Part 3 Chapter 6

CHAPTER 22

 

 

F

or the rest of the night and early morning Olraym and Trugaime wait in The Weeping Child’s entrance area for some time, then go up to their room. They sleep again on the single bed, this time not completely naked, and Olraym doesn’t care about being this close to her, he doesn’t care about Trugaime’s movements.

  When the sun rises the next morning they wake without a glance at each other and walk down to The Weeping Child’s entrance area, leaving some items behind: a pair of gloves and what remains of their sacks of food. There are several people sitting around, and there is the bar man who stands around for an hour before leaving through the back and two of the servant girls walking around them, serving them drinks and breakfasts, getting gropes and  pats on the behind from customers.

  The two don’t talk to each other as they wait and watch the door for the representative to enter. Since they don’t know what the representative looks like they think this person might arrive early so every time someone enters from the outside they watch this person walk around and either sit somewhere or walk upstairs presumably to their room. The ones that sit down they stare at for a while thinking this may be the one, but after some consideration they think differently.

  They have plenty of time on their hands but have no way to use it; they don’t want to explore Burden in all its horrendous glory any more than they have. They don’t want to go back to their room either, so the only other choice is to stay where they are.

  The time passes quicker than Olraym expected and just as he is about to talk to her, to tell her how he feels, she leans forward and nods to the front door. He looks over and sees a young girl. He gives Olraym a confused look; ‘is that the representative?’ she nods sternly at him.

  The girl is small wearing a lime green dress that touches the floor. Her hair is dark and curly, framing her face. She is portraying a kind of pompousness while remaining innocent.

  She sees them, smiles an innocent smile, and sits with them. Olraym cannot get the shock off his face as he stares at her; she seems to find this rude and looks to Trugaime for help. She shakes her head and shrugs with a smile which makes the girl laugh a high-pitched girlish laugh.

  “So, what did you come here to tell us?”

  The girl attempts to look serious but still has a smile.

  “First he wants to know who is asking.” The voice is like her: serious but childlike.

  The two look worried about what she has said. They, Olraym especially, don’t want anyone to know who they are, if they do they can use them, they can lord it over them for years.

  “Well I’m Trugaime,” she says taking the lead, she puts a hand on her chest as a gesture. She feels it better to tell at least some truth, makes things more believable.

  Olraym is relieved he doesn’t need to speak but is worried what she will say about him. He doesn’t want to be known here

  “And this is…” Olraym stares at her, hoping she knows he wants a fake name and says such a name before the girl gets suspicious, “…Devaal.”

  The girl nods as she looks from one to the other. “Ok, and what do you want to see Mr Morcale for?”

  ‘Ok now time for more truth.’ Trugaime thinks.

“We are looking for some people; we think Mr Morcale can help us.”

  The girl nods again and stands up. She walks to the front door then stops, turns back around, and gestures for them to follow. The two quickly stand and catch up with her, she takes their hands in hers and the three walk outside.

  The sky is grey and cloudy, it is threatening rain later. With the girl in hand the three go through streets Olraym had not seen before. The further they go the more impressive the buildings, some are four storeys stall with a wide balcony on the top floor. At the more extravagant ones is a tall heavy man standing next to the door with his arms crossed. One in particular is bald and looks sullen. He watches Olraym and Trugaime walk by and smiles when he sees the girl is with them. The girl smiles back and waves with her hand still enclosed in Olraym’s. They know each other and from the look on the man’s face he feels protective of her.

  The street suddenly changes as it takes a slight upward angle, instead of more buildings of any kind the three are surrounded now by high stone walls. They are at the edge of the city. Ahead of them is a large bolted door. Olraym thinks she is leading them to a side exit out of Burden but Trugaime doesn’t look confused like he does. There are three corrupt city guards in front of the door, the girl leads the two towards them and without needing to stop the three city guards step aside and the door is unbolted and opened. The three city guards nod at the girl but give the other two a glare of warning.

  Through the door the path still goes at an upward angle then flattens out. The stone walls continue for a while but then they walls separate and turn away from each other at first then as they go along they turn towards each other until they meet, forming a semi-circle. Inside the semi-circle is what is best described as a mansion. It takes up most of the space within the semi-circle but there are still lots of room to move around in. There is a small garden in front of the mansion. It is well tended and growing several different vegetables, but mostly it is just for nice colourful flowers. The mansion is painted black, though it has a light edge to it. The door to the mansion is narrow and painted a highly contrasting white, it looks recently cleaned and repainted. There is a set of stairs to the right leading up to a side door. The windows are spaced out wide; each is split into six smaller ones by a grill. There are two dormer windows facing Olraym, Trugaime and the girl, so high above them they have to look almost straight up even while at a distance from the mansion. The window sills are white like the door.

