JAKE COLLINS

Bury the Castle

VOLUME ONE

On A Saturday
A COLLECTION OF FICTION VIGNETTES

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ISBN 1449945430

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 CONTENTS

Bury the Castle

VOLUME ONE

On A Saturday
A COLLECTION OF FICTION
VIGNETTES

135

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Bury the Castle
VOLUME ONE

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 CHAPTER ONE

Careful

The girl awoke from her tormented slumber with a

whimper. Leaving her lungs and sliding over her bitten
lips, her gasp emerged softer than it had been while
building momentum in her chest. She focused her eyes,
her pupils expanded as they begged for more light. She
was still in her own chambers. She moved her legs out
from under the heavy linen covers and allowed her feet
to hover above the ground for a second, swaying them
back and forth. The sensitive flesh of her bare soles only
just scraped against the floor each time they reached the
bottom of their arch, creating just enough friction to
flare the skin, if only for a few moments. When she
eventually pressed down against the wood, her delicate
toes took the brunt of the cold, leaving them a slight
shade of blue. She winced as they ached with a glassy
shiver: sharp and fragile.
Folding the rest of the duvets away from her
body she revealed her white silk night gown, hand
embroidered with butterflies and flowers. The thin layer
of material swathed her slight frame, acting as her only
protection against the midnight shivers. It was given to
her by someone very dear to her heart, and so to keep it
safe she took it off, being careful not to fuss her hair as
she did. When the last of the material brushed her ears,

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she scampered across to the wardrobe, ignoring the
biting current of air circulating around the room,
stroking her exposed skin and teasing up goosebumps
from her arms and legs. She chose a dress, and slid into it,
the minimal warmth it offered dulling the effect of the
chill in the room. When she was comfortable, she walked
forwards, passed her slippers without so much as a
glance, and opened the door.
The corridors were lonely at night. None of the
lights were turned on, but the illumination the moon
offered was more than enough, basking the manor in a
silvery shroud that seemed to add a faded glimmer to the
edges of everything in its reach. As the girl passed several
rooms, the floorboards creaked beneath her toes, but she
was not worried. The manor was for too large; she was
certain that the groans and creaks produced would be
lost to the ears of anyone but herself. When she reached
the staircase, she slowly made her way down to the main
entrance hall, making sure that her dress was out of the
way of her feet with each step. After a few uncertain
seconds, she closed her eyes, keeping them like that until
she eventually came to the base of the stairs. She dared a
glance, and her eyes widened as her hair was softly
tousled by a stray gust of wind. The front door before
her was wide open -– hanging precariously on its
hinges.
The girl turned around, away from the
unwelcome wind entering through the opening into the
outside world, and then ran.
She travelled deeper, and deeper into the
mansion. She had not gone back up the stairs, that
would have taken too much time. Instead, she had ran

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into the east wing. When she passed under the arch, and
into a narrow corridor, she remembered that there were
no windows here. It was completely black, but the girl
did not stop running. The gale behind her seemed to
build in momentum, almost feeding her through the
desolate corridor, and as she tugged at the skirts which
ensnared her legs, she messily wiped her cheeks dry.
In her disarray, the girl fell to the ground. Her
knees hit the floor first, and for the first time ever, she
thought that the sound might have been harsh enough
to stir someone from their slumber. She stayed there,
crouched close to the ground with her head in her
hands -- unaware that the cold had subsided, and that
the wind no longer stirred around her.
A few seconds later, when the girl finally looked
up, she found herself staring blankly at the wall in front
of her. Her tongue faltered, and her throat croaked;
nothing more than a whimper passed her lips. Closing
her intent eyes, she drew a long, uneasy breath -- her
soft features bathed in a deep blue glow.

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 CHAPTER TWO

The Letter

Benjamin Fleet had always loved sailing, though, it was

not his greatest passion. He had never been fortunate
enough to combine his two favourite pastimes, since he
thought it would prove quite difficult to handle a paint
brush whilst enduring the unpredictable tides, but being
out on the open seas was certainly good for inspiration,
if nothing else. Benjamin looked out over the side of
The Aubridge, his very own transport ship, and
contemplated how the steady ocean reflected the sunrise.
He closed his eyes and envisioned the busy day he had
planned. If all went well, by this time tomorrow he
would be working under the banner of Count Indrall of
Turnshire, the richest man he had ever been asked to
complete a contract for.
“Sir!--”
Benjamin's eyes snapped open at the sound of
the outburst. “Yes, Thomas. What is it?”
“We've arrived, Mr Fleet.”

As The Aubridge pulled into shore, Benjamin gathered

together the last of his belongings. He packed away his
books, paints, papers and the rest of his tools, after which
he let Thomas, the only man other than himself
Benjamin trusted to sail his beloved Aubridge, know that

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he was done. After some quick goodbyes, Fleet and two
chaperones collected his luggage, then packed it into the
carriage.
“Good luck, old friend,” said Thomas, who was
chewing on the tip of his hunting knife at the time. It
was a bad habit which the ship hand had always
entertained, and no matter how many times he saw it,
Benjamin could not dispel his feeling of uneasiness.
“I swear to Devron, Thomas, one day you will
lose that tongue.”
“And if not by the knife, I am sure some
contractor will eventually grow tired of my wise-
cracking, eh?” Thomas sheathed the knife long enough
to shake Benjamin's hand, “and when that happens, I
trust you will be there to lecture me.”
The two men shared a smile. Fleet nodded, then
turned around without another word.
He glanced around in search of Aliea. The last
time he had seen her she had been watching over the
side of the boat, staring into the sea. He reasoned that
she would still be there now, so he passed a stack of
luggage, and climbed the wooden ladder onto the
Aubridge, for which the Count had already secured a
place in the harbour on his behalf. He did not
completely trust the worn rungs to withstand the
burden of his weight, but, as always, the old wooden
fixture managed to maintain its shape under his feet. His
repeated concern every time he climbed up to the ship
was almost certainly misplaced, but he never had liked
ladders.
True to his deduction, there she was. She was not
quite tall enough to see over the top banister, so she had
pressed her cheeks against the vertical bars beneath to
see out to the waves, her hands gripping the rungs either

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side.
“You'll fall, if you're not careful.” Benjamin
teased his adopted daughter and stroked her hair, which
was tied up in twin pigtails. She strained her neck and
pulled her cheeks away from their resting place, letting
her eyes meet his. The bars had left slight red marks on
her skin, but within seconds they began to fade away, the
rosy blotches disappearing to show her fair, scarcely
freckled skin once again. Her mouth tweaked into a
smile before dropping into a concerned frown.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
After a moments pause she leaned her back
against the railings, then turned her attention to the
clouds above. “Do you think my birth parents visited
here? Before I was born?”
He had no idea.
Aliea's parents had both perished in a house fire
when she was only three years old. There was no one
else to take her in, and since the Fleet family had always
been close with the now seven year old girl's biological
parents, he offered to care for her without a second
thought. Of course, he was completely unprepared for
the trials of raising a child, but over the years he had
learned to love her as his own. She must have thought of
him as a real parent too; although she had always known
he was of no blood relation to her, she had always called
him 'father'. He hadn't asked her to, and although he
wished to respect her late parents' with whom he had
been close, he hadn't objected to it either -- he couldn't
bring himself to.
Not knowing how to respond to her inquiry, he
remained silent, choosing instead to follow her gaze. The
sky was practically blank, with barely even a rippling of
clouds visible. He noticed a solitary bird, plunging

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through the sky. For a second it appeared almost as if the
seagull displaced the clouds in its wake, forging a wispy
denotation across the ocean skies. Aliea spoke again.
“Probably not. It's a long way from here to
Abelia.”
Fleet looked back inland and saw that everyone
was ready. They were only waiting for him now. He
decided to try to ease her mind.
“I think I heard them mention Turnshire once --
yes. I don't remember if they had visited, but I was told a
few good tales.”
Aliea turned back to him, giggled, then took
hold of his hand.
“Let's go, Father.”

***

The carriage journey was swift, providing no

obstruction to the plan. He was still very much within
the grace period for his meeting with the Count, and for
that he thanked the Lord. The Manor was detached from
the rest of Turnshire, atop of a gently sloped mountain to
the west. After a few minutes more, the horse drawn
carriage pulled up to the outermost plaza, and he
watched as the gates opened. He sat back, and looked at
Aliea. Her mind was so young – an immaculate canvas
upon which he had worked her entire life. She was a
piece of art that had not yet been completed, and one
which he also feared would never be finished to a
suitable degree of perfection.
He closed his eyes, and remembered the moment
it had arrived. A sealed envelope sent from Count
Indrall's estate had been dropped in with the rest of the
mail, as if it held no significance at all. For some time he

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was certain that it had been a mistake. Why in the world
would such a great man require an artist from Abelia, of
all places? The invitation was not sent directly from the
Count's desk, something he could tell simply by glancing
at the effeminate strokes of ink strewn across the page.

Mr. Benjamin Fleet.

Before I begin, I would like to apologize for the
abrupt nature of this letter. I understand that we have
never met, nor have I ever written to you before, but I
can assure you, I would not have stitched the first
threads of contact between us so hastily unless I felt it
truly necesarry. If this letter is to short notice, or does
not reach you in time, please disregard it completely, as it
is not my intention to burden you in such a manor...

At first, it puzzled him that an artefact sent on

behalf of such a prestigious man would contain as many
errors in spelling and grammar as it did, but he had tried
to disregard these details; not everyone understood
language like he did.
The hand written letter was signed at the bottom
with the name Mairi Indrall, whom he had assumed to
be a close relative of the Count. For some reason, he had
studied this inked signature more than anything else:
how the curve at the foot of the M ran flush with the I
of Indrall, before veering off to the right of the page. It
was a woman's writing, there was no question, and
although this was strange, it was far from the most
curious thing about the letter. He would not have
noticed were it not for luck, but when he removed the
page from its envelope several days after its arrival, he
saw something that worried him. On the inside of the
envelope, in a corner that would usually be concealed by

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the parchment, was a deep red blotch.
Of course, he did not take this lightly, but despite
his fears, he had to concede that there were many
perfectly rational explanations for the seemingly
ominous mark. It was only small, about the size of a
small copper coin, but it was there nonetheless. He
discarded the most obvious answer, instead telling
himself that there was such a thing as red ink, but he did
not believe himself, not for a second.
He had still harboured a certain amount of
scepticism, but the swatch of crimson hidden away inside
the envelope had only deepened his curiosity.

He was excited.

Still awkwardly unsure of the legitimacy of the

invitation, he had written back, confirming that he
would like to meet the Count in person to discuss the
matter in more detail, all the while, the mystery of the
envelope never leaving his thoughts. He hoped he wasn't
making a mistake.

***

They were welcomed at the main entrance of the

Count's Estate by a frail looking man in a suit, then
escorted up three flights of stairs. Apparently the Count
had several other appointments lined up for the
morning, and so had no time to waste. Sure enough,
after no longer than five minutes waiting in the manor,
he was greeted by Indrall himself.
The Count was a marvellous specimen of a man.
He had dark black hair, cropped and trimmed to a neat
finish, leading down into a glorious beard, the likes of

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which Fleet had never seen before. It was long and
shared the colour of his crown, but punctuating the wiry
hairs were slashes of grey, adding a sense of wisdom and
knowledge to the man's face that could only be achieved
in such a manner. He was broad and tall, but not as tall as
Fleet himself, and when the Count took his hand in
greetings, the top of his head came up level to Fleet's eye
line. He was dressed in formal wear, a dark red cloak
overshadowing his leather tunic, embellished with the
steely sheen of metal here and there. Just below he
donned long, unshapely cloth trousers, held up by a
banded belt with a silver buckle. It looked almost as if he
were about to go into battle.
Indrall doubled back into the room from which
he had came, and invited Fleet and Aliea to do the same.
His garb clinked and rattled as he sat down behind his
desk. The office was an unexpectedly small room. In the
centre stood his desk, surrounded by stacks of haphazard
literature. The walls, each one of them hidden behind
another bookshelf, were dark brown, and behind the
desk spreading the entire width of the back wall was a
huge window, looking out onto the valley leading into
the town. Benjamin sat down on a large arm chair, and
Aliea followed. Initially she had motioned to take
position on her fathers lap, but thinking this too
informal, he encouraged her to take a seat on another
chair, just to the right of his own. She had changed her
clothes before leaving the boat, and was now wearing a
blue dress with her hair tied up with a red bow, dressed
with a head piece that her mother had left her.
The Count looked up to verbally address Fleet
for the first time since they had met. “Good afternoon, I
am Count Indrall. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr
Fleet.” He moved aside some papers and books to create

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space on his desk, and poured some tea from a steaming
pot into two cups, “How do you like my home? I think
you can agree, it's quite splendid.”
Fleet nodded, “Yes, of course, It's really quite –
something.” The Count smiled as he offered Fleet one of
the cups. Benjamin liked his tea with milk, but he didn't
say anything.
“Yes. Well, I'm sure we both have things to do, so
lets not tip-toe around why we are here-” he paused
without warning, “should I pour another cup of tea for
you daughter?” Fleet shook his head. Aliea didn't like hot
beverages, she found the way they burnt her tongue
most unsettling. “Very well. Now, I have called you here
for a reason, Mr Fleet. I have a task, that I fear no man
other than yourself will be able to achieve, that's why I
paid for you to be docked here in Turnshire. I don't
usually indulge in such frivolous spending Mr Fleet, as
I'm sure you can tell, but this is a special occasion
indeed.”
“Okay,” the Craftsman ran his tongue over his
front teeth, before allowing himself to ask the question
which had been on his lips for a while now, “but, I am
still confused as to what it is, exactly, that you want me
to do.” Although he had been sent a somewhat formal
invitation to hold a meeting with Indrall, he had not
been given any specifics as to what the task at hand
would be. Such details were not always included in a
contractors first letter to an artist.
The Count looked down at his cup of tea, and
Fleet could swear he saw a smile flicker across his lips
before he looked up again.
“Understandable, but the task I require of you
would take far too long to explain in the short space of
time we have available before my next appointment. I'm

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a very busy man you see. ”
“Of course, Sir.”
“All I need from you right now is your assurance
that you are the man for the job. But, Mr Fleet, I have
not made a special effort to accommodate both you and
your daughter in my home, only to be disappointed. If
you are not prepared for a challenge, I will not be
offended if you turn down my offer. Rest assured
though, that what I am to ask of you is a reasonable
request.”
Benjamin allowed himself a glance towards Aliea.
She was sitting silently with her eyes not completely
focused on the desk before her, as if she was looking
through a dense fog.
“I can assure you, I am the right man for the
job.” Fleet would have been a fool to turn down such an
offer. He had waited his whole life for an opportunity of
this magnitude, and so, half blinded by excitement, he
nodded. “I have not been posed with a challenge I was
not able to overcome in all of my life. Thank you for
your generous proposal my Lord, I will gladly accept. ”
The Count was satisfied. “Very well, now, if you
do excuse me, I-” The Count's sentence was cut short
when the door to his office was opened. The two men,
and girl, all looked around in unison to identify the
cause of the sudden disturbance.
“Father, you requested an audience with me?”
When the Count responded to the new voice, he
appeared to have been caught off guard. “Ah, I
almost forgot, yes, I will have to introduce you before I
go.”
Fleet immediately stood up, it was only polite
when in the company of a young woman. The person
that had entered the office, remained stood by the door.

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She clasped her hands together in front of her, thrust
against her body. Her long blond hair cloaked her back,
and spilled over her shoulders which lay rigid, as if she
were frightened or nervous. Her long white dress
flooded in a pool of milky satin at her feet and a laced
over-jacket concealed her bosom. Her fair skin - slightly
obscured by her golden flicks of fringe, just covering the
top of her right eye – was perfectly clear, and oddly
reminiscent of fresh paper, ready to be marked for the
first time.
“Uh-,” He stuttered, as he bowed and offered her
his hand. She didn't take it. Embarrassed Fleet
straightened his back. The woman bowed her head as a
slight laughter passed her lips.
“Papa,” Aliea whispered, tugging at his tailcoats,
“You look a fool.” Aliea, showing her flourishing
maturity for the first time since their visit, was quite
right. He stepped back to his seat.
“Mairi, this is Benjamin Fleet, that'll be Mr Fleet
to you. Benjamin, this is my daughter.”
Had he said Mairi? The sender of the letter? He
remembered the name so fondly, it was almost as if he
had known the girl for years.
“He's here to start work, and I will require you
to show him and his daughter to their room. Get
acquainted on the way, I'm sure you'll find something to
discuss. Now, I do apologise for the brief nature of this
introduction, but I must be going.” The Count stood up,
and adjusted his sleeves. “Get some rest today Fleet, you
look awful.” Sparing no more words for either Benjamin,
or his daughter, he left. The cup of tea on his desk sat
completely untouched.

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 CHAPTER THREE

Mairi Indrall

Benjamin ran a hand through his messy, dark hair, which

he then hastily flicked into a neat parting. He had
completely neglected to properly groom himself for the
occasion in his fluster. Mairi hadn't moved, rather, she
surveyed him with her cool green eyes. He had heard of
eyes burrowing into people's souls before, but not until
now had he experienced it. She was digging deeper than
anyone had ventured before. He felt her unwelcome
curiosity almost as strongly as she must have.
“Let us go.”
To his shock, the girl broke the silence, and
turned away with a pinpointed eloquence, her dress
floating behind her as she went. Her voice was one of
utmost quality. The remnants of her words licked his ears
a few times, their softness comforting, yet their grace and
educated tone defying her age. Aliea stood and took
hold of her father's hand.
“She is . . . odd.”
“Aliea, be polite. We are her company. Don't
speak of her in such terms.”
“I'm sorry Papa, but, you think so too; I can tell.”
“No, I don't. Now, let us follow her. We want to
get to know our accommodation for the near future.
Unless, of course, you would rather sleep on canvas for

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the time being.”
He lead Aliea out of the room, making sure to
shut the office door on his way out. Mairi had already
walked some distance. Fleet noticed she was making her
way towards a staircase. He had so many questions he
wanted to ask.
The Manor was far grander than any home he
had ever witnessed before. The sheer spectacle of the
architecture and ground work stunned Benjamin, as a
creator himself, into submission. A rigid colour scheme
of yellows, browns, and reds repeated throughout, and
each room seemed to possess taller ceilings, display more
art, and emit a greater spectacle than the last. The
corridors themselves were wide, with ornaments and
mementoes littering the passages. The Count was
obviously an art connoisseur, or perhaps just a collector
with a fine palette for beauty. He had on show some of
the most original and obscure pieces Benjamin had seen
in a long time. A part of his mind hoped that he had not
been called here to paint for the Count, he had more
than enough work here to satisfy even the most ravenous
artistic appetite.
As he hurried along, dragging Aliea behind him,
they finally caught up with Mairi. She had already
reached the stairs. The main staircase was a few minutes
down the corridor, this was a much smaller, almost
standard sized variation; presumably just for private use
to travel between floors more conveniently.
“Mairi,” he tried to attract her attention.
“Yes, Mr Fleet.”
“Please, call me Ben”
Aliea furrowed her brow in subtle confusion.
“Ben? No one calls you Ben.”
He gave her hand a squeeze that was probably

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just a little too tight, and she drew a sharp breath in her
culmination of shock and dismay.
“Ben it is,” Mairi replied, “do you have a query?”
“No, not exactly.”
“Your full name is Benjamin, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“You must be from Abelia. They have queer
names like that there, don't they? I once met a man
named Jack. I have no idea what inspires people to
decide on such names for their children, but, Benjamin is
nice, at least.”
“Thank you. Yes, I know many men named Jack,
it is a good strong name.” He noticed his opportunity to
ask a question of his own. “Mairi, it was you that sent
me the invitation, was it not?”
Mairi looked back and smiled at Fleet. “Yes, it
was. I apologize on my Father's behalf that he couldn't
address you personally until now, but he is in very high
demand.”
“Oh, no, it is not a problem.” Although Mairi
had given her reasons, Benjamin was not entirely
convinced that she was being truthful.
Mairi resumed where she had left off. “So, why
did you decide to leave Abelia?”
“Well, I was offered this job. I couldn't turn it
down, it's more than an honour to be here.” They came
to the top of the flight of stairs, and turned to climb
another, ignoring the floor they were standing on. Fleet
managed a slight glance down the corridor. Exactly how
far up was his room?
Aliea took the liberty to intervene at this point,
forcing her timid nature to one side to add to the
conversation.
“I don't have a Abelian name, my mother was

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from over seas.”
“Is that so?” Mairi humoured the child, “You
shall have to tell me of your mother if we find ourselves
a free moment.” Fleet stopped for a second as he
anticipated his adopted daughter's response.
“Oh, she is dead, ma'am.”
Count Indrall's daughter allowed a slight hand to
travel the length of her blonde hair. Resting her fingers
on her shoulder, she looked away. “I know.”
Benjamin flashed a blank stare at the woman
before him.
“What seems to be the problem, Mr Fleet?” She
asked.
Fleet composed himself, swallowing down the
back of his tongue to moisten his throat. He had heard
her correctly, there was no doubt about that. For now
he assumed that her father had already told her the
details regarding their guests, and using that logic, which
was more than reasonable, he could dismiss the
seemingly odd statement as one that was not odd at all.
“As I instructed you earlier, call me Ben.” He
carried on walking, pulling Aliea in his tow, assuming he
knew the general direction they were headed. If his
instincts were right, they were to head upwards many
more floors until they came to their destination.
The stairs seemed to stretch on forever. On the
outside it appeared to be only a five story building, but
on the inside they had traversed far more than five sets
of stairs. This confused him, but he had been mulling it
over inside his head, as was his nature. Maybe it was
some kind of trickery? Machinery? An illusion? Maybe
he was not walking at all, and had been dreaming, worse
still, perhaps he had been drugged by the Count. The Tea
did taste a little odd-

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 “Put your mind at ease,” Mairi interjected,
scattering his less-than-well-crafted line of thought.
“The building is only five stories tall, yes, not including
the multitude of basement levels, of course. The
reasoning behind them will come clear soon enough.”
Putting aside his paranoia ridden hypothesis for
now, he took her word for it.
“I'll take your word for it.”
Aliea prodded the Count's daughter with her left
index finger. “Excuse me, ma'am, how many more flights
of stairs are there, exactly?”
“Aliea-”
“It is quite alright, Mr Fleet,” said Mairi. She
came to the top of the steps they were currently
climbing, and stopped. “We are here.” Benjamin rejoiced
in the opportunity to rest his weary legs. Aliea broke
hand contact, ran over to a chair in the corner of the
landing, then jumped into it to rest.
“Be careful!” Benjamin commanded. Aliea
allowed her discontent to appear on her face, but only
momentarily. It quickly disappeared and Fleet took a few
moments to examine the area they had entered.
They were stood in another corridor, and it
appeared that they were now at the very top of the
building, as there were no more stairs leading upwards.
The corridor stretched rightwards from the mouth of
the staircase, and looking down into the space he made
out one door, at the very end, roughly thirty feet away.
The rest of the passage, unlike every other, was
completely, and utterly blank. The walls were painted
white here, and there were no paintings or sculptures to
be appreciated. The only thing between them and the
door, was the grand, red upholstered chair that Aliea sat
upon, her legs crossed, nestled up to her chin. It made

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Fleet realise how cold this part of the mansion was.
“Is this where I am to be working?” He asked his
escort. She nodded, her blond hair flowing in the
unsettling draft like a sheet in a stirring breeze.
“Yes Sir. This is where you will work and sleep
while you stay with us. I do appreciate that it is a little
out of the way, but, I am sure you will understand once
you begin to make progress tomorrow.” Mairi was as
proper as she had been when they first met, the
sharpened tongue concealed behind her lips docile once
again. He wondered if she was smarter than she let on;
smarter than she wanted her father to think she was.
“Thank you for your guidance. I trust I will have
everything I need?”
“Yes.You will be able to make yourself at home
straight away. Once you do, feel free to explore the
manor. My father would like you to get as strong a feel
for the building as possible, for nothing less is required
for the success of an undertaking such as the challenge
you have accepted.”
Fleet looked back at Aliea who was toying with
her hair. She had taken out the headpiece and let her
brown locks, each hair straighter than a sewing pin, fall
down over her knees.
“Thank you.” He said to the Countess.
“Dinner will be served at eight,” she turned to
walk back down the stairs, “Don't be late now, you don't
want to upset my father on your first day.”

