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A rustling from inside the dilapidated coach brought her back from her memory. It was a slow scratching sound, followed by a loud tap. She looked inside the cab but couldn’t make out anything. As her lantern lit up the small space, the noise intensified. Curious, Mary tugged at the door which gave way with a loud creak.
She fell back as a crow cawed at her and beat its wings inches from her face. The lantern toppled to the ground and flickered but held, casting a beam right up at the bird. Its foot was stuck in a bit of hanging cloth, the molded fibers tangling it up like a net. Mary got back to her feet in a huff, her pride hurt a bit more than her rump. She couldn't help but laugh at herself though. Getting spooked by a blackbird like she was some green on the vine schoolgirl.
Her father always told her that her ability to find the humor in things would make her fast friends. He hadn't been right, of course, as was the case with most things she found out. The only friend she could claim was tied to a tree nearby. As far as netting herself a husband, well, her wit didn't seem to be winning her any points with the local men.
Not that she was heartbroken over that. Few had made her take a second look. And they all seemed to resent her a little. Being a caravan runner, wasn't something many women did. It was considered unladylike. Mary half suspected many of the men who held it against her hadn't the courage to do the job.
They balked at the idea of leaving their safe little farms or towns to venture into the wilds. They feared the bandits, hill men, and beasts of the wood, the boogeymen of their bed time stories. Mary feared these things as well, but that fear brought an excitement. A thirst for life she found she'd developed a taste for. It was dangerous, times were hard, and she had been in more tight spots than she cared to admit. And yes, this job would probably be the death of her just like it was her old man, but she couldn't see life any other way.
Careful to avoid the thrashing beak, she untangled the bird. It flapped its wings before taking off.
"Well that's a fine thank you." She muttered before picking up her lantern and continuing through the hole in the gate. There wasn't much to the grounds, though for some reason it wasn't overgrown. The grass looked yellowed and sickly. The tiny bubble of light from her lantern wasn't much. After a while she was able to make out something odd in the distance. A large patch of darkness that seemed blacker than the night around her, stood out against the shadows.
Mary found herself before a wall made of the same strange dark rock as the statue. She ran her hand across it, smooth as a mirror but not one she could see herself in. Even the light from her lantern had a hard time reflecting back. She strained her eyes to look above. She could tell the wall was part of a much larger building, easily the size of a fort or some manor house. Mary kept her hand running along the smooth rock as she followed the wall to the left.
After only a few feet the rain finally came. The sky opened up and poured all over her. The wick of her tiny candle flickered as the wind whipped itself into a frenzy. Mary pulled up her hood just as an arch of lightning burned away the dark for a few seconds. In that flash, she could see a battered door not far ahead and made for it as quick as she could.
It smelled of dust and wet wood. The room behind the door was small and filled with broken shelves. There barrels inside filled with the petrified remains of potatoes and carrots.
"Seems nobody’s home." Mary whispered. Judging by the rotten state of the door on the far end of the room nobody had been for quite some time. She settled her back against the grimy wall and took stock of this new development. This place being abandoned posed much more than a free night out of the rain.
These old ruins from kingdoms long past often held treasures for the adventurous. Mary knew that most would be looters focused on caches of jewels, coin or arms. They would pass right by what she would be after. Once when she was a young girl, she'd helped her father raid an old keep not far from one of their main routes. It had been picked over for years by dozens of hands, and at first glance held about as much as an empty chest to her. But not to her father.
Together they found paintings that sold for almost a hundred gold a piece. Upstairs in a flipped over desk, they uncovered the deed to a patch of land where her house now sits. With claimants long dead, the land belonged to whomever held the deed. That day, she learned fools run for the obvious, but a winner leaves no stone unturned.
She thought about going back for Oats. Hitch her to that cart and fill it up with enough artifacts to get out from under those moneylenders once and for all. The outpost be damned, those nails could wait. A thunder clap shook the stone around her and left her ears ringing. The horse would be fine until things died down outside. In the meantime, she decided to get a head start on finding something worth taking.