  The girl leads them to the white door and knocks on it three consecutive times then waits. The door opens and reveals a man standing there. He is thin, wearing fancy clothes poised in a way that tells Olraym he is some sort of man servant.

  “Mr Morcale is waiting for you.” His voice is deep but filled with a high class attitude. The way a man servant should sound.

  He steps aside and lets them through; once they are he closes the door and leads them further in.

  They enter a long very wide hall that ends in a wide staircase. The inside of the mansion is black and white same as outside. The walls are black and doors are white. The only sources of light are the coming in through the windows, there doesn’t seem to be any candles around. There is some colour in places where there is a small rug or a colourful painting, but they are swarmed by black and white so much the colour is barely noticeable.

  Their footfalls are loud on the heavy wooden floor and they echo along the hall. The few ornaments on the walls are small animal skulls and shields of soldiers from wars long gone. They are remembrances of death and war, hanging there like trophies.

  The man servant leads them up the staircase that goes up in one direction then stops and splits into two going in opposite directions. The far wall just above the staircase is a huge window with an oval top that takes up most of the space, light is spilling from it illuminating everything.

  They go up the left side to a set of five white doors. He leads the three to the fourth door and stops; he turns so he is facing out from the door.

  “Mr Morcale is waiting inside.”

  Olraym moves past him and is about to open it when he is stopped by the girl when she tugs on his hand.

  “It’s polite to knock.”

  He does, the man servant turns around and opens the door and gestures them in. The three enter see Morcale sitting in a brown leather chair with a high back next to a fireplace in the centre of the back wall. Behind him on the walls next to the fireplace on both sides are high shelves filled with old leather books. Olraym can smell the leather surrounding him. There are three more leather chairs of the same colour facing Morcale, they are smaller and don’t have a high back.

  Morcale is nothing like Olraym imagined him to be. He has short black hair and a high forehead.

  With a gestures and a smile from Morcale the girl lets go of Olraym and Trugaime and leaves with a skip in her step. Morcale then gives a similar gesture to Olraym and Trugaime and they sit on the small leather seats. The chairs crunch and make a hissing noise as they sit. Morcale makes no movement until the sound stops.

  “What can I do for you?” his voice is soft, almost like a whisper.

  “We need help looking for someone,” says Olraym.

  “Find someone?”

  “Well…some ones.”

  Morcale thinks of Olraym’s words.

  “Not what people usually come to me for, but I may be able to help.”

  Olraym is relieved but knows that a price will come soon. Sure enough Morcale tells him his price for the service.

  In return for this I require something from you.”

  What do you want?” this question comes from Trugaime. Her tone is indifferent as if she expects to give a simple trinket in return. Olraym knows it is false bravado.

  “A man entered Burden not long after you two did. He is someone I know only by reputation, but he is definitely not someone I want around.”

  This surprises Olraym, Morcale seems genuinely afraid of whoever this man is, though he knows Morcale will never admit to that.

  “So what do we do?”

  “Why you kill him obviously.”

  Trugaime looks as shocked as Olraym does; neither was expecting something like this. While he believes he may have to kill some of the Cultists when he meets them, he never thought of having to kill some innocent man. A man he doesn’t know and has never met.

  “Who is this person?” Trugaime asks, anxious about the answer. It might be somebody she knows, somebody she likes. She is fine with killing, she has done it most her life although this time it won’t be because of the Cult’s beliefs.

  “I believe it is someone you know,” Morcale gestures to Olraym; “you will recognise him instantly.”

  This makes it all worse for Olraym. He knows this person. But it also makes it more confusing, he has never been to Burden so how can he know someone in it. Is it someone from his past that has come here, someone perhaps from the Tervunmal Islands? Or, more likely, is it someone from Tov’ra that has followed him and Trugaime to Burden?

  If it is someone from Tov’ra then who is it? Through all this Olraym realises there is a more important question to be asked.

  “How do we know you won’t back out, how do we know you won’t simply kill us once we have done as you asked?”

  Trugaime stiffens and Morcale’s smile disappears. He leans forward and turns to Trugaime.

  “You seem to know a lot about me, I’ll let you inform him about my dealings, and how wrong it is to hurt me so.”

   Trugaime nods, she is still stiff as she glares at Olraym. Olraym quickly wants to get back to this person they are supposed to kill, maybe whoever it is deserves it.

  “Where is this person I somehow know?”

  “He was last seen exiting a temple of the Twelve last night, perhaps you can start there.”

 

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Sertia wakes feeling cold and stiff. Her cheeks are damp from constant tears. Her hair is wet and matted on her face; she moves it with her fingers behind her ears. Her cut foot has stopped bleeding but both her foot and the ripped piece of her dress she is using as a tourniquet are crusted with dried blood. It will need to be changed soon in case it gets infected but Sertia isn’t sure she should, it might give the guards that come in an excuse to do something. Not that they need one.