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 CHAPTER FOUR

Escape

Zeyku opened his eyes. He was running – but, he didn't

know why. He didn't stop, instead he allowed his
instincts to drain every last sliver of energy from within
him, disregarding the flaming pain engulfing his muscles,
and ignoring the fact that his breathing had been
reduced to a subdued wheeze, grating at the back of his
throat. It hurt. He ran.
He listened to the sound of his feet hitting the
ground, kicking up mounds of mud, clogging his shoes
with the stodgy earth. There was no one around. It was
almost night time, and the sun was setting in the far sky.

He stopped.

He stood deadly still in the thick silence of the dusk. In

that one moment of contemplation –- above all the
noise, scratching at his insides -- he realised it was
raining.

By the time Zeyku had snapped back into reality, it was

dark. The gentle, yet still somehow intense light of the
moon refracted through each single droplet of rain. Rain
ricocheted off the ground in a myriad of watery geysers,
falling at such a speed it bounced back up a few feet at a

27
time. Never had he known the town to be so desolate.
Be started to run again. With each step he took, the
splashing of rain water seemed as far off as the incessant
click of the curious mosquitoes that explored the night,
anxious for the next signs of daybreak. He ran for what
seemed like an eternity, but he knew that he can't have
been going for much longer than two minutes or so. A
tearing pain in his legs dizzied his mind, but although it
was mercilessly cold, the icy air did not faze him.
By the time the familiar sight of Rin's Ale House
greeted his gaze, he was sodden, and the rain had shown
no sign of relenting, not for a while at least. He took a
long, weighted breath, then reached out to open the
wooden door to the Inn. It didn't open. He fumbled in
his pockets, rain water sopping through his fingers as his
palms worked their way over his body. He had keys.
They had to be with him, for otherwise he would be
exposed to the storm for a length of time which he
feared he could not endure. His fingers touched icy
metal, and his similarly icy breath escaped from between
his bitten lips in a sigh of relief. Working renewed life
into his fingers, he slotted the key into the door, and
turned it. As the cogs turned, and bronze brushed
bronze, his burden was lifted. The door opened.
He clawed at his purple hair - heavy with
perspiration as well as water - away from his face. The
darkness with which he was presented allowed him
precious time to explore his thoughts. He was alone;
where had his companion disappeared to? His entire
body screamed for warmth. The rain had chilled him to
the bone, and so he tore off his jacket, ripped away his
tunic, and slipped out of his trousers. As each layer of
dripping apparel fell away from his fair, sore hide, he bit
at his tongue. The cold embraced his every inch. Naked,

28
sick, and overwhelmed, he stiffened his muscles, before
dragging himself behind the bar. He pulled away
handfuls of straw from the pile set aside for fuel to the
fire, and laid in the basket. Sinking into the prickly,
rough shavings, he silently remarked he had never felt so
comfortable.

***

Morning. Zeyku desperately clung on to the final shards

of his sleep, pulling himself as far in to the trance as he
dared. It was better there. Secure in his own sub-
concious, no threats, with only his dreams to taunt him.
He let go, through nothing other than necessity; he was
not strong enough. Zeyku felt himself steadily slipping
back to reality. Daylight shone through the thin skin of
his eyelids, just enough to stir him from his slumber. He
opened his left eye. Sticky. He pulled a little more
forcefully, and it snapped open. Working the sleep away
with a few consecutive blinks, Zeyku was awake. Slowly
and reluctantly, he opened his other eye, his real world
quickly coming into unforgiving focus. Light was
streaming through the planked walls of the Inn,
highlighting the specks of dust and lint floating through
the air in each sunburst. Although he had no idea how
he managed to fall asleep, he strived to order the
menagerie of events inside his head. Sitting up in his
haystack, he caught sight of his clothes, strewn about the
room. He stumbled out of his makeshift bed, and
gathered them to conserve his modesty. They were still
of no use: absolutely wet through from the night, he
could not wear these for fear of catching his death.
Realising that he couldn't walk around naked either, he
plundered the Inn's safe, and found the key to the pantry.

29
The safe was easy to crack, especially for Zeyku, since he
had the code. Trust was something that he valued highly,
and so he was certain that Rin would not mind if he
took a few clothes from the back room. It was as he was
unlocking the door to the pantry that he suddenly
became aware of the fact that there was no one around.
He was not aware of the time, but from the blazing rays
of the sun he could safely come to the conclusion that it
was a good few hours into the day. The Inn was usually
busy at such a time, and Zeyku could offer no
explanation to himself as to why Rin had not found him
there and woken him. He found his way into the pantry,
and grabbed a pair or overalls, the kind that the kitchen
staff wore. Wrapping himself up in the dark grey cotton,
he felt much safer. More secure.
He decided not to disturb Rin and his family.
They must be upstairs, he thought to himself, maybe the
Inn is closed today, so they haven't been downstairs yet.
He made sure his overalls were fastened, and made his
way out of the pantry. As he came to the stairs, he
listened. Nothing –- complete silence. Perhaps they were
asleep.
Moving away from the staircase, he tried to
forget about his old friend; he couldn't drag Rin into his
mess. He gathered the items of importance from his
clothes. Money, keys, that sort of thing, took a bag from
one of the cupboards in the pantry, and placed all of his
belongings into it. He focused on his breathing and tried
to think. What did he do now? It occurred to him that
although it was daytime, there was no noise coming
from outside. It confused him. Maybe it was much
earlier than he had anticipated; if it was still five in the
morning, that would explain why the streets were so
quiet. He did not want to stay here much longer. He

30
considered writing a note to Rin, explaining that he had
taken a few things, but thought it best not to include the
innocent man in his escape.
After taking a few moments to say goodbye, he
opened the door to the Inn, and stepped straight into
the brightest white light he had ever seen.

31
 CHAPTER FIVE

Home

It didn't take long for the two to get comfortable. The

room was large, in fact, it wasn't just a room, it was a
suite. Perhaps a penthouse of some sort. There was the
main room, with two couches and a large window; a
modest office, for Benjamin to work in, on the left; and a
bedroom with two beds to the right.
After a spending a short hour or so in the suite,
Benjamin decided he should use the time between now
and dinner to get acquainted with the manor.
“Can I come with you? Please?” Aliea was
perched on the edge of her single bed, fixing her hair
with a large flat brush. It was her favourite, left for her
by her mother, similar to the hairpiece which she had
removed earlier. She put down the brush, leaving it next
to one of the down-filled pillows, before rushing over to
accompany Benjamin, who was stood at a window
enjoying the view into the lush gardens of the Count's
estate. He turned his head and replied.
“I don't see why not. It would be good, in fact,
to explore our new home together.” The window was
quite high, so he lifted her up by her waist and held her
in a fashion that allowed her to see through to the still
bright blue sky.
“Our new home?”
Although he could not see her face, he could tell

32
from her tone of voice that she was not pleased to hear
him use that word.
“You think we will be here for-” she faltered for
a second, before continuing, “a long time?”
Benjamin allowed his chin to settle on her
shoulder. “I don't know. Don't tell me you are missing
Abelia already?” Despite the playful nature of his
comment, Aliea responded with an adamance which he
did not foresee.
“No. I was just wondering. We've only been away
for a week, after all.” She raised her knees and rested her
feet on the windowsill, inadvertently putting extra
weight on her father's arm, which was supporting her
from under her thighs. For a second he was worried that
he might drop her, but he managed to hold on, even
with his limited strength. After this, she moved onto a
more detached subject. “The gardens are amazing!” Fleet
was relieved to hear some joy in her voice.
“Let's go out there – now.”
“Really?”
He would happily do anything to make her feel
more at home. Kissing her on the cheek, he lowered her
down. “Yes Aliea, really.”
She beamed at him, then ran over to her bed to
retrieve a hair pin from her suitcase, which she put in
place before offering out her hand.
“Then let's get moving!”

***

The two had spent the next hour or so out in

the greenery surrounding the manor. They were, as Aliea
had told him, incredibly beautiful, and even more
expansive than he had originally realised. There were

33
workers out here too, a plentiful supply of gardeners and
landscapers. Unlike inside the house, Fleet understood
why there had to be so many people out here tending to
the yards. They were stunning. Plants which he had
never seen before adorned the vast courtyards, and water
fountains littered the multiple fields, spurting water out
into the crisp mountain air. When he looked up, he
could see the sun filtering through the trees, casting its
light in strips across the deep greens and rich browns of
the foliage beneath. As they moved further away from
the manor, the air got sweeter. The nectar of the flowers
thickening the syrupy aroma, clogging the air, and
overpowering Fleets nose and throat, threatening to tip
him over onto the wrong side of his allergies. Aliea had
spent the time playing with birds on the grass, pecking at
the ground for their daytime snack. At one point, a dove
had even flown down to meet her, and she had chased it
for a good few minutes before it tired of her antics and
flew off. Fleet himself had dedicated the time to his art.
The views were perfect for inspiration, and he toyed
with the idea of starting a drawing there and then, but
without the equipment, he was forced to keep the ideas
in reserve for the next time they found themselves out
here. After they had tired of the sunlight and commotion
of the construction in the yards, Fleet decided it would
be a good use of his time to get to know Turnshire.

“But, I want to stay out here longer!” Aliea was

not pleased by his decision.
“I'm sorry but it's not negotiable. You've seen
enough for today. We can come back tomorrow if you
like,” he paused, “you are going to have a lot of free time
on your hands.”
“Well, can I not stay out here while you go out

34
into town?”
“Do not argue with me. It would not be safe for
you to stay here unsupervised.”
“Sir-”
This time it was an unfamiliar voice that had
interjected into their conversation.
“Sir, the Count sent me to speak with you about
your daughter.”
Benjamin and Aliea both turned to meet their
new acquaintance. Stood before them was a middle aged
woman with brown hair, scraped into a bun at the nape
of her neck. She was dressed in light brown tunic and a
long pencil skirt that almost concealed her feet.
Benjamin offered her his hand.
“Yes, of course.” He studied her face before
continuing. “Have we met?”
“No, Sir. I was told that you would be arriving
today though. You and your daughter. We weren't
supposed to meet until tomorrow, but I noticed you
both here and-”
Aliea looked up at her Father with cautious eyes.
He took note of her concern and pressed the woman
further.
“What business do you have with my daughter,
ma'am?”
The woman patted down her tunic with her
right hand, and retrieved a small scrap of paper from a
breast pocket with her left.
“Here.”
Benjamin took the piece of paper in hand.
Studying it with care, he noticed immediately that this
was Mairi's handwriting. The woman – whose name he
was unsure of – spoke while he read.
“The Count has instructed me to ask if you

35
would like your daughter to be home schooled. By me
Sir. He hired me especially.” When the woman was
finished, Fleet took a generous breath before he spoke.
“You are sure that it was the Count himself who
asked you to do this?”
“Yes, of course. Who else?”
The note was not signed like the letter he had
received, but despite some small changes in style, the
handwriting was definitely hers. The ability to analyse
handwriting was one of the few things that he felt
confident he was good at, so there was no reason for him
to doubt this woman. There was one thing, however, that
concerned him. Unlike the formal invitation Mairi had
written to him a week prior, this note contained
immaculate spelling and grammar. Not a single mistake.
He took note of some of the seemingly arbitrary
differences in certain letters, and then handed the
woman back the parchment. He was planning on
schooling Aliea himself over the coming weeks, or
months, however long it took, but he saw no reason to
refuse help when it was offered.
“Never mind. I recognise and trust that
handwriting, so you have my trust as well. Did you tell
me your name?”
The woman smiled. “My name is April.” She
noticed his perplexed reaction, and explained, “I know,
you've probably never heard it before. I was named after
one of the months in the Durayan calender. My Father
was somewhat of an expert in their culture.”
Noticing, and yet still ignoring her use of the
word 'was', Fleet looked down at Aliea, who in turn
looked up to April.
“How do you do, April? I am Aliea Fleet,
daughter of Benjamin Fleet.”

36
 April allowed herself a small moment of laughter.
“Like I said, I wasn't supposed to meet you until much
later tomorrow, but I couldn't help overhearing, and I
would like to offer to take your daughter off your hands
while you go into town. We could get a head start on
things. Classes won't officially start, but I would love to
get to know you, Aliea.” She smiled at the girl, who
smiled back. It wasn't often Aliea warmed to strangers
like this, and since Fleet knew this woman had Mairi's
blessing, he felt inclined to trust her. Besides, he was sure
that no harm would come to either of them inside the
Count's Estate. If it was that easy for a corrupt individual
to penetrate the security, the Count would not have
been as successful as he was.
“Would you like that, Aliea?” He asked. She
released her grasp of his hand, and nodded.
“Yes – but, can we stay out here, Miss?”
It seemed she was happy to do anything to stay
in the gardens. Fleet silently hoped that April would say
yes. To his relief, she laughed and held out her own hand
for Aliea to take.
“Of course. We can sit beside the fountain. It has
only just passed noon, so there will be plenty of sunshine
for us to enjoy yet.”
“Well, this has turned out well for all of us.”
Benjamin crouched down, and said goodbye. “I will be
back in an hour or two. Be good for April.”
“Yes Sir!” Aliea's happiness was enough to satisfy
him. He quickly kissed her on the cheek, before
embarking on the long walk back in to the heart of
Turnshire.

37
 CHAPTER SIX

A Workman on
the Inside

It was not often that you stumbled upon a town as

unique as Turnshire. It followed all the rules of
conventional towns and cities this side of the Amisterry:
it had a cathedral –- for those who still worshipped God,
despite the great rebellion a few hundred years ago,
which resulted in a largely atheist continent. It had a
sizeable residential area, where the rich population spend
their days; even a work sector, where the men would
labour for their families; but the trade square was where
the heart and soul of Turnshire truly resided. The
Count's estate and the harbour both stemmed from this,
the busiest part of the city, and so it was the only part of
Turnshire that Fleet had properly witnessed himself. The
district was made up of several long, winding, cobbled
streets, with brick buildings lining each side. Most of
these buildings were home to various types of shops,
chemists, tailors, and an abundance of inns. The main
road of each street was practically over encumbered with
stalls and kiosks that offered just about any service you
could imagine. Yes, Turnshire was certainly renowned for
its trading post, and so there were many different kinds
of people here, from all five corners of the world, and as
Fleet explored each alleyway, he thought he managed to

38
draw a curious look from each and every one of them. It
was probably just paranoia, since he was in an unfamiliar
place clogged with unfamiliar people, but he still had the
feeling people were paying particular attention to him.
It was when he stopped at a stall to consider
actually buying something for the fourth time, that
Benjamin recognised someone.
“What are you doing here?”
Mairi dropped what she was doing and turned to
face him, “Ah, Mr Fleet. Getting acquainted with the
city, I assume?”
Mairi was stood at a stall some distance away
from him, so he began to walk towards her. She was
dressed in a summery, knee-length dress, emblazoned
with a colourful pattern, and held a woven basket in her
hands. Her blonde hair was tied up into a ponytail with
a large pink ribbon, but part of her fringe still hung
feathery over her forehead. Even though her current
outfit defied her background, her voice was still heavy
with the educated tone she demonstrated earlier that day.
The two did not get very long to converse, for much to
Benjamin's dismay, a stumbling man came between the
two of them for a second. In his hurry, the man thrust
her to the left, and her waist came in to contact with the
table next to which she was stood. She grunted in pain,
but the man who had struck her did not stop, rather
choosing to ignore her completely. Fleet had not paid
much attention to the man, but he did make out one
thing, a flash of purple. Despite having good reason to
challenge the man, Benjamin paid no attention to him,
instead focusing all of his attention on Mairi, who had
crouched on the floor in her shock. He put his arm
around her shoulder, protecting her from the masses.
“Ugh-” She got up faster than he would have

39
thought possible, shrugging his hand away from her.
“Thank you, Mr Fleet.” Letting her adjust her hair with
a manicured hand, he considered what he would say
next.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. It is not the first time, I am used to it out
here.”
“This is no place for you-”
“Please, Mr Fleet. I would ask of you not to
patronise me.”
“Of course.Yes. I am sorry, Ms Indrall.”
“On the other hand, Fleet, there might be
something you can do for me.”
“Oh, really?” This had piqued his interest.
“Walk with me, Mr Fleet” She stroked her hair
again, and began to walk away from him, down the road.
Not wanting to be left behind he followed her without
question. She made her way through the people with
such grace, it seemed almost as if they parted on her
behalf, but the act was not as easy for Benjamin. He still
found himself pushing past people, forcing others out of
his path. It struck him that he did not know much about
Mairi. He was not even aware of her age.
“Mairi,” He was not sure if she heard him
through all the commotion, but she must have as she
replied, asking him to continue. “Exactly, how old are
you?” He would not notice his social faux pas at this
precise moment for several years to come. She stopped
and turned around, giving him time to catch up.
“I am eighteen, Mr Fleet.”
“Oh.” He had thought her to be older than that,
her decorum suggested a maturity beyond her years.
“Had you thought me older?” Unlike him, she
had not missed his error in asking her age. She resumed

40
walking once he had caught up. Now beside her, he
spoke with greater confidence.
“I had thought nothing of your age, Mairi. Only
very highly of your intellect. You are obviously very well
educated.”
She looked at him directly for the first time since
they joined for this chance meeting. “I have my father to
thank for that. As with my many other fortunes.” She
surveyed the area with haste, taking in the surroundings.
He noticed her eyes darting around, as if searching for
something. They stopped. It looked like she had found
what she was looking for. “Tell me Mr Fleet, are you a
sportsman at all?”
He was taken aback by the odd question she had
posed to him. “Well, no not at all. Why do you pose such
an odd question?”
He saw a change in her one visible eye. “Because
we are going to have to run.”
Much to his surprise, she grabbed hold of his
arm, and started ahead at a much faster speed than he
would have thought she could mange. The two of them
tore through the crowds much easier now. People moved
out of their way as opposed to waiting for them to do
the work; not that the running was not work enough.
“What are you doing?” Fleet was not expecting
such an outburst from Mairi, and as she dragged him
along behind her, he found it hard to keep up. He
stumbled every few steps, and felt his knees brush the
gravel every few seconds. He feared for his trousers, a
concern which he thought revealed quite a lot about his
character. Mairi did not look back to speak to him,
rather, turned sharply to the right, leaving Fleet in a state
of sheer disarray. He was pulled to the right too. And he
felt his shoulder strain as it was tugged from an angle

41
that he would have preferred it didn't. He drowned his
pained gasp in his throat, not wanting to show his pain
to the girl, or woman, he was not quite sure. They came
into an alley way, past the last of the stalls, and were now
completely alone, segregated from the bustle of the
market. Mairi pressed her back against the brick wall.
It was darker down here, the sun being blocked
out by the corner of the building they rested against.
Fleet studied the image before him. Mairi's Long hair
had become tussled by the wind as they ran, and was
now dishevelled around her shoulders where the pony
tail spilled over. Her flowered lacy dress had been
dampened at the edges by the wall behind her, and
although it only came to just below her knees, it was
torn in several places, now tattered at the bottom. The
prim, well groomed figure he had met only today was
now out of breath, leaning against a dirt flecked wall in a
back alley of Turnshire, after running through the market
for no apparent reason. Whatever next? He sighed his
complex of emotions away into the breeze that had
mustered from no where.
“I will not flatter you by saying that you look
your best right now, but you certainly do look a picture.”
He said, expecting her to lash him back with her sharp
tongue. She looked at him, her basket still firm in hand.
“I would say, however, that you have succeeded in
flustering me beyond that I had thought you to be
capable of. Do not try and tell me that this is a standard
aspect of your everyday life.” Although he would not be
surprised. She had constantly shown him more and more
reason not to take her at the liberty of first judgement.
“It happens on occasion.”
There, he thought to himself, she could not have
answered 'no', that would have been too simple. He ran a

