by D N Meinster
"We're all basically taking Saunders money," Kelvin stated. "He's the only one that doesn't think Thalians are going to show up, dumb old bloke that he is."
"You should use the money to hire extra security," Doren said to them in a cold voice.
Both of them laughed. "You have quite the sense of humor," Kelvin said. "You should speak up more in our meetings."
Doren turned around and sauntered away, still intending to make it to the funeral before it finished. "Come on," he heard Kelvin say as he left. "Let's see who else has snuck away from the melodrama."
The Celebration was only days away, and the High Council was looking to fill up their bank vaults in preparation. It was sickening how much power these dolts had and that no one stood up to them. What was his father thinking? There was no reason to try to answer that one. He never could figure it out, no matter what the situation.
Doren passed door after door on his way back, until a loud thud behind one of them made him stop. Standing there listening, he heard another thump behind the door. Those sounds were coming from the library. Who would be making such a ruckus in there?
The library held nearly every book that had ever been written in Kytheras. It stretched from the first floor to the fifth, with only one spiral staircase to reach them all. Each story was lined with rows upon rows of stuffed shelves, many containing texts that predated the construction of Castle Tornis. Despite the plethora of books, there were several that the library did not carry. The Fauns had hoarded most of theirs, while the Bellish kept their volumes in their own library. This division was probably for this best, otherwise the castle library would've needed expansion up to higher floors.
Doren entered the library, his shoes stepping off the hard stone and onto golden carpet. It was a breathtaking sight, to behold the sheer capacity of the room. It was almost overwhelming to think how much there was to read. But something in the place was off, and Doren noticed it right away. The floor in front of him was covered by layers of books. They weren't neatly stacked, but thrown together, some even splayed open. As he stared at the pile, another volume came crashing down upon it with a loud thud. Doren tilted his neck back and saw several books falling down from the upper floors. It was raining books in the library!
At least that's how it appeared, until he spotted one being tossed over the fourth-floor banister. Someone was making quite a mess.
The staircase was on the other side of the mound, and Doren was concerned not only about falling books but about further damaging the precious volumes that had been thrown about. He slid his feet out of his shoes and made a dash for the stairs. He hopped from book to book, past the librarian's empty desk and onto the first flight.
He could hear more books landing below as he ran up the stairs. Why wasn't the librarian at her desk? He didn't recall seeing her at the funeral. In fact, he had never seen her outside the library. He kind of thought she lived there. It couldn't be her throwing around the books, could it?
Doren noticed that the second floor was in as much disarray as the first floor. Shelves were slanted; books were all over the place. He continued up the stairs, eager to find out who was doing this and to put a stop to it.
Round he went until he finally made it to the fourth floor. Books were still flying down the empty gap between the floors. Doren scrambled through the narrow space amid the shelves, slowing down only where he approximated the books were being flung from.
He peeked down one row and then another. These shelves were mostly bare, with only a few books left behind. Upon reaching the subsequent row, he found the culprit. Doren took several long blinks to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
There was a small boy there, ripping the books off the shelves and shaking them out as if he was expecting something to fall from them. When nothing came out of the book, he tossed it over the railing and moved on to the next one.
But this was not a normal boy. He was made of black smoke, so he appeared to be there, but was also somewhat transparent. Yet this was not a random boy either. Doren had just seen his coffin not even an hour ago.
"Milo?" Doren said, wondering if the boy could respond.
The boy dropped the book he had been shaking onto the floor and turned his head to Doren. It was undoubtedly Milo, or at least it had his appearance.
Doren didn't understand. There was a boy formed from black smoke who looked like a deceased mage. And he was rummaging through books. "What are you doing?" Doren asked, expecting an answer.
But Milo did not reply. Instead, he charged at Doren.
Doren braced for impact, but the boy just passed through him, as if he wasn't there at all. Doren turned to see Milo running back toward the stairs.
While Doren watched the distance between them grow, he pondered the necessity of chasing the smoke. Did he want to know what that was? Could it all be a hallucination? In all his years in the castle, he had not seen anything like this. It was more reminiscent of times long gone, not the present.
He bent his head, wanting to ignore what this was. But the chaos around him could not be ignored. Shelves were falling. Mistreated books were all about. The library had never been in worse condition, and he was not about to get blamed for it.
Doren took off after Milo, or whoever it was. He looked down from the top of the spiral staircase to see that the smoke was more than one floor ahead. It was not going to be easy to catch up to. He hopped down the stairs, skipping over a few steps here and there. The winding slopes precluded wider leaps.
He was only a few steps down from the second floor when he saw the smoke scamper through the clutter that it had created. It moved unhindered by the books and ran straight through the door as if it were ajar. How could he catch something that could walk through walls?
Doren didn't pause when he made it to the bottom of the staircase. He leapt into the mound, his bare feet skimming the tops of the volumes before he pushed off for another set closer to the door. He passed his shoes, still waiting where he left them, and swung open the door.
Darting out into the castle halls, Doren spun in all directions. The smoke was nowhere to be seen. Would it have slipped into another room? Or did it zip down the corridors? He figured that if it could walk through walls, it didn't need to hide. So the only decision was to go left or right.
