Tory looks up when Ford enters the bedroom. He glances over the rainbow of knives spread out on the bed around her, then closes the door.
“What's goin' on?” He studies her carefully. “We need to make a trip to the west continent.” Tory sets to wrapping each knife in heavy cloth. Ford frowns, “We as in...?” “You an' me... an' Rylle.” Tory sets each wrapped knife inside a bag. He nods to himself. “It's really time?” “We have to be there before the eleventh. That's just enough time for travel. I can't take us by qerdir this time... don't really want to.” “I guess you don't know what'll happen either.” Ford crosses the room to sit beside her. Tory shakes her head as she closes up the bag and sets it on the floor beside her. Then she leans against Ford. He pulls her into his lap and she rests her head on his shoulder. After a time, he queries, “How are we gettin' over there?” “Vehicle, boat, vehicle. I know Rylle doesn't drive, but we'll trade off an' there'll be a boat waitin' when we reach Monarch's Town.” “Have you told Rylle?” “Yeah. She knows to be ready first thing tomorrow mornin'.” “We're pickin' her up?” Tory nods. “We're meetin' everyone else at Chancellor Hall.” “The rest of the Second Shield?” “An' Amy an' one of her guardians... 'specially since she's the one who knows where to use the keys.” “Does Angel know we're goin'?” “No. Not plannin' to tell her either.” “You're gonna catch hell for that.” Ford shakes his head. “I'll deal with it when it comes up.” Ford grimaces, but only asks, “Ready to call it a night?” “More than.” Tory makes no effort to move.
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For the first time in days, I have an afternoon to myself. However, everyone else is busy with something. I’m too restless to just sit around the south tower, so Sefu and I head out for a walk.
The palace gardens are pretty much dead for this year, although they do look pretty in the morning frost. But it’s sunny today and too warm for the frost to last. So Sefu and I go looking for a trail instead. We end up on one which winds through the forest behind the palace, and turns out to end closer to the front entrance than the rear. As Sefu and I approach the steps, two vehicles pull in. The first stops just long enough to disgorge three of the most vicious old gossips of the upper nobility. These three have taken an especial disliking to me and they’re very lucky Tory was able to cure me. They head up the steps as their vehicle leaves and the second parks in its place. Only one lady gets out... one I’m sure I’ve never seen before. She’s accompanied by two servants who immediately set to work unloading baggage while she pauses on the bottom step to survey the palace entrance. The three at the top of the steps turn to see who’s behind them and it’s instantly obvious that they don’t like the new arrival. “Were you not banished from court, Lady Ayson?” The woman’s voice is loud enough to carry to the street beyond the gates. All the guards in the vicinity turn to look and Sefu growls low in his throat. I haven’t stopped walking and now mount the first step. The four ladies notice me at the same time. “This isn’t your concern, girl...” I know better than to say a word to those three, but my eyes meet those of the speaker. Even at this distance, she flinches and looks away. Then she and her friends head into the palace. “Who might you be?” The lady on the bottom step sounds more curious than anything else. “Lady Nerita Chassaven.” She studies me carefully, “The same as is to marry the Crown Prince?” I nod. “I am High Lady Chelsea Deruna Ayson... although I don’t doubt you’ve heard something of me before now...” “Only briefly, during a discussion regarding the wedding guest list.” That clearly surprises Lady Ayson, “Would you walk with me? That is if your companion doesn’t object.” Sefu’s been studying her quietly, his expression almost sad. “If Sefu objected to you, I’d know already. So certainly.” “Thank you.” Lady Ayson starts up the steps and Sefu and I accompany her. She doesn’t speak again until we’re through the main entrance. “Perhaps I was never officially banished from court, but I’ve most certainly been out of favour a great many years,” Lady Ayson sighs, “I was a schoolmate of Victoria Martrency, who later became his majesty’s second wife, and once foolish enough to think her my friend.” I keep silent and wait for her to continue. “But a few unguarded words regarding a poorly arranged marriage,” Old pain flickers over Lady Ayson’s face, “Words which were deliberately and maliciously twisted... I’d always been half aware Victoria had a vicious... almost insane streak in her.” “Likely insane,” I observe