42
hand through his hair and observed that he must not
have looked much more presentable than her. His
trousers were torn, like her dress, and his knees had
become bloodied.
“I suppose the only thing left to ask now, is why
you just dragged me here through all those people.”
“Because, Benjamin, we were being followed.”
“Followed? By whom?”
“Mr Fleet, do you really think that a Countess
such as I is safe in the civilian sector of Turnshire? You
are surely not so naïve.”
“If you were not safe, why would you be down
here?”
“I never said that I was supposed to be down
here, Benjamin. You had taken that as a fact before I had
even referenced it.”
Her face said it all. She enjoyed proving him
wrong. Watching as his expression change like the winds
around them. She was pleased with herself, yet still let
glimmers of her academic background bleed through
her stare. Never losing her graceful aura. He met her
glare with one of his own.
“Are you saying that someone was trying to
harm you?” He asked her, not breaking his eye contact.
“That is exactly what I fear was happening. I
usually would not have brought you along, but I wanted
you alone anyway. As I said earlier, before our little,
escapade. There is something you may be able to help
me with.” She took her eyes away, and reached into her
basket.
“Mairi, wait. You just told me that you are in
danger, we have to do something-”
“Feel free to take whatever actions you wish, Mr
Fleet, but do not expect to make any progress. The best

43
thing to do is to run, and stay out of sight. Whenever
you get that feeling: their eyes set on you, you should
not wait around. I am guessing you are also ignorant to
the consequences that would become of you if you were
to be found down here with me? Smuggled out of the
estate in the middle of the day, and taken all the way out
here, torn and frazzled. By the time they found me, who
knows what could have happened.”
“Do not be ridiculous, you dragged me down
here, not the other way around.”
“Bottom line, Mr Fleet, if you know what is
good for you, and I would hope that you do, you will
stay as quiet as a mouse, and not move an inch.
Otherwise, you are free to be taken to the prison and rot
there after only one day in the town. That is a nice one
for the résumé, do you not agree? I am sure the Count's
of Raffan Cross and Fort Charles would be biting your
hand off then.”
He did not want to admit it to himself, but Mairi
beat him at every turn. He struggled to comprehend that
the Countess was in such peril all of the time. Did she
want to be abducted and taken away, never to be seen
again? Or worse? She read his thoughts like they were
scrawled on his forehead, as obvious as his confusion.
“I can assure you, Fleet, that as long as I keep my
nerve about me, no harm will ever come to me, or you,
while we are down here, as long as you are in my
company, that is. I can not speak for you alone. Now
come with me, we should travel to the east for a short
while.”
He resigned to the knowledge that she appeared
to know what she was doing, and let her have her way.
He followed as she walked deeper in to the alley way.
They passed a couple of back doors, possibly leading in

44
to store cupboards, or apartments. By the time they had
passed everything of note, they came out on the other
side of the alleyway. It was similar here, except the walls
were dry. The rain must not have landed here when the
storms came.
“Just one question, Countess.” She looked at him
with her green stare, beckoning him to continue. “Why
do you even bother venturing down, this deep into
Turnshire?”
“Please, there is not much to explain. I suppose I
just take enjoyment in being free once in a while, so I
take the risk.” She looked at her feet, her leather shoes
were slightly worse for wear and the socks visible
beneath them grey with dust. Taking charge, she looked
around the corner, and saw more people, just like on the
other side. Fleet wondered if she was scared after all. She
took cover again behind the wall, and then continued
“Now, We have time to discuss business, are you
interested in my proposal?”
Weary of her purposeful omission of detail, he
inquired further. “Does this relate to the task your father
has in mind for me?”
“In a way, although, I am not sure he would
approve.”
They could not tell for certain, but it did appear
as if the sun was setting at that point. Concealed in part
by the buildings they took shelter behind, the light it
provided had lessened as the conversation drew on. If
that were true, more hours had passed than he had
accounted for, and he could not afford any more time
down here. He had to get back to Aliea.
“Mairi, I do not object to hearing you out, but I
have to get back to my daughter. I am sure your father
would appreciate you returning to him as well.”

45
 “It will not take long.”
“You will need to think of some excuse for your
dress as well.Your father will suspect fowl play, I am sure,
if you return to his company like that.”
“I could say the same to you-”
Benjamin started to look around the corner of
the alley way, to search for any signs of unrest. In his
preoccupation, he did not hear Mairi's next words as
clearly as her others.
“I will change before dinner. I trust you will be
joining us? You and your daughter? She is a very
charming girl, you have done well to raise her. So
beautiful too. Looks an awful lot like her mother. I never
took after my father, thankfully I suppose, you should
not tell him I said that, besides he would probably not
agree-”
Resuming to her his full attention, he
interrupted with a flash of his hand. Something about
that last sentence irked him. There had been a detail
which he could not recall, but he dismissed it as the
work of his imagination. He tried to think about this
rationally.
“For now, we should consider the fact that there
is a dangerous individual out there who is trying to hurt
you, and devise a way back to the manor accordingly. If
you like you can come to my quarters after Aliea is
asleep and we will discuss your favour then.”
“If you insist. It wont be a problem getting back
to the manor, I will call one of the concierges to help us
back.”
“I thought you said you were not supposed to be
here? If you inform a concierge of our position, your
secret will be compromised.” He saw that look again. He
knew what to expect.

46
 “I did not specify which concierge, Fleet. Do not
worry, I was doing this long before you arrived, and will
be doing it long after you have left.” She took a tele-
radio from her basket, and tuned it to what must have
been the signal she required to contact this unnamed
work man.
Benjamin brushed a hair form his face. “So, you
have a work man- 'on the inside'?”
Before the radio pin pointed the signal, Mairi
stared at him for a few seconds longer than would have
been comfortable. With a wink, she turned away to make
her call.
Fleet did not recognise the man who picked
them up. The two had waited where they were until
what looked to be an ordinary taxi-carriage pulled up at
the mouth of the alleyway. Mairi had thanked the man:
young, with coffee-coloured skin and a tuft of black hair,
before taking a seat in the carriage, inviting Fleet to
follow.
By the time they had reached the main gates, it
was much dimmer than it had been, and Fleet feared he
would have let Aliea down. Upon their arrival at the
main gate, neither of them had to worry about someone
suspecting fowl-play. The Count was no where to be
seen, and Mairi had brought a spare set of clothes
anyway. While they were waiting for the cart to pick
them up, she had ordered the craftsman to turn away and
stare at a brick wall while she changed into some less
bedraggled garb. When he was told he could turn around
again she had changed into another dress, exactly the
same design and colours, but with not a single
imperfection. He had assumed this was what she was
carrying in her wicker basket. There had been no trouble
with the potential attackers either. Fleet was even

47
starting to foster the notion that perhaps there was no
danger at all, and that Mairi had derived some sort of
humour from telling him that they were being followed.
It meant nothing to him. Right now, he was hungry, and
wanted to see his daughter. When the cart pulled up in
to the main courtyard outside the front doors, the two
solidified their agreement to meet after dinner, and
Mairi expressed her gratitude for him accompanying her
back home, an act that he deemed to be mildly out of
character. After they were finished, Mairi went one way,
and Fleet went the other, heading into the main gardens
to fetch Aliea.
Aliea looked pleased to see him. Although April
was still there, he could not shake the feeling that he
should not have left her here, for now Aliea would surely
be complaining that he had been gone for too long.
Partially to his pleasure, his adopted daughter was not
displeased with him at all. She hugged him, and he lifted
her up into his arms. When she asked him of his
afternoon, he chose to elude any reference to Mairi,
instead telling her that he had an altogether uneventful
experience. When he asked her how she had been, she
told him how April was much more interesting than any
teacher she had previously worked with. He thanked the
woman, who replied that she would be happy to take
care of Aliea whenever Benjamin required it. She left
shortly after.

48
 CHAPTER SEVEN

Business as Usual

Benjamin and Aliea returned to their room, managing to

make their way there with no trouble. By the time they
had washed and prepared, it was a quarter to eight. Aliea
dressed in a formal frock, and Fleet changed into his best
leather. A white cotton under shirt with a brown leather
hide overcoat and polished black shoes. He then combed
his hair neatly into a perfect side parting, and told Aliea
to brush hers. When she was done, instead of tying it up
like she usually did for formal occasions, she wore her
mothers silver adorned headband. The inside of the band
was inscribed, but the handwriting with which it had
been scrawled into the material made it too hard to read,
even for Benjamin's expert eye. Nevertheless, they had
both safely assumed that it was an expression of love
from Aliea's father to her mother, and that the piece had
been a gift.
When they were done, they began the long walk
back down the staircase. Fleet was initially concerned
that they would not be able to find their way to the
dining room, as he realised that he had not actually been
given proper directions yet, but he was relieved to see
that a series of small signs had been erected in the main
hall, directing them into the west wing of the manor. As
they passed through the main hall, under the arch that

49
lead into the west wing, and through to the dining
room, they finally came to the dining area, and the two
were presented with a view that was most unfamiliar: the
entire area was devoid of any workers, and it seemed
they were actually alone in the building. The Estate
appeared as a home, for the very first time since their
arrival.
Although they were still early, when stepping
into the dining room the fist thing Benjamin noticed
was that the Count, Mairi and two other men were sat
at the table already. Maybe they should be even earlier
next time, to avoid the embarrassment reserved for the
last to arrive, he thought. Studying the spread, it
appeared to be quite the feast. There was plenty of food
to go around, and Fleet managed to make out more
types of meat, and varieties of vegetable the closer he
got. The table was at the edge of the room, in front of a
very large window that seemed to occupy the entirety of
the wall. Benjamin observed that the gardens were
visible from here. When the Count noticed they had
arrived he signalled towards them, and let the others
gathered around the table know that their company had
arrived.
“Mr Fleet, Aliea, I trust you are both very
hungry?”
Benjamin was given no time to answer, but the
Count continued as if he had,
“Good, good, you are going to need to be to
help finish this meal.” Indrall removed the glasses he was
wearing. “Now, I hope you do not mind, but I took the
liberty of inviting a few guests. I wanted you to meet
them, considering you will be working under my
command now.”
Indrall must have sensed Benjamin's reluctance to

50
move any closer to the table until invited, because he
waved his right hand, as if summoning the father and
daughter, who were still stood at the far side of the
room.
“Oh, do sit down. Unless you plan to eat from all
the way over there – in which case I do hope you realise
such a plan will not work.”
Glad to finally be properly acknowledged, Fleet
nodded.
“Yes Sir.”
He lead Aliea across the empty room, over to the
table, and sat her down on a chair opposite one of the
men they had not met yet.
The table was set out with two chairs along each
side, and one chair at each of the end of the table. There
was a fair amount of distance between each diner, but
not so far that conversation could not be held
comfortably. The Count was sat at the head- and the
Countess at the foot of the huge, wooden furnishing.
The two men they had not met yet both sat on the same
side of the table, directly opposite where the craftsman
and the girl were now seated. It appeared that none of
the men had started to eat yet, they must have been
waiting for him to arrive before commencing with the
meal. This only embarrassed him further.
He glanced over to Mairi, who had not looked
up from her plate since they had arrived. She held her
hands in her lap, and wore the same dress he had seen
her in earlier that day, only now she had donned long
white gloves that stretched up beyond her elbows, and
rested at some point in between there and her shoulder.
Her hair had also changed, perhaps not salvageable after
the wind had ruined its neatly coiffed finish. She had
brushed it again and fixed it into a braid that rested over

51
her shoulder and fell into her lap to meet her hands,
where she was playing with the cloth securing it at the
bottom. She blew several blonde locks away from her
face with an upwards blast from her lips, and as her eyes
were partially revealed, allowed to meet his, he was
dismayed to notice that her stare had been fixed upon
him the whole time. What must she think of him?
“Right, first things first, let us eat!” Indrall broke
the short silence, “We can begin the introductions while
we feast!” He reached out in front of him, and started
taking food from the centre of the table, placing it on his
own plate. The others followed.
“Gentleman, as I am sure you already know, this
is Benjamin Fleet. He is an artisan from overseas,
specialising in the creative arts. I have allowed him to
bring along his daughter for the time in which he is
assisting me. What was the young lady's name again,
Fleet?”
“Aliea, Sir.”
“Ah, yes. His daughter, Aliea. A fine young girl.”
Benjamin had not told them he was only her adopted
father, he generally left that small detail out of
conversation, for simplicities sake. “Beautiful, just like my
own.”
Fleet again looked over, to see Mairi slowly, and
deliberately chewing on some type of meat. As he
looked he noticed that Aliea had not taken anything
onto her plate. She was much too small to even reach
across the table, never mind carry food across it.
“Excuse me, Count.” Indrall gave a look of
understanding, and Fleet stood and picked up his
daughters plate. She looked intently as he piled
vegetables onto it, followed by some bread, and a small
bowl of soup. She liked softer foods.

52
 “Thank you, father,” she said, all the while not
raising her eyes, instead keeping them glued to her plate.
“If you like Aliea,” Mairi broke her silence, “I
could show you the proper way to eat soup, should you
wish to learn how to eat like a lady.”
“Yes ma'am, please.” The two females continued
to talk amongst themselves.
Indrall spoke up again. “So, in any case, Fleet, it is
you who I must introduce to these two fellows.” He
wiped his mouth then let his right hand signal towards
the person closest to him. “The man opposite you is Sir
Loft Englewater. He is the greatest business man I have
ever known. We have worked together for over ten years
now, and I owe him everything. He is even wealthier
than me, can you imagine that? You could learn a lot
from this man, that is why I have invited him, if you
wish to be successful you would be wise to observe him
closely.”
Loft ran his hand over his temples, and took off
his glasses. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Benjamin. If we
were not separated by several feet of uprooted shrubbery
I would shake your hand, but I am afraid I would like to
keep my suit as clean as possible. I hope you understand.”
Loft Englewater was a man of age, perhaps even
older than the Count, about sixty or so. His hair was
greying around the edges, but retained most of its dark
brown colour elsewhere. His face – as tired as it looked –
had relatively no wrinkles, and for his age, he looked
remarkably well.
Benjamin bowed his head. “The pleasure, as they
say, is all mine Mr Englewater.”
“Sir Englewater,” he was corrected.
“Yes, of course, Sir Englewater. I apologise for
my disrespect.”

53
 “No need to fret child, Indrall has not hired you
for your wit. As long as you keep the right company, you
can not go wrong here.”
“Yes Sir, I look forward to working with you.”
He was quite a confusing character indeed. Loft
Englewater leant back in his seat. Benjamin was not
quite sure how to elaborate, which Indrall had noticed.
“Now, the second person I would like you to
meet is The Ambassador of Turnshire. He is not a
businessman, but the most intelligent man in the
country. I am sure of it.”
“Indrall, you flatter me.” The second man was
much, much younger than Loft. On par with Benjamin
himself age-wise. His voice sounded much sleeker, and
held the same educated tone that Mairi's did. He had
blond hair, something that was not at all common
among males in Turnshire. Fleet wondered if he was
even from this town. He did not wear glasses, and had
perfectly angled good looks that very few men were
blessed with. (Benjamin liked to think of himself as
another one of the lucky ones, but who didn't? Besides,
he had it on very good authority that he was a
handsome man. Aliea hardly ever lied to him.)
“Benjamin, it is so good to finally meet you.
Indrall has been telling me all about your abilities with a
paintbrush, as well as the hammer. It is such a rare
combination of skills, to be a master of all the noble
crafts, such as your self. Oh excuse me, where are my
manners? My name is Harlon, Harlon Smith.”
“Harlon, I must say it is you that flatters me. But,
your name is Smith? Are you from-”
“Abelia? Yes indeed. Well, my father was, he left
at a very young age to pursue his dream of becoming a
great philosopher. Suffice to say, that did not work out

54
quite the way he had hoped, but if he had not travelled
all the way out here, I would not be here today either.”
“Indeed,” Englewater took the chance to slip in a
few words, “I wouldn't get too preoccupied with all of
that nonsense though. There is only so much help
epistemology can offer a business man, and even that is
barely significant.”
“Loft, please. Allow me to continue, Count?”
The Count seemed to be enthralled in the
conversation. “Yes, of course.”
“As Indrall already told you, I am the ambassador
of Turnshire. I was not born here, but nevertheless, I am
very honoured to be so trusted by the people.”
“A pretty face can get you too far in politics-”
Englewater did not finish, The Count once again
interrupted his remark. “Gentlemen, what do you say to
us putting our differences aside, and actually starting our
meal?”
The interjection was met with a short silence,
followed by the shrill sound of four sets of cutlery, all
being picked up at once.

***

The four men spoke over several courses, their

conversations detailed work, families, their home towns,
and all of the other things one would expect to discuss
at the table. Every now and again, Fleet would have to
get up, and fill Aliea's plate with more food. She was
only a small girl, but she ate everything put in front of
her, as not to appear ungrateful. To Fleet, though, Aliea
had the best seat in the house. She was the only one
graced with Mairi's conversation, something in which he
was more than keen to partake. While listening to the

55
Count and his friends speak, he would occasionally hear
snippets of her voice. It was not until after everyone at
the table had stopped eating that the heavy discussion
began.
“Well, I hate to say it gentlemen, but the time for
idle banter has come to an end. We all know you were
each called here for a specific reason, and although you
are more than appreciated here, Benjamin, I am afraid it
is not solely for your benefit that I was forced to arrange
this dinner.” Indrall wiped his hands on a napkin before
continuing. “Benjamin, in your short time here, I am
sure you have come to notice that there are a lot of
people about the manor, yes?”
“Yes Count. It surprised me at first, but I got
used to seeing such numbers of workers around.”
“Well then. When was the last time you saw
someone here other than the people in this very room?”
The question seemed odd to him at first. He was
not sure how he was expected to answer, but he tried his
best to recall the last time he encountered the hired help.
“Actually, I have not seen anyone here since I
brought Aliea back in from the gardens. I remember
thinking to myself as we came down for dinner tonight,
about how empty the manor seemed.”
“Indeed.” Harlon shared his thoughts with the
table, “I have seen no one since I arrived. I suspected
your summoning might have had something to do with
that. It looks like I was right after all”
“Wait,” Benjamin found it hard to comprehend
what they were saying, “are you trying to say that there
has been a problem with the help? Are they on strike? Is
that the problem? If so I can hardly imagine how I-”
“No, Benjamin, they are not on strike,” Loft
Englewater offered his own take, “They would not dare

56
strike under the Count's command. But I can not bear
to think that everyone here just left of their own accord.
Things just do not work like that, especially in the time
frame we are talking about. Benjamin, you saw them,
every one of them, not an hour ago, is that correct?”
“Yes, but I-”
“Gentlemen, please,” Mairi had addressed the
whole table for the first time, “Let my father finish. All
will be explained in due time.”
“Thank you, daughter. Yes my friends, we are
dealing with something far more imposing than a staff
walk out.” He fell silent for a few seconds. Every face at
the table shared the same confused look, apart from the
Count and his daughter, of course. Fleet felt a tug at his
sleeve. He looked over to see that Aliea had risen from
her seat, and walked over to him.
“Father, what are they talking about? I do not
understand-”
He spoke to her under his breath, so the others
would not be able to make out his words. “Aliea, do not
worry, this is the business part of the meeting.”
“I will take her.” Both of them looked up. It was
Mairi, she had stood and began to walk across to Aliea.
“She and I will go and find something to do. What do
you say Aliea?” She offered her hand. Aliea turned to her
father once again. He nodded.
“Go on.”
She took Mairi's hand, and the two walked off,
past the archway, and in to another room, one which
Benjamin himself had not had the opportunity to
explore yet. He wondered where she might be taking
her, but didn't spare much time to ponder on it. Once
they had left, the Count resumed his speech.
“Some of you may have suspected this in the

57
past, but it is time for me to confirm your speculations.”
Benjamin was concerned that he was the only
one who had not suspected it yet. He remained silent,
however, and allowed the Count to finish.
“There is no one working here. Everyone you
have ever seen in this mansion, apart from me, my
daughter, and yourselves, does not actually exist.”
The entire table treat the revelation with a
similar response. After a few moments of awed silence,
Englewater was the first to speak, “Count, allow me one
second to consider this. You are expecting me – no, us –
to believe that everyone that has ever worked here has
been a figment of our imaginations?”
“Not quite, Loft.” This time is was Harlon who
spoke. “To be part of our imagination, would mean that
we all experienced something different from our peers,
as each persons mind is different, This could not possibly
have been the case, otherwise basic interactions with
them would have proved impossible. I think what the
Count is trying to say, is that they did exist in the
physical world. That much must be true, but, they were
not actually people. Am I right, Indrall?”
Harlon's attitude shocked Fleet, he could still not
believe what he was being told. He had left Aliea with
April earlier that day. Had he left her with no
protection? No real guardian except for the thin air
surrounding the hill-top manor?
“Count, I beg your pardon, but, such a charade is
not plausible, not at all plausible.” Benjamin shook his
head at the mere idea.
The Count responded directly, “Mr Fleet, I am
afraid it is more than plausible, it is a reality. Harlon, you
are not far wrong. Indeed, they all existed in physical
space, but they were just a work of illusion, at its finest.

