The Last Spellbound House: A Steampunk Dark Fantasy Thriller

by Samuel Simons

  “I just hope I don’t regret this.”

  Thorne and Lifa glanced at each other.

  “If you do, don’t come crying to me.” Thorne’s tone was still exceedingly smug.

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” put in Lifa tactfully.

  Rosie hummed a cheerful tune as she conducted Pyke and Jenna down yet another hallway, holding a lantern high to cast light into the corridors ahead. Jenna seemed content to walk quietly alongside Pyke, her own lantern dimmed and hanging from one arm. Her cheeks were flushed, and from time to time her steps wobbled. Pyke had to wonder if the statement, ‘Nothing is what it seems here,’ extended to the wine. He was quietly glad he hadn’t consumed it: he wanted to be alert to learn what he could.

  “Okay, we’re far enough from my sisters!” Rosie whirled so that she was walking backwards, and treated Pyke and Jenna to a guileless grin. “Now tell me all the juicy details: where did you two meet?”

  “Oh, just on the road.” Jenna reached down and took Pyke’s hand with a cheerful smile. After a long moment of questioning whether there was any kindness in playing along, Pyke decided he didn’t have the heart to pull his hand away. “He’s a kind man in a crisis, even if he’s awkward among ordinary folks.”

  “So…” Pyke cut in. As harmless as Rosie seemed, the last thing Pyke needed was the bubbly young woman learning of the events on the road and gushing to anyone who would listen about how heroic the newcomer had been and how powerful his Relic was. “Lifa, Thorne, and Rosie? As in, leaf, thorn and rose?”

  “You noticed! My sisters and I were certainly named with a theme in mind.” Rosie twirled about as she walked, giggling. “None of us have seen fit to change what we’re called, so apparently it worked out.”

  “Your parents must have had a strange sense of humour.”

  “Look— we’re coming up on a thin place!” Rosie exclaimed.

  Pyke looked ahead expectantly, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary: this little-used hallway seemed like any other in the House. He furrowed his brow, trying to think whether ‘thin place’ resembled any technical term he’d learned, but came up with nothing.

  “What do you mean, a thin place?” Jenna asked.

  “It’s a nickname given by visiting researchers to phenomena like this.” Rosie gestured to a door in the left-hand wall of the corridor.

  Pyke was about to ask which phenomenon Rosie meant when he was interrupted by a gasp from Jenna. “Pyke, look,” she whispered, staring at the dark, mottled wood of the portal.

  Inspecting it more closely, Pyke noticed the colours of the door’s wood changing subtly, as though shadows were shifting on its surface. Intrigue rose to obliterate his earlier discomfort as he realized what he was looking at. “There’s another door, with less scuffing and fading of the wood, superimposed on this one. It’s as though they’re occupying the same space. What’s causing this?”

  Rosie beamed, wrapping one arm around Pyke’s shoulders and one around Jenna’s to look between them at the door.

  “It’s a thin place,” she explained, “A spot where another version of reality called a Place Aside is close by. You’re lucky to get to see one so obvious! More often they’re nothing but a sound or a smell. It’s safe to touch, if you like.”

  Pyke took hold of the spherical door handle. It felt strange: the sensation of the cold metal against his hand wasn’t doubled, but instead seemed slightly out of phase, as though his hand were swiftly alternating touching two objects instead of one.

  On a hunch, Pyke turned the door’s handle, and the effect ended. Inside, lit by Jenna’s and Rosie’s lanterns, was a dust-caked study room with no furniture except a broad wooden desk, a high-backed chair behind it upholstered with cracked, desiccated brown leather, and two armchairs along one wall.

  “That’s odd.”

  “What is?” Jenna stepped into the room behind Pyke and took his hand again.

  “Every room I’ve entered so far, except for the ones updated for the use of Relic-seekers and scholars, has had three chairs. No more, no fewer.”

  Jenna’s flushed face showed a spark of interest as she scanned the room. “You’re right. I never thought about that. Why’s it odd, though?”

  “The Dead were known for being solitary. There’s no way all these rooms were intended for use by servitors, so why would there be not one but three chairs?”