dryly, “Given what Princess Carina has said of the woman. But continue.” Lady Ayson nods grimly. “Victoria delighted in the discomfort of others. Yet never did I dream such a small thing could be warped into such a terrible, foolish problem.” I nod to myself. “At least it seemed a small thing at first. Still, words said cannot be unsaid and mine were twisted and tangled beyond the influence of any to repair. I left court... buried myself away in my work and my children. But now,” She glances over me and Sefu, “Such tales as visitors and winds have been carrying... I had to see matters for myself. And then came the invitation to his highness’s wedding...” I nod again. “You aren't of the Chassaven family of Norsecount, are you?” “No, I’m the last of the Estorika line. High Lord Chassaven’s twice refused to acknowledge that, even though his majesty has.” “I take it you’re little liked by the upper nobility here?” “Those I’ve met so far.” “Few with power and influence like threats to that power and influence,” Lady Ayson observes, “’Tis those without such who welcome change.” “Or at least those discontent with the status quo.” She chuckles. “I would guess you to be a great deal older than you look.” “Somewhere between my appearance and my experience,” I shrug evasively, “I’m younger than Princess Carina.” “I suspect she ought not be a princess, given the pictures I’ve seen of her most closely resemble the late High Lady Adarion.” “His majesty thinks otherwise... even now.” “And never allows mention of Travis Adarion, I’m sure.” I shake my head. “His majesty believes Travis Adarion dead twenty years. Some people care little to speak of the dead.” That earns me a sharp look from Lady Ayson. “Yet is not death a common part of life?” “In places, too common.” She nods to herself and changes the subject, “How long have you lived at court?” “A month now.” “With a sponsor?” “With a friend and her father for the moment.” “A school friend?” Lady Ayson sounds wary. “More like a foster sister.” “Ah,” Lady Ayson stops at a half open door, “I really must thank you. I am, as I said earlier, somewhat unpopular here. And I am pleased to have met you.” I bow my head briefly. “You’re welcome, my lady.” She smiles before disappearing through the door. I remain in the corridor, trying to decide where to go. Sitting around the south tower still doesn’t appeal, but neither does another walk.
None of us have any idea how much time passes before we pull up to a gate in a chain link fence. Through the windows, we can see workers pulling barbed wire from the top. A stern looking gate guard opens the gate for our vehicle to pass through. Ford frowns as he looks out the windows at the buildings we pass. Logan scowls outright.
“This ain’t no f***in’ experiment, it’s a f***in’ prison!” “Simmer down,” I tell him, “Maybe it’s the only place they could get or maybe the government demanded they had to use someplace like this.” “Maybe.” Ford’s frown deepens as he continues to look out the window. Every person we pass is wearing the same muddy coloured coveralls and hard at work. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t wear those glasses. They make it really hard to tell what he's thinking. Eventually the vehicle comes to a stop at the door of a large, grey, concrete building. A woman in a neat business suit steps outside as the doors open. Logan is the first out, launching himself at her. Ford follows immediately, but I have a feeling it isn’t to restrain Logan. I follow as fast as I can and find that I have to pull both of them off her. Ford backs off as soon as I touch him, but Logan fights me. I smash his punching hand against the wall as a lesson. Then I turn to the woman. “You better have a real good, short explanation ‘cause some of us ain’t exactly noted for our patience.” She takes a deep breath, straightening her suit jacket. “Welcome to Experiment Redemption. I really must apologize for the conditions. Camp Streton has served as both a prison and a military base and, while renovations are underway, it’s been hard to get supplies.” I cross my arms over my chest, studying her coolly. Behind me, I can hear Angel mutter, “No sh*t.” The woman continues, “My name is Rachelle Berndintas. I will be the liaison for UnderGround Club for the duration of your stay here. If you would please come with me, your orientation will begin in a few minutes.” She leads the way into the building and I follow, leaving Ford to make sure everyone else does as well.
The small grey car stops just outside the tall iron gates. The male driver and female passenger study the gates and the stone wall around them for a time. Then the driver turns to his passenger.