58
An illusion that fools every sense, not just sight, or
hearing, but all five at once. Unfortunately, the method
which I have employed all these years to create them, has
failed me for the first time.”
Harlon took this new information on board, and
made his second challenge to the Count's claims. “You
say that the technology has failed you, but if that is the
case, how is it that Fleet here saw them when he
arrived?”
“Two things.” The Count propped himself even
higher in his seat, “I never said the method which I have
used was technological. In fact, technology is no where
near advanced enough to achieve such a feat. And in
response to the second part of your question, it helps if
you think of the manor as a light bulb. When a light bulb
is almost past its time, what happens?”
“It flickers. On, and off, repeatedly, until it finally
blows,” Fleet said.
“Exactly.” Indrall used his hands to recreate the
flickering effect, “the only thing to keep in mind is that
the effect is replicated on a much larger scale.”
“So, when I got here, and for the duration of my
visit so far, the light bulb was still on. During my time
upstairs, however, the bulb finally fizzled out?”
“For good.” Englewater stroked his chin, and
then took off his glasses to clean them with a napkin.
“So, now you fear you will not be able to turn the
illusions back on? And that is why we were called here?”
“Yes.” The count confirmed. “You all have
something special to bring to the table, no pun intended,
of course. Enterprise, philosophy, and creativity. All of
these factors will need to be addressed if we are to
overcome the problem, and get the workers up and
running again. I am sure I do not need to explain who I

59
have selected for each position. I had hoped you would
have some time to examine the illusions before they
disappeared, but we must work with what we have been
given, and unfortunately for you, that means without the
workers as subjects. I do hope I have not left it too late.
It was more than an inconvenience for them to
disappear just before the evening meal. Mairi will have
to do all the cleaning up herself.”
Benjamin was far from satisfied with the
explanation offered, but he realised that he would have
to take it as it came. At least he would not be alone in
his trials.
“I am an honoured that you called upon me in
your time of need Count. I am sure I also speak for Loft
and Benjamin when I say that.” Harlon made his
position known to the group. “I will help you to the best
of my ability.You can rely on me, Indrall.”
“Yes. Me as well, but, you already knew that.”
Fleet was the only one not to have spoken yet.
“What say you, Benjamin?” The Count quizzed
the craftsman.
Swallowing his apprehension along with the
lump in his throat, he nodded, and looked the Count in
the eye.
“Yes. Of course. I will aid you in whatever way I
can.”

60
 CHAPTER EIGHT

Collision

By the time Zeyku had realised what had happened, it

was over. He ran straight out into the light, disoriented,
yet he did not care about that. He was occupied only
with being at the centre of the unrivalled whiteness. It
did not take long, however for him to notice that the
light had faded, to reveal everything as it should have
been. The streets were busy again, and people were going
about their business as they would any other day.
In his carelessness he felt his body collide with
that of another's. He winced as his weight displaced
theirs, sending them to the ground. He saw a golden
flash from the corner of his eye, but he did not stop to
see if the person was okay. He just carried on running.
Zeyku allowed his speed to waver, slowing into a
brisk walk. He cradled his head in his hands, trying his
best to block out the sound of the children playing in
the cobbled streets. He had a pounding headache, and
his eyes still burned from the brilliant glow, now faded to
show the world as it actually was. When he tried to take
in his surroundings, everything he saw appeared behind
a ghostly white tint, but the strange sensation faded as he
walked. He thought about going back to tell Rin, to tell
him that it had happened again, but decided against it.
After a while, he stopped. Resting himself against
a wall, away from the people of the market, he reflected

61
upon his situation. The flashes had returned. Although he
was terrified of them, he allowed a small part of himself
to look forward to the next. It was this part of him that
had been neglected during the brief period of time that
they had stopped. Despite this, he was not glad that they
were back. They certainly would not help his more
recent endeavours.
He looked down at his body, at the clothes he
had taken from Rin's Ale House. They were not exactly
normal looking, and because of his strange garb he was
receiving equally strange looks from the people around
him. Turning his attention to the east, he saw that some
sort of disturbance had been initiated, and a crowd had
gathered. As he began to wonder what might have been
happening, he felt himself being pushed back as the
force of another person's body clashed with his own. Air
escaped from his lungs, and he choked on the lack of
sustenance. He had not managed to see the person who
had hit him until he turned around, and even then he
was only allowed a glimpse of the back of their head --
his head. The person was of moderate height, with dark
hair and a large step. He was not quite running, but
moving at a higher speed than an average walk.
Zeyku has almost re-composed himself, but he
was not graced with the chance to regain his stature
completely before being taken by surprise again, this
time he saw the person's face as they shoved him out of
the way. It was a girl, much younger, possibly around
fifteen or sixteen. She had soft features, the gentle curves
of her nose and mouth accompanied by her absorbing,
light blue eyes. Unfortunately for the girl, her body,
which was shorter than his by several inches, was not
weighty enough to displace his own, and she came to a
stop in front of him after colliding with his chest. Not

62
wasting any time she grunted in disapproval, and
attempted to slide past him. He managed to halt her
movement with a well placed arm. It was clear to him
that this girl and the man that had waylaid him earlier
were in cahoots, and were probably the cause of the
disturbance in the immediate east.
“Hey, get out of my way-” The girl was far from
pleased with him. She hearkened after the man who had
fled before her, peering over Zeyku's shoulders in vain.
She tried to judge how far away he was –- to determine
if he was going to stop, or leave her behind. Zeyku took
hold of her arms and forced them to her sides.
“Well, if you would be so kind as to explain the
rules of your little game with me, I would be happy to
join in.” Her features took on a form of resentment, and
she struggled a little harder to escape his grasp.
“This isn't a game! If you don't let me pass we're
both in trouble.”
“Looks to me like you are not in the position to
be making threats here.”
“Fine,” The girl ceased her struggle, “But you
better have a good story for the marshal, 'cause I sure
don't.”
Zeyku looked to where the commotion had
stirred from. There was an upturned stall, and fruit was
rolling across the ground, picking up gravel and weeds as
it went.
“You tried to steal –- fruit?”
The girl glanced behind her, and gasped under
her breath. “The fruit is the last of our worries.” Her
arms still constricted by Zeyku's grasp, she nodded
towards her satchel. He put one hand in the leather
pouch, and didn't even have to look to know that she
was right.

63
 “Jewellery?”
She nodded. “Look, let me go, and you can take
whatever you want, just as long as we don't get caught.”
There was a certain desperation in her voice, and
it appeared to Zeyku that she wasn't exactly a veteran. It
was more out of pity, and the lack of an actual plan
formulated for himself that he decided to oblige. Maybe
if he followed her, he could figure out what to do next.
“Which way?”
The girl's eyes widened. “Follow that man, the
one who came by here just before.” She began to signal
towards the dark haired man, but Zeyku had known
where to go even before he had asked. Not letting go of
one of her arms, he started after the dark haired man,
who had not looked back once since he passed.
“Is he your partner?” In his step Zeyku took a
look back; there was no sign of any officials.
“Yeah. Just don't expect him to stop. He'll keep
walking until he gets to the rendezvous point. That was
the plan.”
“Are you supposed to be sharing this kind of
information with a man you just bribed into assisting
your offence?”
“Just follow him, before he gets too far ahead.”
Her voice was punctuated every now and then with a
sharp whimper, she was being pulled in Zeyku's tow
with little regard for her comfort. “Hey, you can let
go, y'know. I ain't going anywhere you can't see me. It
makes it awful hard to run with you hanging on my
arm. For you and me both.”
“It would be easier for everyone if you let your
feet do the work, not your mouth.” He continued after
the man, making his way through the people filling the
streets. The girl started to come up along side him. Her

64
blond hair was tied up and long strands fell over her
forehead, brushed away to the sides of her eyes. While
she was running however, it defiantly covered her face,
obstructing her view, causing her to move it away again
with her free hand. He let go of her arm, and she gave
him a look of thanks. She was so young. It is always a
shame when people so innocent are drawn into such
behaviour.
His trust and pity were both misplaced. As soon
as he let her go she broke away from him. He was
astonished to see how fast she was. A few moments later
she had almost caught up to the dark haired man, closing
in at a relentless pace, which to Zeyku seemed oblivious
to the rules of physics. Ever determined, he picked up
his own speed, only to feel the merciless tug of his own
weight, pulling him towards the earth.
He thrust his hands out to absorb the damage,
and unfortunately, it worked. His palms scraped across
the gravel, and the thin skin protecting them was sheered
away by the massive friction. The most intense burning
pain wrought his entire arms in agony, as if he had set
the limbs ablaze, only much worse. When he desperately
tried to lift his arms away from the floor, his knees also
skimmed the surface of the road. By the time he had
come to a stop, he was sure she would have gotten away,
and it would have mattered to him if he was not fighting
back tears sourcing from the pain. He pitifully examined
his bloodied hands, not able to subdue the whimper that
came from his lungs.
He put his weight on his battered knees, and
employed his legs once again. He did not notice it
happening, but the pain slowly ebbed away, and replacing
it was a feeling which he might have recognised, had his
mind not been elsewhere.

65
 Following the two thieves into another street, he
noticed there were a lot less people. He wondered why,
when trying to escape, the thieves had opted for a street
that was more empty, rather than another in which they
could blend into as members of the crowd. He would
not realise that the street, had in fact been very busy at
that moment for some time to come. How had they not
heard his footsteps? His and their own must have been
the only noises in the street, in which there were no
stalls, and only shops and houses that lined the curbs.
Most of them should have been open. Were they open?
He did not care. He had entered a state not dissimilar to
that of whenever he saw the bright light, only there was
no flash.
In his introspection, he had failed to realise that
he was but a few metres behind the girl. She was
running so fast – how had he caught up? His arm
spanned the gap between him and her. Her scarf was
almost in his grasp. He felt his fingers brush the cotton,
and he gained more ground. He lurched forwards again,
he felt his entire body lift off from the ground, and stay
there for a moment. When he came back down he was
finally in reach of the scarf, his hand wrapped around the
tassels, and he tugged in warning. The girl turned
around, much to the protest of her own accord, and her
eyes met his own. She shared his expression. Neither of
them knew what was happening. The space and light
around him blurred, a warped reminder of what it once
was. Colours and shapes merged into new creations in
every direction, and there was no sound, not even the
footsteps could be heard any more. The girl's emotions
appeared as clearly as the hue of her irises. Why had
everything stopped? He thought -- or at least, came so
close to being still?

66
 As quickly as it had blurred, the world around
him came back into focus, and time jolted into action
once again. Unprepared for the switch, he felt his body
collapse to the ground for the second time.
“Agh-”
“What the hell- You- how did-” The girl, also
flustered, had stopped running when Zeyku had grabbed
her scarf. As she ranted he examined his hands one more
time, expecting to be greeted by the torn mess he had
seen before. He was both relieved and terrified to see
that the flesh was completely intact. All that remained
were the bloodstains, blotchy and thick, accompanied by
a gleaming swatch of fresh blood across his fingers. He
looked up to the girl.
“You left me. I want my share of the goods --
you said I would get my share.”
She was not interested.
“Hey, we're almost there- “ As he looked beyond
the girl, he saw the man they had been following had
stopped, and turned around. It must have been him that
had just spoken. Zeyku also turned around, behind him
he saw they had turned into a back alley somewhere.
The area was some sort of dead end, there was no way
forward any more, just buildings. If he had to escape, he
would have to backtrack. The area in which he rested
now was not that large, there were buildings on both
sides as well as directly ahead, forming a circle of bricks
to lock him in, leaving him feeling claustrophobic. The
rest of the route he had taken had not stuck in his mind,
so he recalled nothing of the roads that lead here.
“Hey, who the hell is this guy?” The dark haired
man was enraged. He strode towards the girl, now that
they were out of harms way, the urgency of the situation
had waned.

67
 “Don't worry, Yura, he won't cause us any
trouble. He ain't bright enough.”
“What is he doing here?” The man –- Yura –-
said each word clearer than the last, his voice firmer than
even before.
“I caught her,” Zeyku stood up, “She promised
me a cut if I let her go, so I did. Then she ran away.”
“You' shouldn't be so foolish. Do you really
think you can trust anyone in Turnshire?”
“I don't care, I want my share, I won't stand for
being played like a fool . . . .”
Yura stepped closer to him. “You want your
share? Fine, here it is.” he reached into a bag he had
draped over his shoulder, and tossed an apple to the floor
in front of him. ”Now, get lost. Lili, come on.”
Zeyku wiped the blood on his hands onto his
tunic. Lili didn't follow Yura, instead she stared at Zeyku,
who returned her gaze.
“Yura. This guy, with the purple hair, he's not
normal.”
“I can see that.” The man had turned and was
about to enter an Inn. The place couldn't have gotten
much traffic, not this far out of the way.
“No, he isn't just all weird looking. He is fast, real
fast. When I got away from him, he caught up. No one
can catch up with me, you know that Yura.”
“And what is that supposed to mean to me? So,
he can run, he's going to need to be able to run if he's
gonna want to get out of here alive. He's really starting
to piss me off.You as well, Lili. Now, get inside, meet the
others, and we'll talk about what went wrong later.”
“But, Sir, we can't-”
“That was an order, Lili.”
She brushed her hair behind her ear. “Yes Sir.”

68
She walked past him, being sure to give him a wide
girth, to avoid his adamant and disapproving stare. With
one final look back at Zeyku, Lili opened the door, and
went inside. From this little exchange, Zeyku had
gathered that there must have been more people in their
group. That was the deciding factor. He wanted in.
Yura turned his attention back to the intruder.
“Now, you're going to take that apple, and you're going
to leave. You understand? If anyone finds their way here,
I'm going to assume it wasn't a coincidence. Oh, and if I
need to, I will find you.” He broke eye contact
momentarily, and signalled to Zeyku's hair, “shouldn't be
too hard, right? Just get out of here kid. This doesn't
need to be difficult.” Once more the person who must
have been the leader of the thieves tried to go inside, but
Zeyku didn't let him.
“I am not going anywhere.Yura.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Because, if I leave you will never see this again.”
He reached into his pocket and took out a key. Yura
recognised it, most likely by the chain attached. It was
gold, or gold plated, with a locket at the end. Zeyku had
not been given the chance to examine it after he had
taken it from around Lili's neck, but he hoped that it was
of some value, for this reason exactly.
Yura smiled. “You little weasel.” He said, in an
almost approving fashion. Of course, Zeyku had done it
many times, pickpocketing. He tried to resist the
temptation to steal from people unless he thought it was
absolutely necessary, and in this case, he thought it was
more than that. He had found a band of people, two of
which he had met, and needed to find solace, else he be
cast into a prison much more terrifying than the one in
Turnshire.

69
 “Right?”
“Maybe we could find a use for you after all.” He
paused, and scratched his chin. “Have you ever done this
kind of thing before?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Lili says you're fast. Have you been trained?”
“No, far from it. But I am afraid that is all you
are going to hear while I am still outside of those walls.”
He nodded to 'The Serenity Inn'. He would save the
details of that sensation -- the light -- for when he could
trust them.
Yura pondered for a second. Zeyku stealing the
key should have proved two things to the thief leader:
one, the purple headed man could be used to their
advantage; and two, Lili still was not yet ready to be on
the streets. Both of these things should have been
enough.
“Okay, you can come on in. But one step out of
place, and I will slice your throat open.” Yura said it with
a smile. This was not a man to double-cross.
“You don't need to worry. Anyway, if I were to
do something you would not approve of, I would make
sure you did not notice it.”
Yura smiled, but only briefly, before opening the
door to the Inn. Not once did he removing his watchful
eye from Zeyku, who stepped through the door frame.
As the two men passed each other, Yura stopped the
other with his hand.
“Oh, and I'll need that key back.”
Zeyku passed it over carefully, maintaining the
same level of eye contact. After Yura had stuffed the
chain back into his trouser pocket, Zeyku walked on,
straight into the unknown.

70
71
 CHAPTER NINE

The Morning After

When the men had finished talking, and Benjamin had

agreed to help the count in his task, he was dismissed.
He would ideally have liked to wait for Aliea to return,
but he was assured by the Count that she would be
escorted to their room when Mairi was finished with
her. Not knowing where she was, or what she was doing
was a parent's worst nightmare, and Aliea was fragile, the
Count ought to have known that. He asked if he could
maybe be taken down to where she was, but Indrall said
he would not know where to look.
“Mairi is a careful girl though, your daughter
will be safe with her until you are reunited.”
Fleet also took the opportunity to say goodbye
to Englewater and Smith. He shook Loft Englewater's
hand, and said farewell. When he went to shake the hand
of Ambassador Smith, however, his gesture was not
reciprocated.
“Goodbye, Ambassador Smith.”
“Benjamin, has Indrall not told you? I will be
staying here, in the Manor for the foreseeable future.
There is no need for a goodbye. I hope you will not find
it an encumbrance to have me about the place.”
Pulling his hand away, he used it to scratch his
head. “No, he had not told me, but I look forward to a

72
fruitful partnership, Ambassador Smith.”
“Please Benjamin, for you, Harlon will suffice.
You are far too proper for your own good. Most creative
types I meet have their own contrived ideas when it
comes to manners, I am glad to see you do not share
their values.”
He took this as a compliment, as he was sure it
was supposed to be received. Harlon told him that his
room was on the ground floor, in the East wing, so they
would not be able to talk much longer. They wished
each other good night, and went their separate ways.

Back in his room, Fleet waited anxiously for

Aliea's return. Although he tried his best to stay
conscious, Fleet started to feel himself doze off. He
could no longer entertain himself with the confusing
information he had been force-fed that day, and would
soon be fast asleep. As the walls closed in around him, he
stood up--which, in retrospect, he realised was probably
a bad idea. He sent himself into a confused, careless and
dizzied state, feeling light headed as he strived to retain
his balance. He stumbled forwards a few steps, and
collapsed on top of a set of drawers. He was lucky not to
cause any damage, his hands came down with enough
momentum to crush anything unfortunate enough to lie
in their wake, fortunately, nothing had been there, and
his palms had adhered to the varnished surface. He
slowly peeled one hand away, feeling the skin clinging to
the finish, the layer of perspiration covering his body
acting as a glue, meaning he had to supply extra effort to
tear away his hands. He could not keep his brain awake
any longer, so despite his best efforts, and his stubborn
resolve in wanting to see Aliea safe before he fell asleep,
his feet gave way beneath him, and he collapsed.

73
 ***

When he awoke, he was lying in the master bed, covered

and tucked in under the weighty blankets and linens. He
was folded beneath the covers so tightly that he could
not move his arms, and he had to thrash about for a
moment before they loosened enough to be
comfortable. When he looked around, he saw the room
drenched in natural sun light for the first time.
There were two windows in the bedroom, both
on opposite walls parallel to one and other. The one to
the right of his bed –- which was opposite the entrance
to the room –- was letting most of the light through.
The curtains had been drawn back, and the glass pane
behind it was slid half way down leaving an slight gap,
allowing fresh air from outside –- tainted with sickly
pollen and the sweet songs of the morning birds –- to
find its way in. The other window's drapes were drawn
closed, so that the only light entering the room from
that side was the small amount that bled through the
material, filling the penthouse with the yellowish hue of
the cloth. He remembered last night. He had never
collapsed in exhaustion before. He surmised it to be the
result of the high stress levels combined with his worry
for Aliea.

Aliea.

She had not returned before he had slept, but he knew

from the way that he was tucked in that she had at some
point been back. As testament to the assumption, he
searched under the duvet for a second, and when his
hand touched the soft material of her favourite stuffed

74
toy, he was certain. She always left it with him when he
would fall asleep before seeing that she got to bed safely,
it was her way of letting him know she was safe.
Unfortunately this was an event all too common, as he
often worked himself into a state where he could not
bring himself to rise from his desk and get a proper
nights rest. Of course, the difference this time was that
he had been taken over to his bed after falling asleep. He
was not going to entertain the notion that she had
managed that herself, so he narrowed it down to two
options. Either he had gotten up and crawled into bed
himself before she had returned to him, or someone else
had accompanied her back to the room. He liked the
sound of the first option much more than the second,
and the only way to find out was to find Aliea herself,
and ask her.
He did not have far to look.
“Papa, good morning.”
Aliea had obviously woken some time earlier
than him, what time was it anyway?
“Good morning.” He still had not worked the
sleep from his eyes, and so was forced to squint at her
through his eyelashes. “What- what time is it? When did
you get back?”
“You fell asleep Papa.” She sat on the end of his
bed. She was already dressed in a pale yellow blouse and
white skirt. She had allowed her hair to fall naturally, and
apart from a section which she had taken into a ponytail
at the back, it rested mostly on her shoulders. “It's seven
AM. I hope I didn't leave it too late to open the
windows.”
“No, no. Of course not. Thank you for waking
me.”
She stood up and walked around to the side of

75
the bed, picking up a glass of water which had been
resting on the bedside table. She offered it to him, and
he took it.
“Ah--” He put the glass to his lips, and drank.
She giggled, holding her hands to her cheeks,
“You're really thirsty! Do you want another one? I
will--”
“No, please,” he stopped her, “That won't be
necessary. How did--”
She pre-empted his question before he had even
finished asking it, “It was Mairi who tucked you in,
Father, not me.”
He blinked repeatedly at the mention of her
name. He should have known. It was now he
remembered her request. She had wanted to ask him a
favour, and had told him she would come around after
dinner to ask him. He could not even stay awake long
enough to keep to his commitments. A part of him
hoped that she had forgotten.
“She brought me back, and you were asleep on
the floor. I went to change into my night clothes under
her instruction, and when I returned, you were tucked
in there. She had done it so tightly, it was real hard for
me to get Newton in there with you.” Newton was the
name of the stuffed rabbit. She had chosen the name
shortly after he bought it for her. He never did think to
ask of the origin.
“Last night, where were you?”
“Oh, Mairi took me to her quarters. She has her
own little building at the edge of the gardens. We did
not return until late. I told her that you would want me
back before you fell asleep, but she seemed to want to
stay as long as possible, she--”
“It's okay. Did you have fun?”