  “You’ll have to take a tour with Lifa next, sweetie,” chirped Rosie. “She’ll have all sorts of theories about why the extra chairs! Personally, I like to think the old man got lonely… but whenever I share ideas like that, Thorne tells me I’m a hopeless romantic and the Dead didn’t have feelings.”

  “You and your sisters…” Pyke shook his head. “I misjudged the employees here. All three of you certainly are full of surprises, including your informed opinions on the Ancients. How did you come to be guides, anyway?”

  “The calling sort of fell into our laps. One minute we were adventuring— saving distressed travellers, solving mysteries, you know how it is— and then almost by accident we found a place where our skills were needed. They made us an offer we couldn’t refuse,” Rosie explained with a carefree shrug. “How about you, Pyke? You must have been something else before you were a dashing Relic-seeker.”

  Pyke avoided eye contact. “I don’t want to talk about it.” For some reason, he felt inordinately guilty about lying to Rosie, even by omission.

  Rosie slowed her pace just enough to walk alongside Pyke on the other side from Jenna, and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. Something painful must have happened. I won’t ask again.”

  Pyke replied with a noncommittal hum, not feeling any better about letting Rosie worry. The fact of the matter was, Pyke had no particular trauma in his past. Rosie had simply supplied a convenient excuse, and Antiquarians were trained to avoid disabusing people of their preconceptions… at least when those preconceptions kept them from asking too many questions.

  “Oh! We’re almost at the main library!” Rosie squeaked, tugging on Pyke’s elbow and gesturing ahead. Pyke noted with mixed relief and amusement that Rosie had moved on from her remorse just as swiftly as she’d arrived at it.

  A few metres ahead, Rosie’s lantern illuminated a spot where a wider hallway intersected theirs from the right. Straight ahead, past the intersection, was an ornately carved archway.

  Rosie led the way through the arch, and the three emerged into a two-storey library room whose massive hardwood bookshelves stretched to the ceiling. Narrow spiral staircases led up to a walkway which ran all the way around the room at a height of five metres. Extending from that walkway were metal catwalks forming a grid overhead, granting access to the upper halves of the bookshelves.

  “I haven’t been in here in more than a cycle,” Jenna murmured. “The main library is at the other end of the central corridor from the entry hall, and it’s near the centre of the House. This is one of the places the kitchen staff is encouraged to avoid exploring.”

  Aside from a wooden door on the left-hand side of the room, every inch of wall was covered by bookshelves. That door and the archway behind them were the only obvious ways into or out of the library. Only a few books were in evidence, huddling in corners of the shelves amid the dust.

  “This place has been looted,” Pyke muttered.

  “Only a little. Lots of the books were already damaged beyond repair when the Founders got here, so they had to dispose of them. Some of the remainder are elsewhere in the House and will come back here soon.” Rosie patted Pyke’s back comfortingly, smiling. “Don’t grieve too much for these books. They were mostly on boring subjects like politics and psychology.”

  “One would have expected books owned by a Dead Lord to deal with machinery and magic, not the ways of mortals.”

  “You’d think so.” Sauntering along a row of bookshelves, Rosie traced a trail through the layer of dust with one finger. “But the Dead were kn
own for creating Inventions which specialized in attacking and controlling the minds of their subjects. Those would’ve needed an understanding of how people work. And the old man’s servitors had access to this library, so it’s likely the books on forbidden magic are hidden elsewhere.”

  All this talk of magic reminded Pyke of the pressing reason for his visit. “Where does the Working protecting this place come from? It seems unlikely someone elsewhere in this manse is using a Relic to keep it going non-stop.”

  Rosie let out an excited gasp. “You said ‘manse.’ You are an expert!”

  She clasped Pyke’s free hand in both of hers and stared into his eyes. “If you know that name, you might be able to help me with a mystery I’ve discovered. What else have you figured out about this place so far, Pyke?”