  Through the rectangular hole low level light comes from the open door above. She can hear voices like faint whispers coming from above; none seem to get any louder. They are avoiding her. This is good since she doesn’t want to see anyone. Not unless they are releasing her.

  She sits up and stretches her arms, first straight ahead then above her. She feels better since no one came to her in the night, she may get through this unscathed. But that depends how long she will be in the Highguard cell. She doubts it will be too long, either she will die publicly or be released on lack of any evidence of her treachery.

  Suddenly she hears footsteps, three distinct sets and they are getting closer. One set are light, maybe someone young or possibly a woman’s, but the others are heavy are the clink of metal is with them. They are guards. She moves to the end of the bed farthest from the door, her heart beating fast and loud, as she hopes that whoever is coming is giving her good news.

  They stop at the door and then Sertia hears the locks being opened, the chains rattling as they fall to the floor. The door opens; Sertia shields her eyes from the increase in light, they begin to hurt but after blinking and letting her eyes get used to it she feels better and finds her mother standing there.

  Moira looks upset and angry. Her fists are clenched and she is shaking. The two guards behind her are the same ones that brought her into the cell last night.

  Those guards quickly enter and grab Sertia by her arms. They make her stand then force her to the back wall. The chains from the shackles rattle as she hits them. Before she can protest she is shackled to the wall.

  “For the safety of her Highness Queen Moira Kvathrock of Tov’ra, you are to be chained here so you can do her or anyone else no harm. You will stay this way until the Queen has said otherwise. Do you understand these terms?”

  Sertia screams at them to let her go but they pay no attention. Once she is secure in the shackles they walk back out and Moira walks in. Sertia rushes forward but gets onto two steps before forcibly stopped by the chains. She pulls at them with all her might but they don’t budge. She feels an increase in pain and leans onto her uncut foot, hoping no one will notice but they do, and Moira looks down to see her dress torn and a piece wrapped around her cut foot. Moira gets to her knees and takes gentle hold of her foot; she carefully unwraps in and takes a good look at the cut. It isn’t as bad as it feels to Sertia and isn’t infected. She orders the guards to bring something to help Sertia; one of them nods and runs back up the stairs.

  Sertia watches all this happen but feels as if it isn’t happening to her, but to someone else. Her mother’s hands on her foot feel faint as if Sertia is remembering the feelings of those hands from a dream. The sounds she hears sound like they are coming from far away, only occasionally sounding up close.

  Through blurred vision Sertia watches as the guard that left suddenly returns with a metal becket filled with water and a white cloth.

  The guard does as Moira orders and drops the bucket and cloth on the floor next to Moira, then steps out again to be with the other guard. Moira takes the cloth, soaks it in the water and cleans Sertia’s foot. The water feels warm against Sertia’s skin, and it brings her out of her far away feeling. The crusted blood on her foot falls off in flakes and dirties the floor and the cloth, turning it into a brownish red in large patches. When Moira dunks the cloth into the water it cleans the cloth of some of the blood but it too soon turns a brownish red colour.

  By the time Moira is finished the water in the bucket is too dirty to use for anything else. Sertia feels better but still doesn’t speak. She wants to know what Moira knows and what she believes. Depending what is in which category it could help her get out or make her death come quicker.

  Moira straightens as stares at Sertia; her face still has that anger but holds more sadness than before. This tells Sertia all she needs without a single spoken word. They know what she has done, and they will punish her for it. The only real hope she has now is leniency from Moira so she will not be killed publicly or not at all.

  She makes herself cry and lets her arms dangle from the shackles. She makes herself pathetic in their eyes, hoping someone will give in and show sympathy. Through the tears she sees the two guards look as if about to give in a little, but Moira doesn’t. She looks at Sertia as if she is pathetic but still looks angry and sad. It’s working but not for the people she was hoping for, not on Moira she isn’t falling for it. After another minute of it Sertia stops.

  “Leave us.” Moira orders, the guards look at each other hesitantly, and then they walk back up the stairs.  The guards are quickly out of sight and soon after are out of hearing range. Moira takes a step closer; their faces are now inches from each other. “Why did you do all this?” Moira’s voice is thick with anger.

  “Do all what?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me girl!”

  Sertia knows she is in more trouble than she thought; Moira only calls her girl when she is really mad. The punishment she gets whenever she is called girl is severe. But does Moira know what Sertia has done or is this just a trick to get her to confess?

  “Mother I don’t know what you mean.”

  “That maiden of yours Kaila, told me everything.”

  ‘F**k!’ she screams in her head. ‘Did they torture her? How long did she last? How much did she actually tell her?’ she thinks of trying to force her way out of the shackles, but knows they won’t budge any time soon and if they did the two guards would rush down here and force their swords through her chest before she could do anything.

