Chapter 1

How can you laugh when so much around you is wrong? It was this girl, he knew it was, but he couldn’t figure out why. He couldn’t figure out why or how it was, simply that it was. Maybe it’s because she’s not the problem. Maybe it’s elsewhere. There was a soft knock on the door and a small woman appeared.

 

‘Sir?’ He turned to her wearily. ‘Do I have orders as to what to do with�"’ she looked towards the girl, ‘her?’

 

He shook his head slowly and gave the answer he had given since the girl arrived unannounced a week ago, ‘Give me another day, Anya. One more day.’

 

She bowed her head in acceptance. ‘Sir,’ she said, and left.

 

He stared at the girl again and tried to dredge up some emotion. Anything. Love. Hate. Anger. Annoyance. But there was just this blankness. That was more disconcerting than any hate. People were wrong, he decided. Blankness wasn’t black or white. That would have helped with coming up of emotions. Blank was just blank. Simply that.

 

His eyes drifted to an old wall hanging to his left. Stitched upon it was the word, “Family” inside an unbroken ring. He sighed. Maybe I can ignore it. After all, she did. He returned his attention to his desk, where papers were scattered in all directions. Work. He selected a pen at random and began working. But his eyes kept drifting back to the small wall hanging.

 

Dearest, you may be gone but your ghost still lingers. “I think,” he said slowly as if measuring each word,” I need a drink.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“No, Anya. I’ll get it myself.”

 

He needed to get up anyway. To stop being here. To stop remembering. To stop thinking. That’s the ticket. Stop thinking. Oblivion. It is much harder, he decided, to escape your thoughts than to escape. And that is why alcohol was invented.

 

He looked in the fridge for a bottle of well-chilled wine. Brandy seemed a little too poisonous at the moment. He’d save it for later. He gave up on the formality of a wineglass and carried the bottle by the neck to a small room up a floor. It was a room deliberately made for this purpose he was sure, as he surveyed the two by two metre room. No windows, only one door and, at a guess, a thirty year old battered armchair. He sat down gingerly, as if unsure of whether he was sitting on a chair or an ants’ nest.

 

He uncorked the bottle and took a long swig. It was good wine �" much wasted on his current distraction. He should have chosen one of worse quality. No matter. He was committed now.

 

There was no irritating wall hanging to disturb his conscience, nor the little girl to tug at his duty. Just me. Me and my thoughts. He cursed silently and then out loud. He took another swig. The alcohol wasn’t working. He was still thinking. How like it, he thought petulantly, to make me dizzy and light-headed when I least want it and not work when I do.

 

---

 

Anya found him three hours later, lying in an unconscious heap on the ground, the empty wine bottle still in his hand. She stood frozen for a long moment before muttering to herself, “Well, this is new.”

 

She tried to go for a grip under his shoulders to lever him onto the armchair. “Boy, you sure do weight a lot for a man who leaves half his dinner untouched every night.”

 

He groaned. Anya dropped him back down in disgust and left the room. She came back minutes later with the little girl in tow.

 

“I need your help, sweetie. All you need to do is grab one of his arms and pull him onto the chair.”

 

The girl whimpered, “No.” and then repeated more quickly, “no, no, no.” She covered her eyes with her hands.

 

Anya looked startled and knelt down to the girl’s level. She gently peeled her hands off her eyes and held them in her own. “What’s wrong, sweetie?

 

“It’s bad! It’s bad! No, no, no.”

 

“What’s bad?”

 

She shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes.

 

“You can tell me sweetie. I’m here for you.”

 

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by her raggedly sniffing. When she did speak, her voice had taken up an unfamiliar venomous edge, “Don’t you dare go touch those bottles, you stupid girl. If I see you near them, I swear I’ll chop those hands off myself. I won’t see you grow up to be like that son of a b***h your father.”

 

Anya took a step back involuntarily. The girl returned to her sobbing, screaming and pointing. “Drink is bad. Drink is bad, bad.”

 

“It’s okay, sweetie. You can go back if you don’t want to be here. Go on, go back.” She made pushing gestures at her but when she reached the door, Anya said softly, “But, you know, he’s not usually like this. He’s a good man.”