  “I suspect that somewhere in the Last Spellbound House, there must be a Lens: a category of Relic, usually a larger device which transforms Res into more than one Working.” Pyke wasn’t sure why he was explaining all this so freely, save that he felt comfortable around both Jenna and Rosie, and it was nice to talk of his theories with people who were genuinely curious. “The main difference is that a Lens doesn’t need a wielder. The manse itself supplies the Res.”

  Rosie beamed. “Wait here. I’ve got a surprise I think I should show you two.” She squeezed Pyke’s hand with both of hers, pulled him close in a warm hug, then whirled away and hurried across the library, vanishing behind some bookshelves.

  Once she was safely out of earshot, Pyke glanced at Jenna, frowning. “Is she flirting with me?” he whispered.

  Jenna nodded, but she was smiling. “That’s just how Rosie is.”

  Pyke looked down at Jenna’s hand where she still had it wrapped around his own. “And you’re all right with that?”

  “Jealousy’s never been my style.” As far as Pyke could tell, Jenna’s grin was sincere. “And besides, she’s like this with everyone, I think. She regularly reminds me she’d welcome at least a cuddle, maybe more.”

  “Wait.” Pyke took hold of Jenna’s arm, stopping her gently but firmly. “I thought you hadn’t met Rosie or her sisters before. You said the people who work in the dining hall don’t come out here often, and you seemed surprised when Thorne knew your name.”

  “Really? I must’ve chosen my words poorly. There’s so few of us working here, we get used to seeing each other around, and Rosie at least is too memorable to just... forget.” Jenna frowned and massaged her temple as though her head were aching.

  “Are you all right?”

  Jenna blinked up at Pyke, bleary-eyed. “Maybe I’ve had too much to drink. Or worked too hard all day. Or the strange time I’ve had since this morning’s trouble is catching up with me. I think I should call it a night soon.”

  Pyke nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. He had to admit he’d been enjoying Jenna’s company, particularly the way she kept reaching out for his hand. But he wasn’t ready to call it a night, and he was eager to continue his conversation with Rosie… especially now that it was clear he wasn’t bothering Jenna by his investment in the exchange of expertise. Most of all, he didn’t want to cut the tour short: he wanted a proper and immediate introduction to the secrets of this place… though something about the situation was still bothering him, like a tickle at the back of his mind.

  “Oh, dear.” Jenna’s eyes were hooded with exhaustion, but she was still smiling. “You’re so transparent, Pyke. You really want us to see whatever this mystery is. It’s all right. I’ve never been one to turn down a good adventure. I’ll stay up a while longer.”

  Pyke’s face creased into a grin. Losing control of his expression was a first for him, but it wasn’t as unpleasant a sensation as he’d imagined it would be.

  “Thank you, Jenna. I didn’t expect to meet with such kindness when I came here. I’m…” He hesitated. “I’m not leading you on, am I?”

  Jenna shook her head, her tired smile taking on a tinge of melancholy. “I know you’re gonna leave before long. But I’m happy to spend this time with you while you’re here… and who knows, maybe someday you’ll return.”

  Not far ahead, Pyke heard Rosie rummaging around near the wall of the library farthest from the archway. He leaned around a corner to see her reaching into a narrow crevice between two of the bookshelves. Rosie made a noise of satisfaction as she twisted a hidden handle, and the shelf on her left rotated clockwise to reveal a passageway leading into the wall.

  “Come on out!” Rosie called.

  Approaching the passage, Pyke peered into the darkness, and Jenna raised her lantern to shed some light on the alcove. It was shallow, and held only a downward-curving set of spiral stairs carved from the speckled grey bedrock.

  “I haven’t even shown this to my sisters,” whispered Rosie. “They wouldn’t approve of you knowing about it… but you two, you’re special. I think you can help me with the riddle.”

  A shiver of anticipation ran through Pyke. A hidden stairway leading into the foundation of an active manse promised to present a real challenge.

  Rosie pulled another lever set into the rock wall, which closed the bookshelf behind them, and Pyke led the way down the steps. The stairs curved a half-turn so that Pyke and Jenna, descending the short flight, wound up facing back the way they’d come. At the bottom was a passageway with smooth granite walls, which ended at a circular stone door. The portal lacked a handle or other visible means of opening it, and the door itself had only two notable features: a line of script in Old Ancient along the top; and a carving of a stylized hand with an oversized rectangular keyhole at the centre of its palm.