  Sertia starts crying again, this time for real.

  “Is she alright, is she hurt?”

  “She was not hurt, she told us all after you were taken away and she was let go.” Moira’s voice is now calm, almost loving. 

  Sertia nods, she is thankful for that at least.  Her crying soon subsides until it is weak sobs. Moira comforts her with a hand cupping Sertia’s cheek. Sertia accepts it gratefully and slowly rubs her cheek against the hand. Sertia feels like it is years ago, she is a little girl again and she and her mother and together in Sertia’s bed chamber. Moira is telling her bedtime stories: ones about brave knights rescuing damsels in distress, others about women who are the brave ones standing up against evil men who want to use them. Whenever Sertia would hear these stories Moira would always stroke her cheeks.

  The hand is suddenly taken away bringing Sertia back to the present. Moira takes a step back from her, she stares at Sertia as tears now form in her eyes as well, then turns and quickly leaves. The guards close the door and Sertia can hear the locks being put back into place.

  “Hey wait! What about unchaining me?”

  The guards stop locking the door, Sertia waits from them to open the door again and unchaining her. But they don’t, after a word from Moira which Sertia can’t hear they resume locking the door with her still shackled to the wall.

After hearing the last of them as the guards finishes locking the door and walk up the stairs Sertia is alone again in her cell, smelling the blood in the dirty cloth and the water in the bucket.

 

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After returning to the castle and telling the guards to leave her alone Moira is met by Bevil who offers condolences for what he refers to as ‘tragic events’. She accepts his condolences and thanks him, she starts walking away; wanting to be in her bed chamber to be alone but Bevil follows her. He tells her of things she doesn’t want to hear, for instance how he feels about Sertia being found out and finally being forced to deal with the consequences, then tells her things she does want to hear for instance how the city is prospering well since Gremborlin’s death.

  By the time he stops talking Moira reaches her chamber door. Moira opens the door and is about to say goodbye to Bevil when he gently stops her with a hand on her arm. He gives another round of condolences and tells her all will be well in the end. She thanks him again and is about to walk into her bed chamber but his grip tightens. She looks at him indignantly, he smiles and loosens the grip but doesn’t let go completely.

  “Is there something you want to say Bevil?

  “Only that if you require help of some kind,” he strokes her cheek in a way not unlike she did to Sertia earlier, “you just need to ask.”

  Moira stares at him, disturbed by him daring to touch her in that way, and unsure of what he is going to do next. She forces his hand off her cheek. She quickly steps into her bed chamber and slams the door closed. It bounces open again and Bevil sees she is not paying attention; she is already across the room standing near the bed with her back to the door.

  Bevil enters the chamber and closes the door, this time carefully so it stays closed. Moira turns around at the sound of it closing and Bevil can see tears in her eyes. He walks closer in slow careful steps.

  “I am so sorry your Majesty.”

  Moira says nothing; she stares at Bevil as he inches closer to her. She wants him to stop, to leave, but shock of what Bevil has done placed over the past events has caught up with her, leaving her empty. First her husband of many years dies, then her youngest son and future king of Tov’ra leaves without warning or reason, and then her daughter turns out to be a traitor to the Highlands. Now on top of all that Bevil, Gremborlin’s great friend, is attracted to her and obviously wants her.

  In moments Bevil is in front of her again. His arms reach out and he hugs her. She doesn’t feel she can stop him this time and she thinks she doesn’t want to since it actually starts to feel nice being held by someone. His hands on her back start to rub it up and down, up and down. This motion is gentle but it creates a friction with Bevil’s hand and Moira’s dress, which warms her back.

  Moira and Bevil look each other in the eye, their faces almost touching. Moira can feel his warm soft breath on her face and he can feel hers. Their lips suddenly meet, gently at first, then ravenously and everything changes. His hands, which were caressing her back and side, are now roaming it with wild abandon. His hands are ruffling her dress, displacing it so more and more of her legs are visible. Her hands are all over his arms scratching them. His lips suddenly leave hers and meet her neck; the touch elicits a moan from her. His hands are now untying the lace of her dress, it loosens around her body.

  Before all the lace is loosened Moira stops Bevil, she grabs his hands and takes a step back. Bevil, breathing hard, looks confused and disappointed but doesn’t force the issue.

  “We can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

  She holds the dress up; it is bunched around her chest leaving her shoulders bare.

  “I’m sorry again,” says Bevil.

  Bevil walks out the bed chamber. Moira stands still with the dress bunched around her chest. She waits for a while then lets the dress fall leaving her naked. Part of her wants him to come back and see her like this. But he doesn’t. She later redresses herself but in a different dress then stays in her chamber for a while longer and thinks of what is happening in her life.