76
 She looked at him, and Fleet saw she was biting
tentatively at the flesh on the inside of her cheeks.
“I guess.”

***

Benjamin had not been given any instruction on how to

spend his time today, so after he dressed he helped Aliea
unpack her favourite books. The young girl was
particularly fond of fantasy stories that told of magical
creatures, unknown to the real world. He had tried to
culture her from a young age, introducing her to art and
literature from the first day they had met. He was lucky
that she was eager to learn, and had an appetite for
words that could only be satisfied by a new book every
week or sooner. Unfortunately Aliea had not taken a
shine to drawing and painting the same way Benjamin
had. She was a poor artist, at best. He had decided to
limit his encouragement to reading and writing instead,
and while she showed improvement in her creativity, and
was adept at stringing words together in ways most
adults would be eager to equal, she was much more
interested in reading what others had to say.
With the books unpacked and arranged neatly
on a shelf beside her bed, Benjamin decided to see if he
could find Harlon. He hoped that he might be able to
shed some light on the situation, were they to spend
some time discussing it. Aliea was happy to stay here and
read for now, so he took his leave.
The manor seemed so empty without the
servants making their rounds. It was almost ghostly, such
a huge place with so little to occupy it. He remembered
his first hours here, when Aliea and he were following
Mairi up the stairs. He had noticed that there appeared

77
to be more floors on the inside than on the outside, and
yet now, this was no longer the case. As a result, the
downwards journey took only a fraction of the time it
had all times prior. He wondered if it could have been
trickery in the same vein as the workers; just an illusion.
Next time he saw the Count's daughter, he would ask.
In the main hall, he noticed that a thin layer of
dust had already started to accumulate across the sleek
floor, slightly highlighted in places by the faint
beginnings of what could have been footprints. It made
him wonder who would be in charge of the Manor's
upkeep now that the workforce had all but disappeared.
He crossed the hall, making his way to the East
Wing to try to locate Harlon's quarters. While passing
through a corridor, he incidentally happened across a
room which caught his attention. Several doors into the
east wing, was what could only be described as the
single largest Library he had ever seen. He stopped, and
put his hand on the door frame.
The room was very large, much bigger than the
main hall, and resided under a ceiling that must have
spanned all five floors of the Mansion. The first section
of the library was mainly bookshelves, stretching left and
right, in tens of rows, and extending outwards about
three or four columns. There was a larger gap precisely
in the middle, where he could see ahead. From there, a
staircase lead to another floor, but rather than occupying
the airspace above, the first floor was a ring that
stretched the entire circumference of the room, and the
second floor a rung directly above that. The staircase led
off in two directions, one to the left, and the other in the
opposite direction. The stairs seemed to float on
nothingness, only connected to the floor, and their
corresponding balcony. Situated behind the staircase, he

78
made out a large seating area. The steps obstructed most
of his view, but what he could see was more than
enough room for hundreds of men. The many armchairs,
accompanied with a desk and reading lamp, looked
perfect for enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon.
He started into the room, making his way past
the preliminary shelves. Most of the things here were
reference books. Thesauruses, dictionaries,
encyclopaedias, that sort of reading. Fleet was not
particularly interested in such volumes, but he wondered
whether there might be some interesting art journals
which he could peruse. He put that idea to one side, and
focused on the other floors. As observed, the two
additional levels to the library each spanned the
complete size of the room, but only ran two or three
shelves inwards from the walls, so that the ceiling was
still visible from the ground floor. The stairs in the centre
of the floorspace here both lead to the first level up.
From there, the path to the second tier was not apparent.
This did not concern him though. He wondered if this
marvellous room was just trickery, but soon reminded
himself that whatever the method of that very trickery
used to be, it was not in working order any more.
Therefore, he surmised, everything before him, must
have been very real. He was just about to set off up the
stairs, when he heard someone calling his name from
behind.
“Benjamin, good morning.”
He recognised that voice. Turning around he was
greeted -– quite coincidentally –- with the man he had
been in pursuit of before his attention had been stolen
away.
“Harlon, I was looking for you, but-- I became
distracted.”

79
 “Yes, I can not blame you. The first time I came
to visit the Count I was absolutely mesmerised by this
room. Of course then it looked much bigger, that pesky
trickery he had once employed affected all areas of the
manor.”
“Bigger than this?”
“Oh, yes. In retrospect, it was most unbelievable,
but I did of course believe it. How are you this morning;
did you get a good night's sleep?”
Harlon put the book he had been skimming
back on the shelf, being careful to replace it in the
correct position.
Fleet took his eyes away from the spectacle of the
room to hold a conversation with the man he had been
wanting to speak with since last night.
“Looking for anything in particular? The non-
literary books are all down here, and you can find all the
fiction and novels on the upper levels. I would take you
for an adamant fantasy reader, being an artist.”
“No, you are right, but I'm not really here for
anything in particular.”
“Benjamin, about last night, I hope you didn't
take Englewater too seriously. When you have worked
for as long as he has, you sacrifice basic social skills. I am
assuming he wont be spending that much time here
anyway, since he has his own estate not too far from
here. Indrall and he will keep in contact, and then we
will be informed of his progress at regular meetings.”
“Regular meetings?” Benjamin was once again
reminded of his ignorance to such arrangements.
“Oh, I would not worry about it. You will be
secure in the knowledge necessary in due time. I think
the next meeting will be at the end of the week. That is
when we will be given our first real assignments.”

80
 “And until then?”
“Until then, use your initiative. Should not be
too hard, your initiative is your most valuable tool, as an
artist, is it not?”
Benjamin breathed in, and checked his hair with
a free hand.
“One would think so.”
Harlon nodded in understanding, not completely
managing to contain his laughter.
“If you are struggling, I think I might need some
assistance myself.”
“Okay. I'm listening.” Fleet followed two steps
behind Harlon as he made his way past the bookshelves.
“Up there,” He stopped at the foot of the first
step. ”If you climb to the first floor, and check the first
shelf on the left, you'll find a wondrous volume entitled
“The Only Exception”. It's a story of highest intellectual
value, and there are many, myself still undecided, who
theorise that it is not a complete work of fiction. If those
who say it holds some truth are correct, it might just
hold the information we need, that way we can gather
some intelligence before Indrall feels it necessary to
share it with us himself.”
Fleet was not convinced, “If he thinks we need
to know it, he will tell us.”
“But, if we were to figure out those secrets for
ourselves, I do not need to tell you how impressed he
would be, do I? There is nothing like a good first
impression.”
“I fear the time for first impressions has long
since passed.”
“Even so, I do not think you have many other
commitments biting at your heels? Study the book,
research it. There should be plenty of other documents

81
of conspiracy and mystery here from which you can find
information. If there is nothing of importance, then we
shall leave it be. My mistake. If however we uncover
something of value, I will let you take the credit.”

82
 CHAPTER TEN

Echoes

Fleet had read the first six chapters of the book before
he grew tired of it. It was a romantic novel at heart, but
he could see why Harlon had suspected it might prove
useful. It told the story of a couple who were desperately
in love (of course) but who feared the people of the
town they lived in. He had guessed that they did not
approve of the whirlwind romance before he read
beyond the first page, but it was not this but the crux of
the story that was of interest.
He had sat behind the stair case at one of the
many desks, and taken notes on a piece of paper,
analysing the book in detail before starting secondary
research. Meanwhile, Harlon took the next couple of
hours into his own hands, reading what took his interest.
Maybe the books which he had selected related to his
own task, either way, it was none of Benjamin's concern.
When he left the library with The Only Exception in
hand, he managed to avoid being caught suspect by the
Ambassador by sneaking past while Harlon's view of the
exit was obstructed by a shelf or two. Leaving the same
way he had entered, he decided he would adhere to the
path with which he was accustomed, meaning he would
not explore the east wing in more depth just yet.
As he returned to the main hall for the second
time today (He had a feeling he would be sick of the

83
sight of this part of the manor before he had spent a
week here) he was stopped by the calling of his name.
“Benjamin.”
He turned around. It was a woman's voice, which
he immediately recognised.
“Mairi, good morning.”
She was stood at the top of the main stair case,
looking over the balcony behind him. He had to strain
his neck to see her. She started on her way down to him.
He followed her movement with his eyes, remaining
quiet until both of her feet touched the floor.
“Do you have business with me?” he asked, at
the same time remembering her request yesterday, and
his failure to meet it.
“You remember yesterday, yes?”
Just as he had thought. The two were now stood
toe to toe.
“I do. I'm sorry I could not speak with you, but
you must understand, I was utterly exhausted.”
“I saw that, Mr Fleet. The floor can be
comfortable at times, although I would lay down a rug
before making it my nights resting place.” She averted
her eyes for a moment, a brief laughter slightly
concealed behind her gloved fingers, “To each his own, I
suppose.”
“Do you want to find somewhere private to
talk?”
“I don't see anyone around. Are you expecting
someone to happen upon us?”
“No, I am not. I just thought-” he swallowed his
apprehensions, “I have to go and check on Aliea.You can
join me, and we will talk then. Is that okay?”
She cocked her head sideways and smiled. “Yes,
of course. Though, I do think we should take the quick

84
way up. I am afraid I can not face all of those stairs. It
seems this place is just full of stairs.”
Fleet was about to inquire as to what she meant
by “the quick way” but he decided to wait and see for
himself instead. Mairi – dressed today in clothes similar
to what she always wore, a white dress with small black
shoes – walked the short distance from where she stood
to a small piece of wall between the grand staircase, and
the arch leading down to the west wing. She reached out
to the wall, and as if by magic, a blue light radiated from
the spot of the wall where she had placed her hand. The
tremor of light dissipated into nothingness, and the wall
quivered, before a section span around, revealing a
hidden alcove.
“Oh my-”
She turned her head long enough for him to see
her smile was still there. “Really, Fleet. This is nothing,
just an elevator. Come on, you first.”
He obeyed her, taking the first steps into the
dark, unfamiliar hole in the wall.
“Careful-”
He was nervous, and had every reason to be. He
had never seen anything like this before. Mairi followed
him, and as the wall rotated back into place, the last
remnants of light were vanquished. A firm crunch rang
through the mansion, signifying that the wall had
completely reattached its self. They waited in silence for
a few seconds, and then a blue light similar to the one
which he had seen earlier illuminated the space which
they occupied. The elevator was a small, cramped, and
claustrophobic place. The blue only accentuated this
feeling, having a solid colour filing the sparse air made
everything appear much more occupied, leaving less
room for him and the Countess.

85
 “Do not be alarmed when we start to move, it
will feel strange at first, like your stomach is turning
upside down, but it is not dissimilar to the sensation of
being on a boat at high tide; something which I am sure
you are familiar with.”
“Yes-”
Mairi reached out with her hand, and did
something which he could not see properly. She must
have activated the lift, because it jolted into action, like
she had said. It was a peculiar feeling. Fleet was not
aware that the churning of your insides could be
replicated by anything other than a sail boat, but the
uncomfortable and uneasy wobble he felt in his chest
was the most at home he had felt in a while.
Mairi looked at him, and in the hazy lighting he
saw her lips move. “It should not take long, there are
only five floors, after all.”
When the elevator finally ceased its movement,
and the door span upon its central axis once more, Mairi
invited him to step out first. When he did he saw Aliea
standing there, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly ajar.
“Aliea-” he began to rush over to her, but Mairi
gripped him by the hand before he could pass into the
corridor, her slight fingers wrapped around his own.
“Benjamin, be careful.” She glanced down
towards the ground. There was a small gap between the
elevator, and the wall which had been displaced. When
Benjamin looked down he saw that there was a very
long drop. He thanked her, and as her hand fell away, he
stepped over the boundary.
“Wow-” Aliea had never seen anything like this
before, so her reaction was understandable. “I heard a
noise, I-”
“You shouldn't have left the room,” Benjamin

86
was concerned for his daughter. “It's okay. It's just an
elevator. No harm done.”
Mairi had followed Benjamin and placed her
hand on the wall again. The events played out in a
fashion which was the exact opposite to how they had
done downstairs. A ring of blue light faded into
existence, and rushed inwards towards her hand, causing
the wall to fit back into place. She turned to face the
Fleet family, a look of embarrassment flicked across her
face. “Aliea, I- I wasn't thinking straight, I shouldn't
have-”
“No.” The girl interrupted her. Fleet could tell
that his daughter had a high regard for the woman. “I
mean- it was a little odd, but I wasn't scared.” Neither of
the two adults were convinced that Aliea was truly not
fazed by the slight shaking of the manor, but they
humoured her none the less.
“How exactly does that thing work?” Benjamin
was curious. It was a truly fascinating device.
“You'll have to ask my father. I myself am not
really sure.”
Fleet noticed that Mairi had arranged her hair
differently again. For today day she had decided to wear
it up, so that none of it adorned her shoulders, like usual.
Instead it was entirely grouped at the back of her neck,
constrained in a net of lace, that hung down her back
tied in a bow shape.
“Right- but, if you have access to this kind of
technology, why have I never seen it before?”
“I didn't say it was technological, Benjamin. I
thought you would have learnt that lesson from dinner.”
Benjamin – forgetting completely that Mairi was
not present at the table when Indrall had corrected
Harlon on this matter before – took Aliea's hand.

87
 “Please, Mairi, come on in.”

***

Once they had all entered the suite, Fleet saw that Mairi
had already wandered into his office. He led Aliea into
the bedroom, and set her down on the master bed.
“Father,” she had started her sentence before it
had even formed in her mind, and so in her loss for
words, had cut herself off. “Father, you should go and
speak with Mairi. She is waiting for you.”

***

When he joined Mairi, she was stood at the window,

staring out into the distance – into the very scenery
which had appeared so beautiful to him when he first
arrived here in Turnshire.
“So, you wanted to speak with me?”
“Yes, I do. Benjamin-” She spoke the last word
with a tenderness that he had not heard from her lips
before. “Your daughter is a beautiful girl. I feel just awful
for-” she let her words become fainter as she observed
Fleet's sympathetic nod.
“Thank you for your concern, Mairi, but I want
to hear what you have come up here to ask me. I have
had all night to sleep on it, after all.”
He watched as she walked around the desk, one
hand resting on the corner, using the point where her
manicured hand met the wood of the recently varnished
table as a pivot, spinning her body around it with the
grace that he knew her for.
“I told you this yesterday, but my father will
almost certainly not approve.”

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 The look of sincerity in her eyes was all he
needed to see. He knew what she wanted to hear.
“Mairi, you have my word that anything you say
to me is in the strictest confidence.”
“And you're willing to defy him? The Count?”
Benjamin thought about it for a second, but still
his response was a shock, even to himself. “Yes.”
Mairi inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes. She
took a step forward, so she was only a small distance
away from the craftsman, “Thank you.”
Much to Benjamin's dismay, she walked past him,
into the doorway. “What are you doing?” he asked,
taking a step forward and putting a hand on her
shoulder. She turned around again, and forced eye
contact.
“Benjamin, is it really not obvious?”
It most certainly was not obvious to him. “It
most certainly is not.”
She blinked twice before responding. “There is
no request, Ben. I have nothing to ask of you. I just
needed to know that you trust me.”
He took his hand off her shoulder, and broke
away from her green trance. He did trust her, and if he
was honest with himself, it concerned him.
“I look forward to when we happen upon each
other again, Ben.” She turned away. He followed her a
short while into the main room of the suite. He couldn't
let her leave like this.
“Mairi-”
The woman looked at him almost hopefully, as if
she had been waiting for him to interject in such a
manner. “Is there something else?”
Indeed, there was. There had been one thing that
didn't seem at all right about the day before, one

89
concern that Benjamin could not seem to silence. He
moved close, and whispered, so that Aliea would not
hear him from the other room.
“Tell me, Mairi. Why is your father lying to me?”
As he moved away from her he could tell she was
not expecting such an accusation. The look in her eyes
had changed from one of hope to one of disarray.
“Upon what grounds do you make such an
accusation?”
He steeled his nerves.
“I know he says he invited me here because he
believes I have skill, but I am not that naïve, even if you
believe me to be. There are many other people he could
have asked, people from any number of towns, from
either side of the Amisterry Sea.”
She stared intently into his eyes. “Go on.”
“Mairi –- when April, the teacher, introduced
herself, she gave me a note.”
“That was from me, I swear. You can cross-
reference it with the invitation I sent you a week ago if
you like.”
“No, I believe it was from you, that's not my
concern. Both of those pieces were definitely by the
same hand, but something about the second one struck
me as odd.”
“I can't imagine what you are talking about,
Benjamin.”
He lowered his voice again. “The second one was
faultless. The grammar was perfect, and the letters were
immaculately formed.”
“You said it yourself, I have been well educated. I
don't see--”
“You know, Mairi, you can tell a lot about
someone from their handwriting,” he said these words

90
much more calmly, for he was convinced he was on the
right track, “their upbringing, where they are from, even
their temperament, but you can also see emotions. In the
invitation you sent me, there were mistakes in spelling,
the letters were not evenly spaced or proportioned, and
-- most significantly -- you neglected to dot several of
the 'i's.” He could see that she knew what was coming
next. “Mairi, you definitely wrote that invitation, but
when you did, why were you scared?”
Her expression remained blank. Benjamin's
analysis of the invitation, combined with the Count's
vague, and not altogether convincing reasons for
bringing him here lead him to one conclusion.
“Is it really your father who wants me here,
Mairi?”
Mairi's mouth moved, but her tongue faltered, so
no sound came from her lips other than an exasperated
sigh. Benjamin looked through to Aliea, who was still in
the bedroom. There was no door separating any of the
rooms, so he could only hope that she had not been
listening to their conversation.
“Benjamin, please--” Mairi brushed some hair
away from her face, glancing around the room. “some
things are better left buried.”
“Mairi, I know I am right.You already know you
can trust me, that much I have proven, however
inadvertently so.”
She took some time to herself, in which she
must have been trying to make sense of what he was
saying in her head. He wasn't sure how many seconds
passed, but she did eventually break the silence.
“You are not entirely correct.”
Benjamin's features dropped. He was so sure that
he was right, what detail could he possibly have omitted?

91
It seemed that Mairi would allow herself to be exposed
no longer. The fire in her eyes that he had seen in the
market fizzled into existence once again. She was bound
to be much more elusive from this point on.
“I am impressed, though, that you managed to
figure this much out for yourself.”
“What do you mean, not entirely correct?”
Benjamin wanted some answer, he could not stand to
know that he had been so close to the truth unless he
knew exactly how far away he was.
“I'm sorry. My father-- I can't--” She moved her
attention away from him, but not before he heard a
slight falter in her voice. Regardless, her words remained
strong. “My father sent me to tell you that he has moved
the next meeting to tomorrow. You will be expected to
join him for breakfast at 7AM sharp. Be ready to leave
on business. I trust you can entertain yourself until then.”
She left shortly after finishing her sentence.
Benjamin waited for a few seconds, and was later
relieved to hear the subtle sound of her footsteps,
echoing through the cavernous staircase below.

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 CHAPTER ELEVEN

It's Not Faith if You

Use Your Eyes

When Mairi offered to take Aliea away from the table,

the girl was wary. At first, she was not fond of the
prospect of leaving her father. This was an unfamiliar
place, and unfamiliarity was something that twisted her
stomach into a knot tighter than she felt comfortable
accommodating. Regardless, there was something about
Mairi that made Aliea trust her. It was not her aesthetic
charm. Although she was dressed exquisitely, and her fine
golden hair shone as lusciously as the sun had earlier that
morning, there was something beyond her visage that
enticed the girl.
Aliea took Mairi's hand, and allowed herself to
be led through to another room entirely. She took a
glance back towards the table as they walked, but her
father was deep in conversation at the table.
“Aliea, I have something I wish to share with
you. Would you mind lending me a helping hand
towards a small task?”
They were far enough from the table now to be
out of earshot, so anything which she confided in the
woman would be unheard by unwelcome ears. She
thought for a second, and decided to follow her father's

93
advice. Not wanting to offend or upset the Countess, she
accepted.
“Yes, ma'am. What is it that you wish for me to
do?”
“Thank you Aliea. Do not worry, though, you
will not have to do anything, you just have to come with
me. Does that sound good?”
It did not seem like she would be lending much
of a helping hand after all, but nevertheless, she nodded
and Mairi squeezed her hand in thanks.
At this point in the conversation they had passed
through several doorways, and Aliea had mapped each of
them out in her head. She always thought it best to keep
track of where she was going, more so in places she had
not visited previously. They were still in the west wing of
the manor, so they had not passed through the main hall
on their travels. Aliea noticed that there were
significantly less workers around here. “Perhaps this part
of the manor was off limits to everyone?” she thought,
“So why am I being brought down here?”
“Ma'am.”
“Please, call me Mairi. Do you have a question?
It is probably best if you hold your curiosity until we
reach our destination.”
“It is not about that, Mairi.”
The seven year old saw a door ahead, which
although smaller than most of the others in the building,
would be more than large enough to accept the slight
frames of both the Countess and the Craftsman's
daughter, maybe even both at the same time. Letting go
of Aliea's hand, Mairi forced open the door using the
weight of her entire body, a grating breath escaped her
lips as she did. The door lead into the gardens
surrounding the manor; it was now a good while into

94
the night, so outside, beyond the threshold, there was
very little in the way of natural lighting. Aliea wished she
had worn more layers of clothing, on top of, or
underneath her dress, as equalling the lack of light was a
lack of warmth.
“I know it is chilly, dear, but try not to tense
your muscles, the more you do, the more you will feel
the frost.”
Heeding her advice, Aliea reluctantly stepped
outside. Leaving behind the Manor and the comforting
shroud of toasty air that appeased her while she was
there. Once both of them were outside, Mairi shut the
door behind her. It closed with a thud, and the woman
offered out her hand to the child once more.
“Come along. You may ask your question now if
you like. It should give us something to speak about,
while we walk.”
In the shallow moonlight, it appeared to Aliea
that Mairi was even more enchanting than usual. A
stroke of silver lined her features which now appeared
sharper, as if individually highlighted by the moon itself,
and her hair no longer shone with a yellow lustre,
appearing white instead. The Countess's new appearance
was possibly even more beautiful than her original, and
Aliea did not pass up the opportunity to share body heat,
even if only through the meeting of their palms.
“Mairi, my father ignored you earlier, but, my
mother . . . you knew her?”
“No, I did not. Well, not personally, at least.”
Mairi's answer was firm, but Aliea was sure she had heard
a glimmer of reluctance in the woman's smooth reply.
“All that I know of your mother is what I have heard
from my own father.”
“Oh.”