 

Anya looked back to the drunken heap. ”You scared her, you know. Why, out of all these years, would you choose the week she arrives to get drunk?” She knelt down by him and fingered a loose strand of his hair. “But I guess she must be putting a strain on you. She doesn’t mean to, you know.”

 

He just groaned. He struggled to find consciousness. “Anya?”

 

She jumped back. “Um…Sir?”

 

His vision of her was blurry. He blinked to gain focus. “Anya? Anya? What was that?”

 

“Oh, nothing, sir. Here, let me help you get back into the chair.”

 

She offered a hesitant hand but he waved her off. “No, I can get up myself.” He struggled to his feet, wavered and promptly fell back down. Anya hurried to his side.

 

“Sir, please let me help you.”

 

“Ugh, I think I may have to.”

 

She helped him onto his feet and into the armchair.

 

“Thank you, Anya.” He swayed even though he was sitting down. He closed his eyes. “God, I haven’t done that in years “

 

“Um, do you need a drink? I mean, coffee, sir?”

 

“Oh, maybe. I can’t think straight right now.”

 

“I’ll get you one.”

 

“Eh, thank you, I think.” He hit his head softly with the palm of his hand. “I’ll just wait here, ay?”

 

She permitted herself a small smile. “Of course, sir.” She left.

 

He slumped back in the chair, letting the rough leather envelop him. Now why did I do that? Something in his mind told him not to ask but he couldn’t help it. And then the thoughts and the worries came back and he cursed himself. Again.

 

When Anya came back, he had almost regained all his composure. He asked, only a little shakily, “H-How long was I out?”

 

She set the mug down and replied neutrally, “About three hours.”

 

Not long enough. Not nearly long enough. “Right, thank you.”

 

Despite the dismissal, she stayed and said, “Your paperwork is waiting, sir.” She paused a moment, and added, “As is your daughter.”

 

Before he could reply, she went out and closed the door.

 

I never told her…did I? He sat back again, puzzled. Anya is far too perceptive for her own good. But how does she know? Even I didn’t know. He remembered his mother’s old saying, “Men never realise anything, even if it’s shoved in front of their faces.” He thought she had meant his father. He never realised it could include him too.

 

My daughter. My Daughter. MY daughter. What’s the right way to say those two words? Perhaps if I’d known her since birth, I’d know how to say it. He hadn’t asked her name yet. To know her name would imply some relationship, some bond between them and he didn’t want that. Not yet, anyway. You already have a bond, you idiot. You’re her father. Deal with it. But he couldn’t or wouldn’t.

 

He sighed and got up groggily. Back to paperwork. That should be monotonous enough to take my mind off things. He went back to his study, where he found his daughter. He glanced at the stack of paperwork awaiting him at his desk and then glanced at his daughter, oblivious to the destruction that trailed her.  It’s like a choice between two evils. But he looked at the small wall hanging and Anya’s words drifted back through his mind. Family. How I’ve come to hate that word. He swallowed and sat down crossed legged next to his daughter.

 

She didn’t turn her head nor in any way acknowledge his presence. He tapped her shoulder gently. She turned away.

 

“Why won’t you look at me?”

 

She didn’t reply.

 

“What did I do?”

 

No answer. Her hand absently continued to move the train set back and forth but her attention was no longer focused on it.

 

He began again, a little more desperately, “I want to know you. But I can’t if you won’t talk to me.”

 

At this she gave a derisive snort but still did not reply.

 

A sound! She made a sound! Maybe there’s some hope yet. He made his tone softer than he thought he ever could, “Look, I’ll start. My name is Andius Yule. I work as an herbalist.” Not entirely true, but close enough.

 

“I think �" I met your mother about seven years back. She was a singer. She had a beautiful voice.”

 

At this she looked up, a spark of genuine interest in her eye.

 

“We were in the same inn and the innkeeper asked her for a song. I just sat there listening. It was like listening to an angel.” He sighed in reminiscence, drawn into his story. “I asked her afterwards if I could buy her a drink. We talked for a while on many things. She liked drawing too, one of the few people I know who do. Time went by and time went by and before I knew it I was in love. We agreed to be betrothed, make it all official. And then she left. No warning. One day she was with me and then the next she was gone. She took everything with her. I remember the tiny note she left for me saying only, ‘I’m sorry’. I never saw her again.”

 

His eyes had started to well with tears and he blinked them away, furiously. I can’t believe I’m reliving this in front of a six-year-old. She doesn’t need to hear this.