Doren chose left, heading back towards the funeral and the boy whose appearance had been stolen by the smoke. He sped down the hall, focusing only on what was right ahead. He hoped the smoke would come into sight.
He went around a bend and bounced into a rather plump woman who was heading in the opposite direction. Doren stumbled for a moment, taken aback that he had run into a solid person. "Sorry," he said, still bent over and disoriented. The collision didn't seem to affect the woman at all.
Doren straightened up and promptly recognized the woman before him. It was Phyllis, who had on a rather dreadful black dress trimmed with gray lace.
"Should be more careful, my Prince," she said, not even veiling her distaste for the young royal's action.
"Have you seen anyone, or anything else, come this way?"
Phyllis blinked her eyes a few times, digesting the question. "What are you talking about?"
Doren leaned to the side, trying to peek behind her. There was no sign of the smoke. He either went the wrong way or it had disappeared entirely. "Never mind."
"Alright then," Phyllis replied. She made to continue onward despite Doren standing in her way.
"Wait, is the service over?" he asked.
"Oh, no," she answered. "Hatswick is still going on and on about the poor child. Pretty sure he's been through every range of emotion. Don't know what he's got left in him."
"Why are you leaving then?" Doren asked. Why were they all being so disrespectful toward the death of the young boy?
"Most of them have left. Think the King's even fallen asleep. Plus, there is plenty of work to do."
Doren was about to slide out of the way so he didn't get trampled by the wom
an, but he remembered a question he had for her. "Did you ever find the Queen's jewelry?" Rikki had told him about her late-night meandering.
Phyllis squinted and played the fool. "Did I what?"
"I heard you were searching the castle the other night," Doren said.
The servant grunted. "Is this a joke?"
Doren shook his head. "My sources were reliable."
"Clearly they weren't," she said. "Talking to the night guardians? They love to make shit up about me since I wake them up when they're on duty."
"What were you doing on the upper floors then?"
"I wasn't on the upper floors."
Doren wasn't sure if she was lying, but she sounded convinced of her own account. He stepped out of the way to let her by, still considering asking more questions.
"Ain't much of the Queen's jewelry left around here," Phyllis mumbled as she passed him. "Most of it they buried with her. Think I'm a grave robber? Think I live trying on a dead woman's stuff? This prince is no king."
Doren wasn't sure if he was intended to hear her comments, but her voice carried. He went through their entire conversation in his head, trying to figure out if there was any hint she was lying. Phyllis was not a pleasant person, but that came more from attitude than antics. He had never known her to be a liar. Still, she contradicted Rikki's story and he knew Rikki was definitely telling the truth. Both of them couldn't be accurate.
Rather than go back and listen to Hatswick, Doren decided he'd go check on Rikki. Maybe by the time he got back later, the Grand Mage would be finished.
It was a quick trip up to the second floor, and he was pleased to find a more conscious Rikki when he entered her room. She looked sickly, but at least her eyes were able to focus on him.
"You look alive," Doren said.
"The world is wrong," she babbled. "Can't you tell?"
"Well something is wrong," he replied. "I just spoke with Phyllis and asked her about the Queen's jewelry. She had no idea what I was talking about. Denied even searching this floor."
"I don't like her," Rikki said.
Doren bit his lip, unsure if he should tell Rikki about his experience in the library. A mage would probably understand better than him. Maybe he'd just leave out who the smoke appeared as. "There is undoubtedly something amiss in Castle Tornis. You're not going to believe what I saw."
Chapter Eight
Three Hundred Years
"Are you still going on about it?"
"You would be too," Aros responded to his mother.
"It was just a mage having a bit of fun," she said.
"'Cause that happens every day." Aros shoved the last smidgen of bread into his mouth and carried the crumb-covered plate over to the sink. He had not stopped speaking of the smoke thief since their encounter. It was an experience he was still trying to comprehend. His mother and Leidess had tried to explain it away. He wasn't even sure if they believed him. Only Ratch was certain he was being honest.
Aros smacked some breadcrumbs off his light blue shirt. This was the closest he had gotten to cleaning it in a while. "Why aren't you going?"
His mother was still sitting at their kitchen table, dressed only in a washed out orange nightgown. She was moving extra slow today. "Don't like the crowds. Don't want to stuff myself on free food. And I don't like the King."
"You've probably never even seen the King," Aros said.
"That's exactly my point. He's turned Castle Tornis into some kingdom in itself. Don't see many from that block of Kytheras out and about. Especially mages. Maybe if you'd seen one before, you'd know why your smoke boy was caused by one of them."
"It's funny," Aros said. "All the reasons you're not going is why I am. Free food. Getting to see the King for the first time. In person."
"I'm sure the food will be cheap and the King will be old," Maureen stated. "Now go meet up with your friend so you don't get there too late. If you want to see Halstrom up close, you need to get there early."
"Alright, I'll give you details when I get back."
"And I thought you were a kind son."
Aros rolled his eyes and exited the house. The trip next door could be measured in seconds. He always considered himself fortunate to live right next to the one he loved, and he dreamed that one day they'd live even closer together. But today wasn't about the future he longed for. It was about the past; one that Leidess knew much better than he did.