95
 “You sound disappointed.”
“No, miss, just tired. I have been awake for far
too long today.”
“You should get as much sleep as possible, Aliea.”
“Yes.”
They fell silent for a few minutes. Aliea had not
noticed before it was brought to her attention in
conversation, but she was so tired, she was having trouble
keeping her eyes open. Seldom found awake after eight
thirty on weekends, she was quite far out of her comfort
zone.
It wasn't long until they neared their destination:
a building on the far side of the courtyard they had
crossed. It had two floors, and was altogether
considerably smaller than the most of the rooms in the
main mansion.
“Aliea, these are my own personal quarters. What
do you think?”
“They're a long way away from everything else.”
“Yes, just how I like it.”
Taking another few steps forward, there did not
appear to be an entrance, all the more reason for Aliea to
have been surprised when a large chunk of the wall span
on an invisible pivot, revealing a small opening before
her. A pulse of blue light filled the air, but dissipated
shortly after, leaving Aliea to wonder if it had only been
a figment of her imagination.
“I have to make sure it is properly protected. I
am sure you understand.”
Upon entering the building, Aliea was relieved to
be indoors -- until the camouflaged door span back into
place, that is. Once it had she was displeased to find that
the temperature in here was the same, if not colder than
it had been outside. Although these were supposed to be

96
the quarters of a young woman, the décor did not reflect
the means. It was arguably more old fashioned that the
Manor, the various paintings replaced with a dated,
yellowing wallpaper, and the many artefacts of interest
substituted with clutter and devices of purpose not
specified.
“Mairi-”
“One moment, we are almost there now. You see
those stairs at the end of the corridor? Yes those ones
right there. Would you be so kind as to head on up
there?”
Aliea nodded, still not questioning the woman's
motives. She let go of Mairi's hand, then walked to the
end of the corridor, and started up the stairs. As her foot
touched down on the marble of the first step, she looked
over her shoulder. Mairi was still stood there, staring
straight ahead, her hands clasped together in the centre
of her bosom. She gave a curt nod, so slight Aliea was
not sure if she had in fact moved at all. Removing her
attention from the mysterious woman, Aliea continued
up the stairs. The soles of her shoes slid over the polished
surface with each step. For a moment the girl
entertained the idea that Mairi wanted her to fall and
break her neck, but she dismissed the thought as quickly
as it had arrived to her. She would not harbour such
outrageous ideas. With each step she tried not to think
about the woman behind her. It was not clear to Aliea
whether the Countess was still staring, but that would be
a safe conclusion to draw if she were to trust the heat on
her back, sourcing from the spot where a pair of eyes
would have been set upon her if someone were
watching.
When she came to the top of the stairs, she
turned around, and faced her company. Yes, Mairi was

97
still watching.
“Thank you, Aliea.” Mairi's hands moved away
from her chest, and flattened her evening gown over her
hips as she hungrily inhaled a significant volume of air,
almost as if she had been hanging on baited breath for a
while now. She corrected her hair with the fingers on
her right hand, then briefly closed her eyes, as if
concentrating on something that was not there.
“M-- Mairi. What are you doing? Uh--” She
finished her sentence with a startled choke. Aliea was
welling up, tears forming in the corners of each eye,
before starting in rivulets down her cheeks; working
their way over her nose, then dripping down from her
chin. She could not explain her sudden outburst, but
only stare in disbelief at the Countess. It was not
something that Mairi had done which elicited elicited
Aliea's sobs, far from it. In fact, Mairi had not moved an
inch -- nothing had. No, it was not that which had
flustered the girl to such a degree, but rather, when she
saw the Countess's shoulders rising and falling with each
breath, her bosom inflating simultaneously with the
steady rhythm, she could not hold it back. It was when
the woman opened her eyes again, that she felt
something which she had not felt in a long time. She felt
a presence long forgotten. A presence that could stir
nothing but the deepest of emotions from the seven year
old girl, still nothing but a child, long separated from
what was once the entire world to her. She was
reminded.
“Z– Zeyku . . .”

Aliea awoke cradled in Mairi's arms. Although her

consciousness had stirred abruptly, she did not open her
eyes for some time. Instead, she stayed perfectly still,

98
paying close attention to Mairi's breathing as wisps of
warm air from her nose bathed the girl's flushed skin.
Completely entwined in her embrace, she felt that she
was curled up in Mairi's lap, the Countess slowly rocking
her back and forth. Aliea's head was resting in the
woman's bosom, and when she finally opened her eyes, it
was in response to a single droplet of water, dabbing her
skin, then sliding down her neck. This combined with
the light sobs was enough to prompt her to come up
from her sleepy trance.
“Mairi . . .”
The Countesses chest protruded, then her grip
loosened. Her hand brushed Aliea's cheek, the milky hue
in both of their complexions barely distinguishable. “I
am sorry, Aliea.”
The two female's eyes did not part for a few
seconds, after which Mairi's condition had become far
more erratic. Her tears began to slow faster, but since
there were very few whimpers to accompany them,
Mairi's anguish was far stronger than Aliea understood.
“Mairi, I remember.” She let her head fall deeper
into Mairi's modest chest, and noticed that her own eyes
had also become moistened. “No, I don't remember, not
exactly. I just . . .”
“I know. It is strange, but try not to dwell on it.”
It was hard to make out Mairi's words, due mostly to the
intermittent cracking of her voice with every pant. “I
can't believe that you . . .”
“Mairi, I don't understand.” Aliea tried to
support her own weight, but could not, having no
choice but to fall limp towards her guardian once again.
Their faces were closer now, and Aliea remained silent as
she pondered the curious itch of their tears merging
over her nose and cheeks.

99
 “Darling, just relax.” Mairi clenched her eyelids
firm over their sockets, and took in a deep, full breath,
the beautiful smell of Aliea's soft brown locks flooding
her palette. “I will take care of you.”

100
 CHAPTER TWELVE

The Task at Hand

The next morning, after Benjamin had washed and

shaved, he took Aliea and himself downstairs for
breakfast. The Count and Harlon were sat at the table,
the same as the last time everyone ate together.
Benjamin and Aliea sat down, and Indrall said good
morning.
“Good morning, Fleet. I see you finally had a
shave, it was getting a bit out of hand, wasn't it?”
“Good morning, Sir.” he replied. Mairi was
nowhere to be seen. He thought that maybe she was not
invited. “I hope you do not mind that I brought Aliea.”
“Far to the contrary, Fleet.” The Count was
mostly preoccupied with buttering a series of pastries
which he had lined up on his plate. “How are you today,
dear?”
Aliea had not previously been directly addressed
by the Count, and Benjamin saw that she was taken
aback by his question.
“I am fine, Sir. Thank you for asking.” She was, as
always, very polite. Benjamin asked her if she wanted
anything from the centre of the table, but she said she
wasn't hungry. Regardless, he got up, then piled several
pieces of fruit onto her plate. After he set down the last –
a rather juicy looking red apple – he instructed her that

101
she must eat something, to which the girl gave a
reluctant nod.
Not wanting to appear rude, Benjamin looked
up to the man he had met in the library the day before.
“Harlon, how was your evening?”
He looked up from his own breakfast, and
quickly swallowed what he had been chewing.
“Productive, my restless nature made sure of that.” The
ambassador had struck Benjamin as quite the dedicated
type, it would not surprise him if Harlon has spent his
night secure in the confines of the lofty library. “I trust it
was you who used the elevator in the main hall?”
Benjamin had forgotten that the contraption had
shook the entire manor, and that for this reason,
everyone inside had probably known it was in use. The
Count was next to speak.
“Yes, I'm sure it was Mairi who showed it to you.
Harlon was here when we first discovered it.”
“Discovered it?” Fleet asked. It shocked him that
this place was not built under the Count's command.
“Yes,” said Indrall, “it was only a few years ago
that we became aware of it ourselves. We don't know
how many more devices of such nature there are in the
manor, but we have discovered a handful of others since.
We try to limit their use, but I suppose Mairi could not
resist showing you before I had the opportunity to do so
myself.” He finished buttering and started to eat.
Harlon, who -– having started eating before their
arrival -- had already polished off his meal, poured
himself a glass of water. “Speaking of Mairi, is she to join
us this morning, Count?”
Benjamin was pleased that Harlon had asked, for
he had not the courage to do so himself.
“I said she was free to, if she liked, but I gave her

102
no solid instruction either way.”
Turning around, Benjamin noticed that Aliea had
eaten a large part of the apple he had given her already,
but had not touched the rest of the food in front of her.
The apple core laid there in the centre of her plate, its
corners harsh, with plenty of the fruit's flesh still left
intact, perfectly suitable for eating.
What Aliea said next was barely loud enough for
the whole table to hear. “I hope she does come.”
The Count resumed his speech. “Yes, well, for
now we had better get on with business. Mairi already
told you, I was not planning on starting work so soon,
but time is of the essence. Today I would like for you
both to visit a good friend of mine. He does not live far
from here, in the residential district of Turnshire, in fact,
so the journey will not take long.”
“And how does this relate to the task at hand?”
Harlon was far more confident in addressing the Count
than Benjamin was, but he was more than happy to let
the philosopher take the lead in conversation.
“He is the only person, other than us, who
knows the Manor's secret. If you were to meet with him,
I am sure you could attain some most valuable
information.”
Harlon interjected. “With all due respect Sir,
wouldn't it be much simpler for you to just tell us how
the illusions worked?”
“No. You seeing, and discovering this for
yourselves will be half of the battle. Besides, I'm not even
sure how to explain it. I did not develop the means
myself, after all.”
Benjamin mustered enough courage to break his
silence. “But the man you want us to meet -- he did?”
Indrall nodded. “Yes, indeed. You will be leaving

103
for Luca Donn's home after breakfast. I trust you are
both fit to leave the manor?”
Benjamin and Aliea were ready, and Harlon
looked to be as prepared as they were. Harlon nodded to
Benjamin, who took this as a prompt to speak.
“Yes. We are ready.”

***

There was a certain apprehension evident in Mairi

Indrall's features as she made her way up the manor's
grand staircase. Her fingers gripped the banister more
tightly than necessary each time they came into contact
with the varnished wood, and every step upon the
marble beneath her feet landed with lesser adamance.
After she reached the second floor, she took a few
seconds to stand there in silence –- her eyes closed, and
her breathing ever so slightly subdued. When the door
eventually opened inwards, Count Indrall took his head
out of his hands, then -- after a brief pause -- looked up
at her.
“Benjamin and Harlon are boarding the carriage
as we speak.”
“Yes father. I can see them from my window.”
“I want you to accompany them.”
Mairi's head bowed, and her hands came up to
cover her mouth. Her voice was only just audible.
“Father. . .”
“If you hurry you should be able to reach them
before the carriage leaves. If they have departed by the
time you reach the main gate, walk.”
“Please, after last time I-”
“One day Mairi, I hope for your sake that you
learn not to defy a powerful man.” He stood up from

104
behind his desk, then walked away from her, towards the
window. His face was no longer visible to the woman,
and her following words were met with a relieved
expression that she did not see.
“Yes father.”
She turned to leave, her shoulders shaking with
considerable vigour.
“Mairi-”
“Yes, what is it?”
The Count, observing the reflection cast in the
window before him, carefully studied her reaction. “If
you tell them anything, I will find out.”

***

Benjamin, Aliea and Harlon were seconds away from

leaving in the carriage, when Mairi burst out of the
Manor's main entrance. When he saw her, Benjamin
hurriedly warned the driver, whom must have been the
Count's first real labourer in years, not to move
anywhere.
“Papa, what are you doing?”
“Aliea, wait here.”
He squeezed her hand, then stepped out of the
carriage to meet the woman, who seemed to be in more
than a hurry. When Mairi saw that Benjamin was
walking to meet her, she composed herself, and began
walking with eloquence once more.
“Mairi, do you need something? Are you okay?”
he asked as she passed him. He turned to follow her.
The Countess, whose breathing pattern seemed
to have returned to a normal speed, stopped and looked
at him. “We haven't got time to waste, Benjamin. If we
are late for Sir Donn he won't be pleased.”

105
 “We?”
Indrall had said nothing of his daughter joining
them on their excursion, so he was understandably
perplexed.
“Yes. Did my father not mention. . .” She brought
a hand to her chest and toyed with the necklace she was
wearing, rolling the small pendant around in her fingers.
“No, he didn't. I thought you said you weren't
supposed to leave the manor?” Fleet noticed Aliea
peering out from her seat in the carriage. A smile
appeared on her face when she saw Mairi, who flashed
her hand in greetings.
“Benjamin, you've sworn on many occasions that
you are not naïve, and still, you are yet to prove me
wrong.”
“So you were lying?”
She stopped, which almost caused Benjamin to
stumble into her. When her face met his, her whole hand
gripped the pendant. “You are under my contract, as well
as my father's. Therefore, if I want to come with you,
you must take me, regardless of your reluctance to do
so.” The corners of her mouth tweaked firm for a short
moment. Once they had relaxed, she softly bit her
bottom lip. She took hold of his arm, and led him the
rest of the way to the carriage. He did not resist. She
pulled him through the untrimmed weeds towards Aliea,
Harlon and the driver –- the latter of whom seemed to
be growing restless.
“Are you ready to leave, ma'am?” said the man at
the front of the carriage, the solidity of his voice
unsettling Benjamin. Surely this man was not expecting
her?
Mairi -- who looked unprepared to be dominant
in any given situation, especially this one -- glanced at

106
her three companions. It appeared to Fleet that they had
all already resigned to this inevitability, even before her
reply.
“Yes my friend. Take us to Luca.”

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 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Castle

The residential district of Turnshire was unlike anything

Benjamin had ever seen. Although many of the houses
were obscured by huge trees, the ones he could see were
far grander than even the richest areas of Abelia, which
was certainly not a town of poverty. The streets were
mostly long and straight, with several clear cut bends
leading into other areas. It was at the end of the third
road they had traversed that the carriage stopped, in
front of the most impressive house yet. To say that it was
larger than the Count's manor would have been a foolish
statement, but it was so very close, Benjamin had to
wonder how rich the man who lived here actually was.
“It is quite something, isn't it?” Harlon had
detected Benjamin's awe, most likely as his mouth was
hanging slightly ajar. When Fleet noticed this he
corrected it, swallowing hard. “I've been here once
before. The Count wouldn't admit to this, but Luca
Donn is wealthier than even him. I'm sure you will see
once we enter.”
Although Mairi must have heard this, she did not
interrupt to defend her father. “Are we ready?
Gentlemen?” She stepped out of the vehicle onto the
ground below. When both of her feet were out of the
carriage, she held out her arms to Aliea, who took them

108
after quickly kissing her father on the cheek. Mairi
helped the girl down, and then walked over to the
driver, presumably to give him instruction on when to
retrieve the party.
Benjamin looked at his daughter with something
that resembled confusion.
“Papa?”
He shook his head, hoping the apprehension
would scatter from his thoughts. “Nothing.” He got out
of the carriage, then took Aliea's hand. Harlon followed
shortly after, though he used to opposite door. He
circled around to the Fleet family, adjusting his cufflinks
as he went. Mairi finished talking to the driver, but he
didn't take the carriage anywhere.
“Let's go,” she said as she started on the path
through the centre of the broad, grass laden drive,
leading up to the front door. There was no gate.
Benjamin reasoned that this was because there were
fewer crimes committed this deep in the rich district.
“He is expecting us at 9AM, so we are in good time.”
The group was met at the front door by a well
dressed middle-aged man. He issued them through the
door one by one, after a brief frisking of each of them.
Mairi stiffened as the man's hands travelled over her
body. Fleet looked away, keeping his eyes elsewhere. He
was concerned when the man came to search Aliea, but
he was allowed to keep hold of her hand until it was
finished.
“Please, come through.” The man smiled at
Benjamin, and signalled for Fleet to join Harlon and
Mairi in the house.
Upon entering the building, Fleet realised that
any comparisons to the Count's estate had to be
neglected. He had known Luca had access to the illusion

109
technology found in Indrall's manor, but not that it
could be used quite like this. The entire main hall was
alive with activity. The movement in the room was
disorienting, but not for the reasons one might expect. It
appeared to Fleet, that in this reasonably sized main hall,
the walls were moving. He looked up, and saw that the
chandelier above was traversing the ceiling, albeit slowly.
“Like I said, you can see that Sir Donn isn't what
you would call a reserved man.” Harlon stepped in front
of him, and the man who had welcomed them walked
off, leaving them alone.
“These are all. . .”
“Illusions?” Harlon asked, “I'm afraid not. What
you are seeing here is technology akin to that of the
elevator in the Count's manor.”
Benjamin felt a strain on his arm, and looked
down to see that Aliea was clumsily stepping over a
section of the floor, which had started to move beneath
her. She got her feet on steady ground again, then
brushed some hair from her moistened forehead.
“I don't like it here.” her speech trailed off as she
examined the room before her.
“Be careful- you'll lose your footing.” Benjamin
tightened his grip on Aliea's hand, and supported as
much of her weight as he could. “Just stay close.”
Harlon scratched his nose. “It looks like such a
thing might prove more difficult here than it would
elsewhere.”
Mairi took it upon herself to explain. “When we
found the elevator in the manor, my father called Luca
over before we even touched it. Being the man he is, he
sent a team over to investigate and study the contraption.
A few years later, and you have, well . . . this.” Although
she appeared to have been here many times before,

110
Mairi's eyes were still drawn to the architecture, holding
a look of wonderment not dissimilar to that of Fleet's.
“He developed the technology –- well, he paid for
someone else to do it –- and then went to great lengths
to keep it private. That is why I must have your word
that you will not speak of what you have seen here.”
“You said earlier that it was not technology.”
Benjamin challenged her account, not completely sure
what he was trying to expose.
“Well, the truth is, I don't know what it is. As I
said, he kept it very private. I am not sure if anyone
knows, or what he did with the men who developed it.”
Ignoring, yet still registering her ominous last
words, Benjamin looked at Harlon, who raised a single
eyebrow. The group were interrupted by the man from
before. He addressed the Countess first.
“If you would follow me, ma'am. There will be
someone along to collect your friends momentarily.”
“We're not going with you?” asked Aliea.
Mairi nodded and followed the man, who started
to lead her deeper into the mansion. “Don't worry,” she
said, “We will rendezvous soon enough. Just do as you
are instructed until Luca is ready to address you all.”
“Where are you going?” Benjamin moved one
foot forward, but stopped himself as he realised such an
act would most likely send him sliding on some
undesired direction. This thought in mind, he reserved
his movement.
“It's just a formality, Benjamin.” She turned her
back completely on the three stood just shy of the front
door, and disappeared into another room, which was
promptly sealed off.
“Take it easy, Benjamin, she is in command here,
so Donn will see her first.”

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 The Craftsman looked at Harlon, then at his
daughter. “So how long do we wait?”
“We don't. We should get moving.”
The ground beneath Aliea's feet had been still for
a while now, so she had been listening intently to the
conversation. “The man said there would be someone
here for us soon.”
“She's right Harlon. Besides, I don't think it is a
good idea to try to navigate this building unsupervised.”
“They'll find us, no matter where we are.”
Harlon reached for his lapel and lifted it, showing
Benjamin a small black node that was attached there.
“They bugged us. All of us. Besides, this system is really
not as complicated as it looks. There is a safety protocol
in place, so no walls will collapse over you, and you
won't get crushed between two tables, or anything like
that.You're perfectly safe.”
Fleet searched his own clothing, and found a
similar device attached to his belt. He certainly did not
feel safe now.
“I wouldn't tamper with it, Benjamin. It is just a
security measure, they are how the system in here will
detect you.”
“If that is the case, why did they attach them to
us without us knowing?” He looked down and saw Aliea
rummaging through her dress, seemingly unable to find
anything similar to that upon the men's clothing.
“Well, would you have worn it?”
Fleet had to admit that no, he probably would
not have been pleased to wear the minuscule device, had
it been offered to him outright. “How do you know so
much about this place?”
“On my last visit here, I got the full briefing on
how everything works. I knew it existed before Donn

112
did, after all.”
“Papa. I want to stay here. I want to wait, like
Mairi said.” Aliea had given up her search, and looked
unsure as to what to do with her idle hands. Benjamin
thought that maybe the girl had not been tracked as they
were, but it made little sense for Luca's men to neglect
the safety of a small child, of all people.
Harlon had acknowledged his defeat, and it was
obvious in his expression. “Okay, we'll wait, but for
Aliea.” He looked at Benjamin and laughed. “Then
again, I do understand your apprehension.” He placed a
hand on his shoulder. “Your backbone is rather weak
after all.” The sarcastic reference to Loft Englewater's
earlier comment was off-putting for Fleet, at the very
least.
Aliea laughed. He was surprised that she
remembered such details of conversation. When he gave
her a eyebrows-raised, pleading glance, she stifled her
smile, and her cheeks flushed. She must have seen
Harlon was playfully mocking her father. “I'm sorry, Papa
-- but, you do look really nervous.”
“Unnerved, I would say.” Harlon added.
“There's no difference!-” Benjamin interjected,
somewhat concerned that this was his chosen retaliation
while his comrade exercised his sarcastic brand of
humour upon him. Aliea and Harlon shared a smile.
“Ah Benjamin, our company has arrived.”
Benjamin's fellow Abelian signalled towards the east
wing of the mansion as another man in a suit -- this
time, much younger -- walked to greet them. He paused
momentarily as a large wooden cubicle slid past to his
right, and then continued on his path. When this man
spoke, his voice sounded friendlier than any of his
previous colleagues' had.

