about to.”
So dazzled was I by the intense glare, I shielded my eyes and waited until the stars in my cranium stopped circling before, with the utmost care, reopening them.
“It's not made for sunlight,” said Merryweather.
“Neither am I.”
“Ah, but you so wish to be.”
He had me there.
“What is this place?” I asked, with genuine interest. My vermillion bedazzlement faded to crimson and then a brighter shade of ruby than the one we'd become accustomed to. Only then did I feel secure enough to peep from behind my palm's protection.
“It is Gorgon's botanical night garden. The gla
ss amplifies the starlight to enable his hobby. If ever a place was not meant for the sun, it is this.”
“Wow!”
“Impressive, isn't it?”
“Yes,” I replied, lost for words.
“Lepidopterology,”
“What?”
“He studies those of the genus Lepidoptera.”
“What?”
“Do you know any other word?”
“What?”
“Oh, tee-hee, so amused am I. Regardless of your childish antics, I shall once again enlighten you. Enlighten. Do you get it? Lighten. Light. It's bright in here.”
“What?”
“Hm, well, as I was saying. The good duke enjoys the company of that which currently sits on your shoulder.”
By instinct, I brushed at my clothes much to Walter's mirth.
“I haven't opened the door yet, you idiot.”
“If you call me that one more time I shall eviscerate you.”
“You do call me that all the time, so why can't I eviscerate you?”
“Because I shall get to you first.”
“Pfft, aren't you a barrel of laughs tonight!”
“To say I have just received confirmation of my parents not being as dead as I believed them to be and my one and only love to be still missing, I should say I'm doing quite well.”
“That's the spirit. Keep it up. Stiff upper lip and all that,” said Walter, as though he'd lost track of the conversation. “Anyway, allow me.”
With that Merryweather leaned forward, ran his palm across a section of the glass wall only for a single sheet of clear glass to open inwards. Walter stepped straight in and beckoned me to hurry after him. He was quick to close the door in our wake.
“Wow,” I said.
“Two exclamations of amazement from you warrants a mop of the brow.” Walter did so on the back of one frilled cuff.
“Never judge a book by its cover and all that.”
“Precisely,” he agreed.
I basked in the fantastical nature of Gorgon's secret place. “This must be what it felt like to stand beneath the sun,” I said.
“Pretty much,” Walter mused and strolled further into the great glass room before I could question him further. “I remember it being somewhat more golden.”
“Humanity must have had stronger eyes than us to remain beneath it for any period.”
Into Eternity (The Eternals Book 3) Page 11