  Pyke looked about for any clue as to the whereabouts of the key for this door. The walls were devoid of the slightest suggestion of a hidden mechanism or ancient puzzle. Not like the traps in the ruins of Feleusolash, nor the riddles carved into the stalagmites of the caverns under Esmeraodes, then.

  Returning his attention to the Old Ancient writing along the upper perimeter of the door, Pyke began to work through translating the inscription. His excitement at the challenge was such that he forgot even to gripe about the absence of his Voice’s perfect memory.

  The passage read:

  Hastas tor reshis rei vakhferet, nen feret sur vil sesrisis rei leset.

  “The path… or maybe the way, with…”

  He placed a hand under the next words, translating them one by one.

  “Reshis rei. My… Essences?’” he asked himself. “No, ’Essences’ is just Resh, whereas reshis translates to… death. This means, ‘with my death.’ Then we have ‘vakhferet,’ closed— wait, closes…”

  “‘The path with my death closes,’” Rosie breathed, her gaze fixed with fascination on the Old Ancient script. “What’s the second part? I’ve been searching for the object and final verb for months.”

  “Nen feret sur vil sesrisis rei leset,” Pyke re-read, then finished slowly, “And opens only… to my return… herald.”

  “Herald. ‘Leset’ means ‘to herald,’” Rosie murmured, the wonder-struck smile returning to her face. “You’ve cracked it!”

  Pyke nodded. “If we reorganize the Old Ancient grammar into Common, we get: ‘The path closes with my death, and opens only to herald my return.’”

  Jenna’s hand tightened around Pyke’s. “That sounds ominous. Should we be messing around with this place?”

  “It’s all right.” Pyke was already inspecting the keyhole in the centre of the door. “The Ancients are well and truly gone. All that’s left is old stone and powerful secrets.”

  Without expecting much success, Pyke drew the lockpicks from his pocket and inserted them into the keyhole, feeling for tumblers. To his dismay, there was nothing there except four smooth walls. The metal rods weren’t long enough to probe to the end of the crevice, so Pyke reached gingerly into the mechanism with his fingers, but again found nothing save for another smooth surface at the innermost point of the indent.

 
“Might this inscription be a clue to a location in the House where we could find the key?” he asked Rosie.

  She shrugged. “Not that I know of. It sounds more like poetry than directions.”

  “Well, I suppose there’s nothing for it.” Pyke reached into his cloak, unfastening a knot which held closed a secret pocket. Opening the wire pouch woven into the cloth, he pulled forth a palm-sized hoop of bronze marked with a deep groove on its inner face.

  “What’s that?” asked Jenna, blinking sleepily and peering down at the object.

  “It’s another Relic: one of the three I carry,” Pyke replied absently, his focus devoted to inspecting the object through his jeweller’s glasses. If the lacquer over the Relic ever wore away enough that the tiny letters inlaid into the groove became damaged, then trying to use it would be tantamount to suicide. “I call it the Lock and Key. I don’t have enough information to figure out this door’s riddle, if there even is one, and I certainly don’t have the proper key to unlock it... so I’m going to take a shortcut.”

  Pyke placed the bronze hoop against the door, adjusting it to frame the oversized keyhole. He pinned it there with his right hand, closing his eyes. As he focused on the Relic, a sensation like a gentle tug, slightly removed from his body in an undefinable direction, confirmed it was connected to his inner core of Res. Curling the fingers of his left hand around the envelope hidden in his cloak where he kept the Serpent’s Tongue, Pyke murmured a command phrase in Old Ancient:

  “Hastas sansii rin khas isvist; hastas sansii isvist: siskas nen rakhas eshest.”

  A torrent of sensations struck Pyke: thousands of sights, sounds, and tactile feelings all at once. He held the onslaught of information at bay until he could sort it into categories, internalizing each segment of information at a pace his mind could withstand. After a time which felt like hours, but which he knew from experience was really only a few seconds, he opened his eyes again.