113
 “Benjamin Fleet, and Harlon Smith, I presume?”
They nodded. Aliea was used to not being
included in her father's formalities, so Fleet knew she
would not be irked by the omission of her name. She
did, however, come closer to him, and re-take his hand.
“If you would follow me to the assembly hall. Sir
Donn is ready to address you all.” He signalled with his
hand in the direction that Mairi had been taken
previously, then added another sentence. “Sir Donn has
turned the mansion's mechanics to a relative standstill for
you, Benjamin. This is your first time here after all.”
“Thank you, but there was no need.” His voice
reflected a level of confidence that he had not displayed
moments before, when faced with the prospect of
navigating the dynamic architecture without an escort.
When they started moving, Harlon was first behind the
friendly man, Fleet second, and Aliea behind -- her hand
still firmly clutched within his. They had been advised
by the man to walk in single-file, and although it was
difficult to keep track of Aliea, Benjamin was not going
to risk her drifting away behind some swivelling wall,
only to be found much worse for wear, several long
hours later.

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 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Once Again

After a short few minutes, the man who had lead Mairi
away from her party came to an abrupt halt. Not
expecting to be stopped so soon, the Countess
responded to the servants bow with a tentative curtsey of
her own.
“Ma'am. Please step this way.” He opened a door
to the left of their current corridor, revealing a cosy
looking room entertaining a brightly lit fire in the far
corner, opposite a large four poster bed.
The servant ignored Mairi's questioning look,
instead holding his smile firmly in place. She nodded,
and with concealed dejection walked into the room. To
think that they had gotten to the stage where formalities
were completely discarded was the nail in the proverbial
coffin.
She set her basket down on a chair next to the
fire, then briefly studied the literature on a shelf under
the room's only window, which had already been
covered by a thick red drape. She heard the door close
behind her –- now she was alone. The room was
pleasantly warm due to the logs burning but a few
meters away from her, and the sweet smell of incense
doused the air, reminding her of her old home as a child.
“What are you doing back here?”

115
 Mairi was startled by the voice, but she tried not
to let it show as she turned around.
“Zeikku, I didn't hear you come in.”
“I didn't.” The man was stood close to her, his
arms crossed over his broad, armoured chest. “But I
heard you come in.”
Mairi looked over and saw that the bed sheets
had been disturbed, it was apparent that someone had
been sat there, atop the linens, but the curtain
surrounding the bed had now been drawn back.
“What were you doing in here?”
Zeikku followed her gaze and sighed. “I was
waiting.”
“For me?”
“Yes. I saw you in the main hall, and I distinctly
remember telling you not to return here. Yet here you
are.”
Mairi walked over to the fire. “My father, he
instructed me to accompany his latest . . . colleagues
here.”
“And you obeyed him?”
She held her hands out to the naked flames,
sharply retracting them when she felt her fingers get too
hot. She gently eased them back into a comfortable
position. “I had no choice.” When she felt a heavy hand
rest upon her shoulder, her entire body tensed. Zeikku's
mouth came close to her ear.
“Nonsense.”
Relaxing once again, Mairi turned to face the
nobleman. His hand slid away, and she flicked her head
to the left, shifting her hair our from in front of her eyes.
“You are a coward, Zeikku, or will you still try to
deny it?” She had riled him, but she could not say that
this wasn't her intention.

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 “When you have taken to the battlefield, with
only a spear and your wits to defend your country, you
can call me anything you wish, but until then, you have
no authority to make such claims.”
“My father practically begged you to kill Luca,
but you still did not do it. You know what he has done,
to me as well as this country, but you turned around and
walked away.” She put her hand on his face. “When you
have stood before him, in this very room, as I have on
many lonely occasions, you can tell me to do whatever
you like, but until then, don't pretend that I wanted to
return here any more than you wanted me to.”
The young spear-man pulled her hand away
from him, then stepped back. “Mairi, do what you need
to do, then get as far away from Donn as you can. You
don't need me to tell you again, I am sure.”
She nodded, then faced the fire once more. She
reached out with her right hand, the tips of her fingers
burning with pain as the heat became more intense. She
clenched her teeth, and allowed her hand to pierce the
dancing reds and yellows and oranges. The pain did not
come to fruition, rather, it began to fade, and Mairi was
pleased to see that her skin remained as white as snow.
She let her hand float within the wistful flickering of the
flames for a few more seconds, before she was
interrupted by the man behind her.
“Show off.”
Mairi calmly retracted her hand from the haze.
She walked over to the bed, picked up her basket, then
addressed Zeikku once more. “I take it you will escort
me to Luca?”
“No, I have to go; he will suspect that I have
spoken with you if we enter the assembly hall together.
The servant is still outside, he will take you there, the

117
mechanics of the mansion have been turned to a stand
still anyway, you could probably make it there unaided if
you so desired.”
“Without a doubt, but I suppose that would look
suspicious too, wouldn't it?” She smiled at the nobleman
for the first time since they had met that day. He did not
reciprocate, rather, he put his hands on her hips, and
kissed her forehead. “God speed, Mairi.”
He walked over to the bed, smoothed over the
linens, then removed the red drape from the wall,
revealing the locking mechanism of a heavy safe. “I have
some business here.You go on first.”
She nodded, then moved to the door. Rather
than turning the doorknob straight away, she let her
hand hover an inch or so above it. She remained like this
for a few seconds, her thoughts suddenly racing much
faster than they had been a few moments ago. No, not
yet, she was getting ahead of herself. She broke her
concentration, opened the door, and after a swift look
back at Zeikku, passed through to the corridor on the
other side.
“Miss Indrall, are you ready to leave for the
assembly hall?” asked the servant.
“Yes, my friend,” she replied. Her expression
turned sour, “but we had better go in through the back.”

***

Once he was certain that Mairi had left the room and
taken a few steps down the corridor, Zeikku stopped
spinning the dial on the safe, and slammed the ersatz
lock with his fist. It reacted instantly, the head level door
violently swinging outwards. He reached into the safe
with a shaking hand, and carefully closed his fingers

118
around the blue crystal. When he pulled it out he kept
his grip loose, with only his fingertips touching the
sleek, translucent surface. Examining it with his similarly
coloured eyes, he drew a shaky breath, then slipped the
crystal into a small enchanted pouch at his waist.

Today was the day.

***

“Good morning Mairi.”

Luca Donn was stood by his office window
when she entered the room. For a second before he had
responded, Mairi noticed that he was staring pensively
out into the city below. “Your father sent word that you
would be arriving, babysitting a small group of fools, no
less.”
The Countess ventured deeper into the office,
resting her basket on Donn's desk. “I have come under
my father's instruction, that is correct. The two men I
brought with me are valuable assets.”
She observed a shift in Donn's expression. “And
the girl?”
“Her father would not leave the manor without
her.”
He seemed to believe her -- for now. “I see.” He
held his hands together behind his broad back, and his
jet black moustache wriggled above his contorting lip.
“Today is an important day, Mairi. Raffan Cross have
threatened us in the south one too many times, and you
know better than anyone: we can not defeat their army.”
Mairi squirmed in her place in front of the desk.
She brought a hand up to her headband and picked at it,
attempting to tug it into a more comfortable position.

119
 “I think we need to announce our plans. It will
offer an invaluable morale boost to our people.”
“Absolutely not.” She winced as she remembered
what her father had said to her before she left the manor.
“Uh-- I'm sorry, I do not mean to defy you.” Although
she apologized, her adamance that what Donn had
suggested was a bad idea remained intact. “That wasn't
what we agreed. My father would say the same.”
“Your father would agree with me. He is no fool,
and he knows the peril that our town and every other
within the order faces.”
“With respect, Sir, I have to ask you not to do
this. My company -- Father specifically told me that
they must not find out--”
“I am not keeping them here; that is not my
issue.”
“Sir Donn--”
“Mairi, it is not up for discussion. I will tell the
entire congregation of our plans, and you do not have a
say in this. Do you understand?”
She felt something stir inside of her. A strange
and unsettling aura negotiated her insides, and for a
second, she felt a spark of pure rage. She fought it back,
quenching the uprising she had experienced far too
many times before.
“Yes, Sir.”

120
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Down

Benjamin saw Mairi enter the assembly hall through a

door on the far left, roughly level with the raised
platform at the head of the huge room. He had glanced
around the crowded tables in search of the woman for a
while, but it was not until now that he realised she had
not been in the room at all. She walked up and sat at
one of the several chairs at the back of the stage, at the
centre of which stood a large podium, currently
unoccupied. She had not looked at him once, though,
she probably had no idea where he was.
It was becoming harder and harder to maintain
conversation with Harlon and Aliea as time went by. The
room was slowly filling, even now, and there was no
room left at any of the three long, narrow tables that
stretched the length of the room. Fleet tugged at his
collar, attempting to free his moist skin from the chafing
of his starched shirt. The room, naturally, was
swelteringly hot. He couldn't imagine that anyone was
very comfortable, even if, unlike him, they knew what
they were doing here -- what they were waiting for.
“Papa, how much longer?” Aliea was sitting
beside him, as close as he could get her. He could see
that she was withered by the heat, as he was. Her skin
had steeped into a blotchy shade of red, and her neck

121
was glinting with a smattering of perspiration.
“It shouldn't be long, at least, I hope not.” He
blew gently on her face, and watched as she giggled. He
turned his attention to the untouched food in front of
him, and spoke to Harlon. “Something about this whole
event strikes me as odd.” He reached out and started to
re-arrange the candles in the centre of the table. “Harlon,
do you know why we are here?”
“What in the world are you doing?” Asked the
philosopher, his attention focused on Fleet's hands.
Benjamin glanced back at him. “They weren't in
height order. It was annoying me.”
“Is that so . . .”
“My question, Harlon.”
“I already told you, I don't know why we are
here. I had no knowledge of this assembly prior to my
arrival, the same as you. If the past is anything to go by,
though, I would say that with this many people here, it is
something . . . significant.”
Benjamin had finished with the candles, and was
now looking into Harlon's focused eyes. “The Count,
did he know?”
“I think so, yes.”
“If that is the case, why didn't he tell us?”
“Because, Benjamin, he didn't want us to know.”
Harlon's eyes were cold. Benjamin had never seen that in
him before, and he knew that Harlon was offset by
Count Indrall's purposeful negligence.
“I see.” He looked back at Aliea, but her
attention was elsewhere.
“Where is Mairi?” she asked.
“I suppose she also kept something from us.” said
Benjamin. Harlon nodded.
“Yes. She appears to be somewhat of a guest of

122
honour. The seats on the stage are reserved for those few
important arrivals that wouldn't even chance sitting with
the rest of us.”
“Oh.”
As if she had heard Aliea's crestfallen response,
Mairi jolted in her seat. Her sudden and exaggerated
movement caught Benjamin's attention, and he studied
her as she shakily stood up, and scurried off of the
elevated platform, into the crowd beneath. Another man
who had been seated nearby appeared to be shouting
after her, but stopped when he saw that she was ignoring
him completely.
“Father, look!”
“Yes, Aliea. I see.”
She took his arm in her grasp, and nestled her
head into his side.
“Benjamin,” Harlon had taken a more urgent
tone, “What do you think--”
“I don't know . . .”
The two waited until Mairi had drawn
significantly closer, but were dismayed to hear a shrill
klaxon cut through the hubbub in the hall. The crowd
fell silent, and everyone's eyes met the figure of Luca
Donn, standing tall on the raised podium at the front of
the stage.
“No--” Benjamin uttered his disappointed
rejection, but Harlon shushed him before he could
protest any further. Aliea raised her head and sighed.
“Gentlemen, it is time we begun the days
proceedings.”
The man, whom Benjamin was certain to be
Luca himself, had started talking, but his speech went
largely ignored by the craftsman, his attention residing
upon Mairi's movement. She had stopped momentarily,

123
everyone else who had been moving had taken to their
seats, so now she was the only one standing, in plain
view of anyone who cared to look in her direction. She
hesitated, then began to walk towards them again.
Perhaps it was fatigue, brought on by the unforgiving
heat, but Benjamin was certain that he saw a faint red
light, seemingly illuminating her soft features, lining
them with a crimson tinge.
“As you all know, the Mayor of Raffan Cross has
threatened to cut off our supply routes several times in
the last year. Turnshire is a--”
Benjamin chanced a glance at Aliea, who was
transfixed by Donn's speech, despite the fact that she
surely hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about.
When he looked back, he half expected Mairi to have
disappeared. She had. He felt a warmth on his neck, and
stiffened his muscles, sharply inhaling a small amount of
air in his shock.
“Benjamin.” The voice was nothing but a
whisper, but when a pale and delicate hand fell on his
shoulder, he knew that it was her.
“Mairi-- you-- are you--” He was hushed by the
woman, who picked up a compliant Aliea by the waist,
took the small girl's seat, then allowed her to take a place
upon her lap.
“Mairi, what's the view like on the stage?”
“Aliea, I need to speak with your father. Can it
wait?”
The girl nodded, her excited smile replaced with
a look of disappointment. Mairi kissed the back of her
head, then ran her hands over the girl's ears. The
movement was so smooth, that it appeared Aliea did not
even notice. Mairi turned to Benjamin, something in her
expression gave Fleet cause for concern.

124
 “We must not be intimidated,” Luca was still
talking, small remnants of his voice echoed in Benjamin's
mind, “We will stand as one with--”
Mairi's lips moved, but it seemed to take a
second before any words came out. “You need to get
Aliea out of here.” Her throat quivered, but she managed
to choke out one more syllable before it gave up on her.
“Now.”
Fleet looked over to Harlon, then to his
daughter. Although both of them were within earshot,
neither seemed to react.
“They can't hear me, Benjamin.”
“What? What do you mean? how--” He tried to
talk, but he was quite simply bewildered. There was that
glow again, this time, it shared the hue of the light that
resonated from the walls of the Indrall's manor, when the
elevator was activated. It seemed to saturate the air
around the Countess, her hair appearing with a slight
silvery tinge. Benjamin felt even more sweat form on his
brow, and he became more uncomfortable than he could
have thought possible. Itches sprung up on his arms and
neck, but he ignored them, focused too intently on the
Countess and her stiff gaze.
“There is no time to explain. Do you understand,
Benjamin? I need you to take your daughter as far away
from here as you can.”
“No, I don't understand.” His words were more
pathetic than hers, barely audible, even to himself behind
the cracking of his nervous throat.
Mairi looked up at the stage. “Do you see that
man, the one in the armour, with his hair tied back?”
“In the third chair?”
“Yes.” She took a second to breathe. “That man is
going to kill Luca Donn.”

125
 “What? How--”
“Let me finish, Benjamin. He has a crystal in his
hand, a tool that if used correctly, can be an extremely
efficient weapon. But, if he does employ it in the
manner in which I expect, he will destroy this entire
manor, and everyone in it.” She stopped again, looked at
Fleet, then continued. “He has every intention of using
that crystal to kill Donn, but, he has no idea how much
destruction he will cause. He hasn't accounted for . . . the
variables.”
“Mairi, you are making no sense.”
“Alone, that crystal is nothing. Powerless. But
within each person there is a certain amount of magical
energy. It is in all of us, everyone in this room. That is
why that man, Zeikku, has waited until today.” She swept
a few stray hairs from her eyes. “With this many people
in the same room there will be just enough power in the
shard to kill Donn. He will have to do it in front of
everyone, but he will still do it.” Benjamin noticed
something change in her expression: her eyes appeared
to hold a significant amount of admiration. “He is
strong.”
“An assassination?”
“Something like that.”
Fleet shook his head, trying to arrange the hash
of information in his thoughts. “What does this have to
do with Aliea? Why are you telling me this?”
Mairi closed her eyes, then put her hands
together, clasped against her bosom. “Zeikku knows that
there are enough people in this room. He has calculated
exactly how much magical energy each guest will
provide, and exactly how much he needs. These would
be the optimal conditions to generate the perfect
amount of energy to kill Donn, and only Donn.” She

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opened her eyes again, and toyed with Aliea's hair.
“Benjamin . . . he doesn't know that she is here. If he
uses that crystal, as planned, and your daughter is still in
this building . . . we are all dead.”
Fleet did not understand. He refused to believe
her without being given the proper information. “Why
Aliea? I don't see . . .” He allowed his speech to trail off.
The look in Mairi's eyes was enough for him to be able
to tell that she was not lying. Not this time. He did not
understand in the least what was going on, but he would
not press her any further.
“You have to trust me, Benjamin. There are
things that you don't know about. Things that you can't
know about. I will try my best to subdue him, but in the
event that I do not succeed, you both need to leave.
Now.” Although her last word was stressed above the
others, it was quieter, and more distorted. She kissed
Aliea tenderly on the head once again, and everything
around them seemed to return to life. He hadn't noticed
it before, but Benjamin knew that all had not been
normal over the past few minutes. The Countess's entire
body shivered, as if struck by a harsh wind from
nowhere, and the azure glimmer that had enveloped her
began to fade away to gentle nothingness.

127
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Betrayed

The next few moments unfolded in a manner that

meant Mairi did not have a chance to do as she had
hoped. She had been foolish, going to Benjamin before
she had tried to stop Zeikku, and now she would pay --
she was sure of it.
Mairi stoop up, to make her way back to her seat,
but nothing happened; only a whisper of air escaped her
lips when she saw Zeikku stand.
She had not been listening to Donn's speech; it
was likely to be an attempt to elevate the morale of
Turnshire's rich district in the light of several threats
issued from Raffan Cross earlier that year, and so
nothing of note –- but now she took a moment to listen
to what would undoubtedly be his final words.
“. . . and we will remain steadfast in our
opposition. Count Indrall, of this very city, has lent his
hand to our cause.”
What is he doing? She thought. He isn't
supposed to tell them. They can't find out yet. She
turned to Benjamin, and although he was not looking at
her, she shared with him an almost terrified stare.
“Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to announce my
engagement, to Countess--”
His words were cut short by a his scream.

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 It was too late.
Zeikku had started the process. He had managed
to stand up and walk over to Luca before anyone had
thought ill of his intentions, and now for her negligence,
they would all pay the price.

129
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Spectrum

Aliea shielded her eyes. The light was so intense, so

brilliant and blue, that even through her eyelids she saw
crisp azure flicks and blurs. There, shrouded in the blue
glimmer, she could not see, but she could hear; she could
hear the screaming, which had started as one lone voice,
bursting in billows and shrieks unfurling around her, but
the voice was no longer alone; she too was screaming.
There was a pain, almost in her chest, but not quite --
almost in her body, but not really in her at all, just a pain:
a pain that was very much there, and that hurt very
much. She felt arms which could only have been her
father's hold her close, but this made it hurt even more,
and so she screamed even more.
If her thoughts had not been so dead set on these
things, she would have noticed the gravity about her
change, and feel the air rushing over her skin. In the
haze of her conciousness, she did, however, hear the
creaking and the crashing and the crumbling of stone.
She heard it not once, but many times -- creaking and
crashing and crumbling all around her. These noises
started to get further away as she felt herself move, but
then they caught up with her, were in front of her, even.
Her eyes still closed, pushed up against her father's chest,
the noises repeated themselves, and the lights flickered

130
and thrashed around her: not just blue any more, but
yellow, and orange and red -- even brighter than in
moments previous. The colours seemed to merge with
the burning pain, but she thought that maybe she was
just getting hotter. She didn't know if she was still
screaming; it would have been impossible to hear --
especially over the crunching and the thrashing and the
begging.
It was true that all of these things were terrifying
and confusing, not to mention that they were happening
so fast, but none of them chilled her more than the fact
that despite her closeness to her father, she could not
hear, nor feel, his heartbeat. She has so near to him, and
yet she could not detect that pumping life-force within.
Not even a trace of it against her flooded cheek, or her
running nose, or her reddening hands, which gripped
whatever they could find of her guardian.
The movement which carried her had slowed,
almost to a standstill, and then, seemingly instantly, the
reds, yellows and oranges were gone. Just blue. Just a blue
so incredible that even through her scrunched eyelids it
hurt. It hurt in her head, in her chest and in her coarse,
tired throat. Then the sounds: no crunching, no metal
against metal, no roaring and tearing, just nothing at all.
Then she felt herself slipping. Her thoughts
dissolved until there were none left, and then, even the
blue disappeared.

***

For a short while after she awoke, she thought she was
still at the centre of the chaos, but before long it dawned
on her that the incandescent yellow glow which had
caused her skin to flush momentarily was actually cast by

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the early morning sun. The chocolate ringlets of her hair
draped her unladen shoulders as she sat up to study the
trees around her. She remembered the pain, oh so
vividly. The memory streamed through her with such
vigour that one could not have faulted her for thinking
it still hurt; but it didn't, which is what she realised when
she shook her head -- her train of thought disassembling
as those chocolate ringlets flicked through the moist
woodland air -- and she felt relaxed again. There was
nothing but a thicket of intertwined branches before her,
so she twisted herself in an attempt to find her father, or
Mairi, or anyone, the blanket that had been laid beneath
her shifting and scrunching. What she saw was not her
father, or Mairi, rather, both of them, and now another
feeling was welcomed, two parts confusion, one part
relief. She hadn't the faintest idea what had happened
before she lost consciousness, but even though her
recollection was blurred -- nothing more than a
smudged and distorted image of glittering colours and
flares -- she knew it had been evil.
It was Mairi who turned away from Benjamin
first, and Mairi who ran to her. Aliea could still barely
keep her eyes open in the bloom of awakening, and
things happened rather quickly, but it did appear as if
Mairi emitted a glimmer of translucent green. Only for a
moment did it linger before it was consumed in the
pollen drenched atmosphere, and simultaneously, as if the
events were linked -- although they could surely not
have been -- Aliea felt the wash of sleep drown her once
again.

***

In her dreams, the spectrum returned: so brilliant and

132
exposed that they were verging on absolute purity. She
felt, but could not see, arms cradling her gently,
something brushing her forehead, and then just the
colours.