A few swift knocks and the door flung open. Standing in the entryway was a scrawny fellow with luscious red hair and a mustache to match. He wore only a fancy black jacket; his slender legs and undergarments were completely exposed. "Hello there, Aros."
"Ambrose, I think you forgot to put on pants," Aros replied.
"I merely haven't finished getting dressed." He welcomed Aros inside and quickly shut the door. "Don't mind you seeing my legs, though. We're basically family."
The layout of the Keru household was similar to his own, but it had a splendorous appearance that the adjacent home lacked. It was no secret that Aros was not wealthy, but every time he entered this house he was reminded of his shortage of gemstones. There was certainly nothing in this house bought secondhand. Every object shone like new, from the stove to the sink. The walls were freshly painted and decorated with art that had an indescribable elegance. There were sculptures to fill the empty space. And there was not a drop of sand on the whole first floor. That was a complicated feat these days.
Leidess' parents had always insisted he call them by their first names. It was no surprise to hear Ambrose refer to him as family. They had treated him well even before he had gotten close with Leidess. They were generous neighbors who would spare leftover baked goods in the harsh seasons. When he and their daughter got closer, there was no hint of resentment. There were actually more invites for him and his mother to join them for meals. And they never expected any favors in return. They didn't ask for them to babysit their younger daughter. They wouldn't even accept free milk that his mother offered.
"Getting dressed up for the Celebration?" Aros asked.
"Definitely not," Ambrose answered. "Me and Naphliaj won't be going to that farce. We're hosting our own event today."
"Leidess was so enthusiastic, I thought you'd be too."
"We both know why Leidess is so excited," Ambrose said, lowering his voice. "She'd celebrate that door every day if she could."
"Don't I know it," Aros replied. He was certain she'd want to go to the Door at some point today, but he planned on taking her on a detour to the shop.
"Anyway, it's horrible to be spending so much money on a celebration when Outer Kytheras is in a state of ruin. We've invited several families over to raise funds to start reconstruction, since the King seems to have misplaced priorities."
"I never realized there were so many ill feelings toward the King," Aros remarked. First his mother bashed him, now Ambrose. He never heard much about the King at all really, except a few grumbles from Ratch. Customers never mentioned him. There was nary a word on the street about him. Aros hadn't wasted many thoughts on the man, so he figured not many other Kytherans did either. Perhaps they were all holding it inside.
"The King has ruled for seventeen years and done nothing but sit on the throne and watch the hands on the clock move," Ambrose complained. "It's time for those of us who can to act where the King has refused, beginning with the Outer. Today seemed perfect for holding a counter event, and we're going to have quite a few attendees. I only had to mention that I'd be baking the dishes myself. I guarantee it's better than those mediocre caterers the King hired. You're welcome to a meal when you come back."
"Thanks," Aros said, already salivating. He couldn't imagine how the Kerus had stayed so thin when Ambrose was such a master chef. There had not been a meal Ambrose made that he didn't find delicious.
"Where is my eldest daughter?" Ambrose wondered. "Excuse me." He headed back upstairs. "Leidess!"
"Shhh!" Leidess responded, appearing at the top of the stai
rs. "You'll wake LiAnne."
Ambrose slapped a hand to his mouth and disappeared from sight.
Leidess was wearing a black satin top that seamlessly flowed into the fluorescent pink dress underneath. She enjoyed combining the two colors. According to her, the pink represented warmth and femininity while the black symbolized fear and bleakness.
Aros watched Leidess descend the stairs. Her blonde hair was straighter and more radiant than at any time in recent memory. "You look gorgeous," he said to her.
She gave him a small smile as she stepped off the bottom stair.
Aros was transfixed by her beauty. He moved closer to her, leaning his head forward for a kiss, but she pushed him away.
"Not here, Aros," she grumbled.
Aros rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry."
"We should get going," Leidess said. "Don't want you to have to see my mother. She's piled on the jewels today. She just can't help it when we have guests."
Aros quickly looked over Leidess' attire. Her dress was a brilliant sight, but there was not one piece of jewelry on her; not a necklace or a ring. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear jewelry."
"And you won't," she said. "I've seen so many overdose on it that just looking at it makes me queasy."
"Funny that the jewels make you sick but not your father's food."
"That's 'cause he knows how to cook," Leidess answered. She gazed at his grubby blue shirt. "You could have worn something different."
"Why?" Aros asked. He was quite attached to this shirt.
Leidess sighed. "Why do I bother? Let's get going."
Aros opened the front door and waited for Leidess to step through. He followed outside and shut it behind him. "Mind if we make a stop before the Celebration."
"I don't want to miss it," Leidess said.
"We won't miss a second. I promise. I finished what I was working on, and I just want to show you."
"Fine."
The two of them headed to Ratch's shop. The streets were empty, with most of the population already at the square in front of Castle Tornis. It was eerily quiet, for the atmosphere was now much more reminiscent of the Outer. The air lacked the sounds of children playing or the hustle and bustle of everyday activities. There was only a dull clamor in the distance. When in the Outer, it was obviously coming from the Inner, but here, it had to originate from the Celebration.