“You need anything, you contact me. Okay, Princess?” The petite dark haired woman nods. She leans over for a kiss before getting out of the car. Then she goes around to the trunk for a full old backpack, which she slings over one shoulder. Going over to the gates, she tugs on a rope clearly marked Bell. A clang reverberates through the otherwise still morning air. A couple minutes later, a middle aged man appears. “I am Reverend Brewn, head of this Order of Faith colony. What do you seek, child?” “A place of quiet to rest and think.” The man opens the gates. “Then come in and welcome,” He waits until she is inside before closing the gates and speaking again, “What should we call you?” “I'm Serena Hawklan.” The reverend glances at the rings on her left hand, but only says, “Our guest quarters are this way. Once you are settled in, I will show you the chapel. You are welcome to remain as long as you need.” “Thank you.” As the pastor and the woman walk away from the gates, the car pulls away and disappears along the road into Ravenblue proper. It isn't far from the gate to a long low building housing several small apartments. Reverend Brewn ushers Serena into the first one and hands her a key. “It was not possible to provide our guests with their own kitchens,” He watches her look around the small living room of the suite, “You may either join those who use the communal dining hall or request your meals be brought here.” “I'd like them brought here for now, please.” Serena glances into the equally small bedroom before setting her bag just inside. “And, as I said, I will show you the chapel, which is always open to those seeking to meditate and pray. There are also services held morning and evening, which you are welcome to attend.” “Could we go now?” Serena quickly glances into the tiny washroom. “If that is your wish.” Reverend Brewn leads her back outside and allows her time to lock the guest suite door before leading her across the way to an older building. Inside the doors, they pass through a small entrance and into the chapel sanctuary. Serena glances over the rows of cushioned wooden pews facing a raised dais. The only thing on the dais is a pulpit, but mounted high on the wall behind is a carved representation of a man with his face and hands raised. The pastor watches the woman look around. “Are you familiar with the tenets of the Order of Faith?” “Not especially.” Serena seats herself in one of the very back pews. “How about our history?” “That I did look up,” The woman studies the carving above the pulpit, “When I was considering where to go.” Reverend Brewn nods to himself. “Would you like me to leave you for now?” “For now,” Serena nods, “I should be able to find my way back to my rooms.” “Someone will bring your meal at noon.” “Thank you.”
Silence reigns over the cluster of empty wooden buildings and surrounding sands. Silence broken only by the occasional wind stirring dust around. Silence disrupted by an unnatural whine.
In the middle of the sand flooded main street, in the middle of empty air, a smooth white door slides open. Three women step through and the door slides closed before vanishing. The women look around, shielding their eyes from the glare of the midday sun and their faces from the blowing dust. The smallest of them, no taller than a small child despite having a woman's full figure, darts across the street and through double half doors which swing in the wake of her passing. The other two exchange a glance and a shrug before following. The inside of the building is as dusty as the outside and sand has blown in to nearly cover the floor. Tables surrounded by chairs are set haphazardly around the room, some littered with tankards and bottles, as if the last people to frequent the room had simply gotten up and walked away. Across the room is a bar, behind which the wall is lined with shelves displaying all shapes, colours, and cuts of glass bottles. A set of stairs to one side leads to an upper walkway lined with open doors, although it's impossible to see into any given room from the floor below. The tallest of the three, a slim woman with a long blonde braid, distinctly pointed ears, and light brown-green eyes, looks around and shakes her head. “A tavern by any other name...” “It's out of the wind... mostly,” The diminutive woman sets her pack on an empty table, “So we're here. What now?” “Now we hope they honour their word and leave us be,” The third woman, only slightly shorter than the tallest and somewhat more muscular, looks from one of her companions to the other, “We've gained a home of our choosing. What more could we ask after everything?” I never knew we had an actual attic. I've been down to the basement many times because the laundry machines and root cellar which I use for pantry space are down there. But I've never even considered there might be usable space above the bedroom ceilings.
But as I'm sweeping the ceiling in the upstairs hall, evicting spiders who have probably lived here for generations unnoticed, the broom pushes up a section of the ceiling. Frowning, I push a little harder and as the section of ceiling rises, a ladder slides down. I hop back out of the way, somewhat startled. How did I never know about this? Setting aside the broom, I venture up the ladder, testing each rung carefully as I go. It's sturdy enough. Once my head is through the hole, I survey what I can see by the very dim light. It looks like some kind of storage. It also looks extremely dusty and likely to only get darker. I retreat for the moment, although leaving the ladder down, to finish what I had been working on and consider what I've discovered. Once I'm finished my cleaning of the upstairs hall, I go down to put the broom away. Washing my hands thoroughly, I prepare and eat some lunch, since the clock is claiming it's midday. Then I gather a pile of clean rags and check the batteries in the flashlight I keep on hand for emergency blackouts. Feeling more or less adequately prepared, I carry the rags and flashlight upstairs and up the ladder to set them on the attic floor. There is a pounding on the front door. I frown warily, since I'm not expecting company. But I descend first the ladder, then the stairs and go to see who it is. Through the ornate window in the front door, I can see two of the men in the stiff, stark suits standing on the porch. I slide the door chain, a mostly useless security precaution I rarely bother using, into place before opening the door as far as the chain will permit. "Can I help you?" The two men exchange what looks like a surprised glance before dropping down to one knee and bowing their heads. "Your highness." www.smashwords.com/books/view/1049506 |
AuthorAlexandra A. 'Lexa' Cheshire is the author of numerous novels and short stories published through Howling Wolf Books. Lexa is a wife, mother, cat owner, and music lover. Archives
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