END OF VOLUME ONE

133
134
 On A Saturday
A COLLECTION OF FICTION VIGNETTES

1 A Shifty Man 136

2 An Attempt at Romance 140
3 Snow 142
4 Candy From a Stranger 146
5 My Life is a Teabag 150
6 Too Many Cooks 154

135
 A Shifty Man

The newspaper kiosk was more like a small closet than

anything else, so the news-serving-man stood inside a
closet serving people their news, and Raymond Barrett
waited patiently outside the closet to receive his own
share. He did not persevere, however -- although he was
sure that he would have been able to had he so desired
-- as he noticed a man acting rather shiftily in the
mouth of a nearby alleyway, and when you are a private
investigator searching for a missing person in the area,
these are the sorts of things you must pay attention to. It
is simply how it is done.
Of course, there are many viable reasons why
one might act shiftily in a public place, a respectable
number of which are more or less completely innocent.
For example, one could be rather desperate for a
bathroom visit, or nervous for the arrival of a blind date.
You could argue that these are indeed very good reasons
to act shiftily, no matter what the environment, as
otherwise we are running the risk of wetting ourselves,
or spending an hour with a person that we don't really
know very well or altogether like that much.
Though, as with anything, there are causes for
concern, and this is the axiom upon which Raymond
must work: A person waiting to be picked up after
committing a particularly nefarious crime, all the while

136
knowing that they had a nasty argument with their
getaway driver regarding their current living
arrangements shortly before they set out for the day's
shady dealings, would be left with ample reason to act
shiftily -- and few would argue that this person is as
innocent as the thigh-clencher or the unsuspecting
lonely heart. Even though a shifty individual is not
always an individual of malicious intent, they sometimes
are. Raymond Barrett knew this as well as you or I, and
so, he was obliged to abandon his newspaper and
investigate, because, as you will now understand, it is
simply how it is done.
Raymond attempted to close in on the suspect
without him noticing. The shifty man took one last
shifty look around before shifting down the alleyway
which he might or might not have been guarding.
Raymond followed him, remaining several steps behind
in case the man turned around.
The man turned around.
Raymond took a hand to his pocket knife --
should he have to defend himself -- and would have
started to speak, were he not interrupted before he
began.
“Oh, oh man-- do you have a phone? Please,
man, you gotta have a phone--”
“Hold on!” Raymond released his grip on his
illegitimate, yet practical weapon, “Slow down, what's
wrong?”
“My dog, please man, she's giving birth, and she
doesn't look good. Please, you gotta help-- do you have
a phone? Please--”
Upon closer inspection, Raymond realised that
this man was just a bum. He wore ragged, torn clothes,
and his shoes were worn at the toe. He stank, and was

137
making strange panting noises. No, wait, that wasn't the
bum . . . it was, of course, his dog. The man moved down
to the golden Labrador, which lay on her side behind a
large bin.
“Oh my God. Yes, of course. One second, I'll
phone the emergency services.”
“Oh man. Thank you, man. I really didn't think
she was going to make it --”
The man continued to babble his thanks as he
stroked the poor thing behind its ear. Raymond Barrett
turned around, away from the bloody squealing mess in
the back alley of London, and as he flipped open his
phone, he noted how life has a funny way of showing
you love and compassion and proving you wrong, all
born from trailing disaster and misery.
In the end, there are two morals to this story, but
our characters are only aware of the first. 1) Sometimes, a
shifty person is just a worried and loving homeless man,
looking for someone to help make sure that his dog's
puppies aren't born into a motherless world. And 2) It is
never, ever, ever wise to spend your time investigating a
shifty man, when there is an incredibly shifty man
hurriedly shoving the small girl he has abducted into the
back of his van, just two blocks away.
And the girl? Cold and lonely, yet oh so terribly
not alone. Crouched tenderly against the corrugated
grooves into which her olive shoulders steeped. In most
stories her hair would be described as auburn, but it
wasn't: just brown darkened with the cloying scents of
accumulated terror and embarrassment. The carnal
depths of her own apricot skin, her thin arms -- grading
into red flares at the wrist where her escort had attached
his corpulent self -- and the nape or her neck (also
reddened with vulgar assertiveness) where the

138
shimmering downy fuzz of youth into which her hair
receded felt so very good under his fingers.
I suppose there is a third moral here, too: crying
will very rarely achieve the desired effect in life – but
then again, children so very sparingly listen.

139
 An Attempt at
Romance

The scent and smoke and sweat of love was in the air --
so were several birds and a few irritating bugs, but I was
pretty sure it was the love that was making its way down
my throat and into my lungs as I breathed alongside
Marie in the dusk. You might be wondering why our
love was smoking, and to be honest that is not
something upon which I can shed any light; regardless,
there was an undeniable thickness to the air that
obscured my view beyond about half a mile out to sea.
In retrospect it probably wasn't our love that was
responsible for this, but when you are infatuated you
tend to think rather odd things.
Marie slapped a hand into my stomach. The love
promptly and hastily left my lungs.
“Marie?” My reaction was not exactly full of lust,
I have to concede, but it is what I said, and because it
was what I said I am bound to have to write it here.
“Jamie, are you okay?”
Our smoky love was not that thick; it should
have been apparent that a doubled over, winded man is
far from okay. “What is it, Marie?” I asked.
She proceeded to stroke my hair with one of her
hands before turning her head out to the ocean. “It's so
beautiful.”

140
 Let me assure you reader, the dialogue would be
far from this cliché were the words up to me, but they
aren't. I suppose I don't have the luxury possessed by
most writers when it comes to this matter.
“Yeah, it is. Kinda like you--
Just Kidding. What I really said was:
“Yeah, it is. Pray tell, was that worth assaulting
me?” This is hardly much better, I know, but sometimes I
try too hard to sound intellectual and things like that just
come out in regular conversation. Pray tell, that sure is
something.
“Pray tell? That sure is something.” She tutted
with a smile. She was kind of used to me at this stage of
our relationship. Fifteen minutes, seems like only
twenty-one seconds ago. “It's kind of foggy, though.”
I took her hand. She shifted uncomfortably and I
let go of her elbow and took her actual hand. “I'm
sorry--”
She cut off my shaky words with her beautiful
eyes; their soft blue engulfing my apprehension and
invigorating my confidence. She moved in a little closer,
her breath warming my shivering lips, and yes, reader,
don't think I don't realise just how overly-flowery this
prose is. I am not used to writing romantic scenes as I
am not used to romantic scenes at all.
We kissed. I suppose that is what it was, a kiss.
Exactly how much sucking is required for it to qualify as
a kiss. . ? I don't know. I suppose it is significantly less
than that which I employed in this case.
It always is.

141
 Snow
The woman took a few graceful steps forward. As her
feet sank down into the deep layer of snow before her,
she felt a small amount of icy water seep into her shoes
through the worn soles. Normally, such a sensation
would have been unsettling – but, on this occasion, she
found it to be almost as comforting as the soft crackle
that accompanied each step; it had been so long since
she last felt the cold.
After a moments hesitation, she allowed herself
to proceed at a steady pace. Not wishing to alarm the
castle guards – stationed at regular intervals throughout
the castle gardens – she decided to maintain this speed
until she reached the fountain. She wore only one layer
of clothing, but regardless, the falling snow did not
distract her; rather, it fuelled her efforts. By the time she
sat down on the rim of the marble statue – which was
not spurting water due to the weather – her feet were
chilled to the bone. She noticed that several of the
armed men had been alerted to her presence, but she did
not address them. It was better not to interact with them
prior to the completion of the process at hand.
The woman rearranged her dress so that it would
not prove to be an obstruction. She pulled the already
sodden silk from under her thighs, showing little regard
for the condition of the material as it tore across the
hard surface beneath her, then flicked several strands of
her long blonde hair away from her eyes. Shortly after,
she wiped her face with a dampened hand, leaving thin

142
streaks of water in their place. She hated the way the
delicate crystals from above felt on her skin.
“Maiden, forgive me, but, what business do you
have outdoors in such conditions?”
She looked up and shared a fleeting gaze with
the guard who had spoken, before swiftly moving her
attention to the closest tree. She examined the white
crust weighing down the branches, barely strong enough
to support their burden. When the rays of the
deceptively vigorous sun gleamed across the snow, it
produced the strangest effect. Disconcerted by the
colourful optical illusion, she motioned with her eyes,
and the tree shook.
“Maiden– ” The guard craned his neck to see
above him. Flakes of snow sent by nature gathered in his
exposed beard, melting instantly in the mangy bristles. It
was almost ironic, thought the woman, as immediately
after, the sheets of white previously supported by the
branches above fell down, entombing him within their
heavy grasp as he screamed.
She had expected it, but now that she had caused
a disturbance, she would have to work quickly. She held
her hands in front of her face, and bathed in the gentle
heat they produced. Turning them outwards, she spread
them apart. Although subject to no apparent resistance,
her movement was slow, as if subdued by some invisible
force. When her arms were as wide as her shoulders
would allow, she inhaled deeply, ceased her strain, then
let her arms relax, sending the ball of fire that had been
building between her hands towards the castle. She
recoiled with a grunt and it collided with the stone arch
leading into the main hall, causing the supports to give
way. The flames remained intense for a few seconds,
eating away at the cement, before beginning to dissipate

143
from the tail end.
When her ears pricked at an unwelcome sound,
the woman flung her arm out to the left, sending a
smaller flame to feast upon a guard who had motioned
to apprehend her. She blocked out the smells and sounds
synonymous with burning flesh – she had always hated
that part – to focus on maintaining the large fireball
grinding away at the building which she left only a few
minutes ago. She hoped no one else would be foolish
enough to try to stop her.
Still sat on the fountain, she moved her hands in
a series of flowing patterns, then thrust them out towards
the castle, her face unchanging in expression. The
faltering flames under her command grew in size, a
blazing pillar of red, yellow and orange scorched the
foliage creeping up the stone walls, emanating waves of
heat which melted all nearby ice within seconds. The
falling snow had intensified. Hail now pelted down from
the clouds, the sound of the frozen pellets piercing the
bed of white oddly reminiscent to the crackling of the
fire .
Not discouraged by the death of his comrades,
one man still thought it wise to attempt to intervene.
Despite his best efforts, he did not go unnoticed. The
princess stood up, almost gliding to her feet. She hastily
swayed her arms towards him, flinging solidified shards
of the still growing pyre in his direction. If she did not
know the extent of her power, she would have been
worried that the falling sky might have extinguished the
smaller flames, but she was confident, moreover,
completely certain that she would not fail. The man
screamed in agony, and his body fell to the ground, the
sound mostly absorbed by the matt of brilliant white
beneath him. As the elements quickly began to conceal

144
his corpse under a layer of frosty crystals, the
strengthening wind started to distort the fire she had
worked so hard to perfect. With a pained shriek, she sent
another surge of energy forth. Her hair began to burn
away deep inside the sweltering aura in which she found
herself enveloped, and she thought it certain that her
cries of concentration would be heard even by her
father, trapped in his office deep within the castle.
Snow no longer landed upon her naked
shoulders, instead, it faded away long before it reached
her. She watched as a dominant gust of wind – which
she was not sure if she had created – thrust the
remaining guards into the heat haze, which was now
almost as tall as the first storey of the castle. The trees and
plant life nearby were all but dead, their charred remains
only punctuated by the occasional snowflake that
managed to land upon their contorted skeletons. The
princess clenched her fists, and felt her tears evaporating
before they even trickled beyond her eye lids.

It had been so long since she last felt the cold.

145
 Candy From
a Stranger
Love is candy from a stranger, but it is candy you have
eaten before from a person with 'one of those faces'. A
risk but not really a risk at all. Perhaps you would take
the candy, but you might be more likely to gratefully
decline the seemingly generous offer in the supposed
knowledge that one does not simply offer good things
such as sugary snacks to strangers. Even if you are sure
you have seen this person somewhere before, but can not
quite place it, you will not take the candy, if you are
smart.
Love is also a rainy day. Your hair is ruined
because you forgot to pack the umbrella your mother
bought you, and your boss won't be pleased that you are
using that folder as a substitute, but you know someone,
somewhere, is rejoicing since they neglected to water the
plants yesterday and all this water will be good for their
geraniums: although you can find solace in the rain and
that which it brings, in most cases it is still best to avoid
the drizzle.
One would be wise to note these comparisons
when faced with a rainy day, or candy from a stranger,
because perhaps they will prepare you for what is to
come.
It is a rainy day in which Mike finds himself
spending a little too much time in the Burnt Toast Diner
off the corner of 18th in New York. He finished his fries

146
a while ago, but the complementary mint that had been
left with the bill remains untouched. He watches as the
rain lashes against the windows of the diner, in which no
more than four people are sitting. The door opens, and
in walks the fifth. The first behind the counter stops
talking to the third, stationed in the kitchen, as the fifth
shakes the pathetic fallacy from his hair. He strides
towards the counter, drenched in water and love and that
leather jacket and love.
Mike loved this man. He had known since the
moment he laid eyes on him seven seconds ago, and now,
seven seconds later, it was clearer than ever. The first and
the fifth converse, and Mike coughs. Standing up he
makes his way to the counter. As he does he notes the
look in the eyes of the second, a teenage girl sat alone at
a round table in the centre of the diner. She loves the
leather jacketed man too, she must do. There is almost
recognition in her eyes -- the recognition of two people
brought together by the same man -- but it probably
isn't recognition, because it looks very much like
remorse, or contempt -- both look similar in the eyes.
Both are candy from a stranger but certainly not love
and probably not a rainy day.
“What can I get you?” asks the man behind the
counter.
“Just a beer please,” the fifth starts, “The fourth
will take care of the bill.”
Mike nods. “Yes, I will. My name is Mike.”
“My name is Adam.”
Mike pays the fellow behind the counter. It
appears that this fellow is love, for he is the owner of the
Burnt Toast Diner off the corner of 18th in New York,
and it is here that love has been fostered and nurtured,
but in reality he could not have been love. The fellow is

147
not wearing a name tag, and so he is elusive, and
unnamed, and love is named. It is named Adam, or just
L.O.V.E, depending on the circumstances.
“So, love,” says Mike as he watches the beer
disappear all too fast , “I have been thinking about us,
and I think it is time to--”
“I'm sorry, Mike.” Adam interrupts. “I have
decided to move on.”
“What?”
“I've found someone else, Mike. The second,
she--”
“Laura.” The second interjects.
“Laura,” says Adam, “she is what I want.”
Mike was both dismayed and surprised, although
he probably would not have been had he known what
the rain and candy -- both of which had been present
since their meeting -- meant in this story.
“I am sorry, the fourth,” says Adam.
“Mike. I already told you.”
“Yes, well. Like I said, I am sorry.”
Laura gives him a fleeting glance as she takes
Adam's hand. Neither remorse nor contempt, just
satisfaction -- which is definitely love and probably
candy from a stranger, but only if you do the foolish
thing and take it, and, as expected, it doesn't kill you. But
you will still die. Just like Adam -- I'm sorry, L.O.V.E.
Just like all love. Especially the love of Mike for the fifth,
which is dying like a suffocating seal pup, gagging on the
food brought to it by its own mother: horrible to watch
with absolutely no semblance of dignity. It is dying as
the sixth walks in, Andrea, she is called, this is what Mike
decides. More notably, it is dying whilst neither Adam
nor Laura holds open the door for the woman, and
when Mike takes the complimentary mint from his table

148
and holds it out to pretty, pretty, rain and love drenched
Andrea.
“Candy?” He asks.

149
 My Life is a Teabag
“My life is a teabag.”
“A teabag?”
“Yes. A teabag. Not teabags in general, mind you,
just a particular one.”
“Okay.” Julia put down her mug. She kept her
eyes perfectly focused on the same air bubble as it made
cyclic motions atop the skin of the coffee she had
ordered. “. . .What?”
Mila shuffled in her seat. The chairs in cafés were
never comfortable. You would think this would be
somewhat of a priority in the catering business -- at
least, that is what the seventeen year old girl had
assumed. “I think I made myself perfectly clear.You need
a teabag to make a cup of tea. I always put the teabag in
first, then, over it, I pour the boiling water. Most of the
time, as soon as the water starts to gather at the bottom
of the cup, it takes on that sort-of-see-through, sort-of-
not beige colour. Then, once the cup is full, the water is
dark brown. Indistinguishable from black coffee. Until
you taste or smell it, of course.”
“I still don't see where you're going with this.”
“Well, you should, because I just described your
life.”
“I'm pretty sure you just described how to make
a cup of tea.” Julia had moved to face Mila, who hadn't
even ordered tea -- not that she ever did on their coffee
afternoons, which was good. Julia supposed that if she
had, they would have had to re-dub it 'hot beverage

150
afternoon', or something to that effect.
“Some teabags, though,” continued Mila, as if she
had not been interrupted, “behave differently. I don't
know why, perhaps it is the result of a shoddy filtration
system or tepid water or excessive limescale build-up or
bad parenting or a traumatic childhood event, but
regardless, some teabags take longer.” She sipped her
coffee, for a moment expecting the comparatively
delicate flavour of the more notable drink in this
conversation. “This time, when you pour the water in,
usually after having already poured the milk in first --
which as far as I am concerned is a bad idea, as that way
you can not correctly gauge how much you are going to
need -- the water just stays like water. You can stir it all
you like -- in a figure-of-eight motion, which I have
heard is most efficient for the task -- but if you pour the
milk in first, you are done for.”
“And this is relevant, because?”
“Because, I am the latter teabag. My leaves have
not properly infused with the uncomfortably hot water
of life. I poured my milk in first, I think. There could be
another explanation, but I think this is the most logical.”
Julia took a second to herself. In her absent-
mindedness she almost drenched her blouse. “In this case,
maybe you as the kettle would make more sense.”
“I thought you didn't understand this
metaphor?”
“I don't. I suppose that is the beauty of it.”
“No.” Mila rolled her tongue around her palette,
she had done that thing where you sip a scalding drink
and you burn your tongue, and you feel the numb,
tasteless spot where the liquid licked you for the rest of
the day. She hated that. Everyone hates that. “You are
wrong. I mean, what you just said was wrong, but before

151
you were wrong, too. I am the teabag, not the kettle. The
kettle goes through the motions, it only ever does one
thing: boils water. I like to think of myself as aiming to
please, yet already having made the wrong decisions.”
“You like to think of yourself as a difficult
teabag?”
“Not difficult, disadvantaged -- unfairly spurned.
We all blame the teabag when we know it is our fault
for pouring the damned milk in first.”
“Actually,” said Julia, “I don't think anybody does
that with tea, the milk thing -- that's coffee, isn't it?”
“I am sure that they do it with tea as-well.” Mila
motioned to pick up her drink, but hesitated for a
second, and decided against it.
“So,” resumed Julia, “who, in this analogy, is the
person pouring the water?”
Mila looked her in the eye. “Fate, I suppose. God.
God is the unseen hand preparing me, the milk is every
bad decision I have made.”
“What about the sugar?”
“The sugar is the good decisions.”
“Ah.” Julia looked at her own drink, and then,
like her best friend, also decided not to take another sip.
She flagged down a waitress, and began to order again:
this time, tea. After she had finished, the smiley service
girl turned to Mila, who did the same.
Five minutes later, the waitress set down the two
mugs -- very very very full and precariously tumbling
across the tray upon which they had been brought. The
waitress set them down, then walked off with a smile.
Julia looked at her own beverage: black, with three
sugars, and then at Mila's -- and I don't think I have to
tell you how she ordered hers.

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 Too Many Cooks
The phrase 'too many cooks spoil the broth', is
meaningless. If, in a striking and spontaneous
demonstration of ingenuity on behalf of the human race,
it were to be altered to read 'an inordinately large
number of cooks spoil the broth', it would hold some
level of meaning. Nevertheless, in its current state, the
phrase is a tautology. Of course too many cooks will
spoil the broth: there are too many of them. All the
information you need is contained within those first two
words, and as long as they remain a functioning part of
the phrase, it will never mean anything in the context
which people like to use it. But, regardless, even if we
did replace the broken standard sentence with the
suggested 'fixed' version above, it would still, to a degree,
be inaccurate.
Philip, turning the accused phrase over in his
mind, was quite certain that the broth he happened to
be preparing at the time was quite delightful. Admittedly,
he was working alone, but, after a measure of careful
thought, he couldn't help but notice how ridiculous the
suggestion made by the common idiom actually was.
Humanity stinks -- especially so when it has been
sweating in a hot kitchen for six hours – so it would be
unreasonable to expect any one of his colleagues at the
Little Spoon Restaurant in Scotland to grab him the
pepper grinder, or toss the ladle his way, but he was
certain that if someone had done either of these things,
it would not only have made his job easier, but restored

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a sliver of his dwindling faith in the persons of the world
in general. (A reader not familiar with Philip would
consider him to be quite standoffish, and uncomfortably
anti-social, but a careful observer would see that he was
not one of these things, rather, both of them in
abundance, and more.) The bottom line was, if he had
more people helping him, he was sure to produce a
better broth.
Yes, he was right, this batch was particularly
pleasant, one lick of a serving spoon was enough to tell
him that. A second lick of the spoon was enough to tell
him that he was not fond of the taste of stainless steel. A
third lick was foolish considering his earlier observations,
and a fourth lick was a ridiculous venture, sure to
achieve nothing, but regardless, Philip stood in the
kitchen, licking the empty spoon.
Of course, the last thing to happen would to be
for a noticeable decrease in quality to be observed with
the addition of further cooks to the production of the
broth. As long as the men and women were well trained,
and refrained from crawling over each other like pre-
pubescent children in a bid for the front seat of the car,
there should have been no problems. There was, in the
worst case scenario, the possibility of over-crowding, but
the kitchen was roomy and besides, the thought
experiment was verging away from the territory of 'a
large number'. If the room were to become crowded
there would not be a large number of chefs within,
rather, 'too many'. Philip felt, that at this stage, the
distinction was clear to him.
He stirred the broth one more time. It was done.
He ladled it out into a bowl to try for himself -- of
course, he shouldn't have been doing this, but he felt he
deserved it. He had, after all, perfected the recipe in

155
record time. With the first tablespoon to hit his mouth,
he realised something was dreadfully wrong. Too much
salt. He must have added more than necessary in his lack
of concentration.
He took the pot and poured all five litres down
into the drain. Ironically, it appeared, that even if not in
the exact manner foretold, too many cooks had spoiled
the broth after all.

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