The door gave way from its hinges in one tug. The air behind it smelled of mildew and sweet decay. The hall was filled with broken clutter and grime. A long, water stained rug snaked along the floor. Broken pictures along the walls were worthless, along with the torn banners strewn about. Mary stepped over bits of wood and stone.
The first door she came across was on the right of her and opened to a collapsed room. This didn't seem to be a main hall. It was too narrow, one meant for servants or slaves to use. Despite that, she did find something of note. Nailed to the wall not far from the collapsed room was an old tapestry. It was dust covered but unstained and uneaten. She dusted a bit off with her coat and let out a shout.
The spider silk glittered and sparkled as it caught her light. The scholars said the stuff was as strong as steel and could last for centuries. Seeing the pristine state this weave was in, Mary could believe them. Even the dyes had kept their luster well enough that with a bit more dusting she was able to see the art in all its glory.
Black figures huddled under a radiant yellow sun, each one holding up their hands to the rays. In those hands were severed heads that shone with the same light, as gruesome a scene as it was confusing. There was no hint as to who might have owned this place was or any definable maker's mark near as she could tell. At any rate, she knew a weaver in the capital who would pay a high price for such a tapestry. The old style patterns were nearly lost, so any find in good condition was sought after. She packed it up delicately into her bag before venturing further.
All the other doors had weathered time well for the most part and refused to budge. Mary had almost given up hope on this path. She was about to backtrack to see what fortunes lay on the opposite end when a large door came into view. It was massive and adorned with a scorched-in depiction that matched spider silk in her bag.
“I'd bet my last copper that's the main hall there.” Her voice was still a whisper. The hinges were rusted and would take a lot of work, but she braced her back against the wood and pushed. It groaned in the silence all around her. It was as if it was angry at being disturbed or warning her against what lay on the other side. The light couldn't pierce the dark past the doorway, she see only inches in front of her face.
Mary felt along the wall to the left for a sconce or maybe an ancient torch she could strike up for a little visibility. The wind howled like a pack of wolves somewhere in the distance. The patter of rain sounded like the angry murmurs of an audience bored at a show. Her hand slipped on the slimy stone and brushed against something that felt like a dirty ring of metal. She pulled at it and it snapped out of her hand with a whiz.
Old gears groaned around her, the sound of metal scraping filled her ears. Under it all came the rushing sound of wine being poured into a deep cup. A glow started next to her, yellow and glittery. It lit up the chain she had pulled before shooting up along a glass tube to spread out along the wall in a bizarre pattern. More lights bloomed on the other side of the room. They worked their way up the walls to the ceiling where they pooled into a large glass dome. Dirt muted the light somewhat, but the glass sun overhead illuminated the massive foyer. The light was so bright it hurt her eyes.
She ran her
fingers over the thick glass tube, marveled at the shimmering gas undulating within. It was a rarity outside all but the richest mansions. Mary had only seen the golden smoke once before when she had made a delivery of fine wines to House Dabos on the coast. The alchemical creation was otherworldly. An alien beauty that fascinated her now as much as it did then.
What was this place? She thought.
Judging by the giant barred doors to her right and the grand staircase, this was the main hall. The carpet here was ripped and scorched in places. Wood and fabrics rotted in heaps all around; along with broken, featureless statues. Something foul spoiled the air. It smelled of wet frogs and corpse-thickened water. She made the rounds at the piles of junk, netting a slightly tarnished set of silverware and an intact figurine of a sphinx much like the one from the woods. A sound caught her attention.
It was just a little louder than the distant shouting of the wind. It was sporadic, like the croak of a frog or the wet smack of a rock thrown into mud. Mary headed toward the noise, up the cracked stairs and onto a landing with an intact statue. It was a grand thing. One of the black robed men but with the hood thrown back and arms outstretched to the light above. The face was
Dead Letters: In The Ruins Of Hope Page 5