 

He forced a smile, “I guess she left to have you.”

 

There was a long silence with the girl staring sturdily at the floor and Andius, out the window.

 

Finally, she broke it by asking, in a tiny voice, “So you’re my Da?”

 

He shrugged uncomfortably, “I guess so.”

 

“You drink.” It was an accusation.

 

He winced, “Very occasionally, when the stress is too much.”

 

“You stink.”

 

“I suppose I do. Lying in a pool of alcohol and sweat for three hours can do that to a person.”

 

“Mama doesn’t like stinky men.”

 

“Oh?” he asked very neutrally. “Why?”

 

“They hit and shout,” She looked up a little doubtfully at Andius, “But you’re not shouting.”

 

“No,” he replied firmly, “I don’t shout. But alcohol can make some people �" rather more aggressive.”

 

“But mama said that Da shouted and hit her. That’s why she ran away.”

 

“Ran away?”

 

“She said that she couldn’t bear it any longer and ran away.”

 

He sat there, stunned, for a long minute, then he took the girl’s hands and enclosed them in his own. It was the first time they had touched. “I don’t know whether it was me that drove your mother away or �" something else. But whatever it is, I’m sorry for it. I loved your mother. And I’m sorry to hell that you were made to grow up without a father.”

 

She didn’t say anything but she didn’t move nor draw her hands away. Finally, she looked up and said, “I’m Kayin.”

 

It was her declaration of trust, giving him her name, and he didn’t take it lightly. He pulled her in and hugged her, saying, “Thank you.”

 

He led her off to her room then, one of the spare guest rooms, and tucked her into bed. It was his first time doing so and he accomplished it clumsily.

 

“Good night �" Kayin.” It was his first time saying her name, too. There are a lot of first-times in this experience.

 

There was no reply. She was already asleep.

 

He retreated to his office and took out the little slip of note Kayin had carried with her on the day of her arrival. It was in her mother’s messy scrawl.

 

Take care of her for me, Andius. She means more to me than you know.- Jessia

 

No explanation, no reason, no reference as to how long. Is she dying? Is she ill?

 

And then another darker thought. Do you even know what you drove me to, my love?

 

It was too late now to think about if-onlys, six years too late. He walked over to his stack of paperwork and counted down. 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…When he got up to fifty-seven, he stopped counting and pulled out the sheet of paper. It read only:

 

Simon Ural. 27, Waning month. Black Moth Inn.

 

27, Waning month. That was tonight. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and lifted all the contents out. He had devised this secret compartment a few years back, when he realised that if anyone found his collection of poisons, he would most likely be dead the next day. So he had spent a week, carefully inserting a false bottom to the drawer, carving little holes which needed specially designed keys to unlock, and the careful purchasing of material to make the drawer look ordinary.

 

Three years ago, he had begun to be even more careful, when his employer had assigned Anya to assist him in whatever he thought was needed. He still never took her out on jobs. It wasn’t that he was scared for her safety �" in fact, she was probably more trained than he, it was just that he didn’t want to give any more of his freedom away.

 

Now, now because of Kayin, he was more restricted than ever. His employer had another string to pull, another way to keep Andius in line. He could almost feel the walls closing in around him, restraining him further.

 

He had tried to keep Jessia out of his affairs as much as possible, avoiding all the old places that they had frequented together, refusing to see old acquaintances that had seen them together. He had completely isolated himself in the hopes that Jessia would not be drawn in.

 

He had given up hope of seeing Jessia when his search had failed to turn up her location so many years past. He had borrowed a huge sum of money to continue that search and when the bank found that he had no means to pay it off, they had forced him to work it off. He had been working it off for five years now. He suspected he would be working it off for the rest of his life �" his employer dared not let him lose now, with all the information he had accumulated.

 

He sighed, full of unreleased fury. With a furious gesture, he threw back the lid enclosing his poison collection. Maybe he’ll do this one more personally. He took out his jewelled dagger, a gift from his employer earlier this year. As a bribe or a reminder? He truly didn’t know. Nevertheless, it was his most prized possession because it held his deepest lesson: Never love, it will only trap you.

 

I will not love Kayin. I will not love her. With an angry gesture, he hid the dagger in the folds of his shirt and strode out.