Arcene: The Blue Castle

by Al K. Line

  Finn Kenyon had been dead for many years, his body little more than crumbling bone. Rats had eaten his face first, then his throat, before chewing through his shirt, nibbling at his belly until the organs popped out like sausages, feeding greedily. The family of rodents had thrived on such bounty until a few generations later nothing remained but scraps of cloth.

  The twins hadn't been to visit him for years — each month they found a reason to break their promise, never recalling how long it had been since they last saw him. They had asked no one to feed him, as in their minds such things were taken care of like the running of the castle itself. Neither even remembered there was a key, or which of them had locked the door and lost it a few hours later.

  Nobody would tell them of his passing as nobody knew. Few even remembered he had existed, apart from Whip and the twins, and not one of them really cared. The man had been no man to look up to. Tolerate, yes, in the case of Whip, but the twins were always scared of their father and had felt nothing but relief as the steel door slammed shut on Finn, never to be seen again.

  Apart from by the rats.

  Stinky Cabbage

  Whip may have been old, the oldest person in the castle, but his mind was as sharp as the small dagger he always kept hidden at his waist. He'd halted his aging at a time in his life when he felt he was at his best in terms of intelligence, keeping a careful eye on his hormonal balance to ensure he remained clear of thought and in complete control.

  He didn't let emotions cloud his thinking or his judgment — he had strict rules concerning his body and intellect, and ensured nothing made him either too happy, excited, or depressed. Even and steady, that was how he liked his emotions, how he liked everything.

  Yet there had to be change if the castle was to survive, dare he think even thrive? He understood one thing was as certain as night followed day: the twins had to go. They were, to put it bluntly, complete and utter idiots.

  He could have done away with them in many ways over the years, but it never felt right — he held them in contempt but they were the rightful successors, even though such things held little value. Tradition was ingrained into his psyche and the castle was a closed world, running as it always had, if a little more bizarrely under the rule of the twins.

  When the twins entered the world Whip was already a permanent fixture of Castle Kenyon, having lived within its walls for over a hundred and thirty years, Awakening at a little under half that age. He was an old man in appearance to the boys, who took an interest in him when they were young, before he slowly merged into the background as the years plodded ever onward and Finn became lost to The Lethargy.

  He'd now been Awoken for well over two hundred years, a ghost, background noise that didn't register — usually. It wasn't like he'd made people forget about him completely, in fact he sometimes even had a conversation with one of the staff, but that hadn't happened for a few years now — he found the conversations so empty and pointless that he just didn't care for them, didn't have the patience for the nonsense any longer.

  With the twins it had been different at first. He was a big part of their lives, one of the few people trusted by Finn. Whip was the first child to be born inside the castle walls, brought up to be Finn's right-hand-man once his abilities and intelligence became clear in adolescence. When he Awoke, Whip became invaluable to Finn, especially once the boys arrived. By then Whip was already becoming a little withdrawn, balking at the way Finn's rule had warped, his ideas percolating through the stunted minds of the servants. Life became increasingly different from how he remembered things, until it was nothing like how he believed people should behave.

  Yet he did nothing, just withdrew into himself since he knew he was as incapable of leaving as anyone else. Whip knew he couldn't, understood that for all he hated what had become of the castle, it was, in the end, his home. So he watched, let life play out around him, waiting for something but not knowing what.

  As the boys settled into their rule, to all intents and purposes monarchs of a limited kingdom, Whip took it upon himself to play games with them occasionally, for his own amusement. He wanted to discover how far he could push them, see how easy to manipulate they were. The answer was he could get them to do almost anything, with one exception: if it had been a law of Finn's then they would follow it blindly. Although they paid him no mind once lost to The Lethargy, they still held the man in high regard for how he ran Castle Kenyon, if not for how he acted as a father.

  Regarding the various rules, regulations, and strange warped religion he put into place, they would not be swayed. Everything stagnated, whatever had been a part of their life since their earliest memories had to stay the same.

  It was idiotic, and utterly infuriating for a man that could see as plain as day when something didn't work or a new system had to be put into place to help maintain the castle and its population.

  One day, maybe thirty or so years ago now, Whip came up with a rather amusing idea and wondered if he could get away with it, push the twins that far.

  He went too far. Even he didn't believe they were that stupid.

  It was the nail in the coffin for any semblance of duty he felt toward the Kenyon line — if they were that idiotic then when the time was right he would take control and implement a new set of rules, maybe have time to enjoy life. Find a little peace.

  The twins had been annoying him more than usual for reasons he could no longer remember, so he had decided to have a little bit of entertainment at their expense. He knew it was illogical, knew it had the potential to put his world at risk, but he figured it might be a way to maybe break the shackles of the castle, have the potential to bring people inside. People that could help widen the narrow gene pool and increase the population's intelligence in a few generations.

  He put his prank into action — surprised and dismayed at how far the twins would go if they thought they had a good idea.

  Whip sank into his chair, let the fire warm his bones, rested his feet on an ancient footstool. Stuffing fell from frayed seams as he smiled at the trick he'd played on the twins.

  "Whip, where have you been? It feels like we haven't seen you around for years, right Fionn?"

  "Right Flynn," agreed Fionn. "What have you been up to old man? Making yourself useful I hope?"

  "Of course masters, always here to help in any way I can." Whip wasn't surprised they didn't remember he hadn't interacted with them directly for years — time held little meaning in the strange world of Castle Kenyon, life continued as it always had, the same every day, year and decade. Servants came and went, the faces changing, the only constant for a long time now had been the twins, and Whip.

  Few had Awoken, but there were always children. It was drummed into them from the earliest possible age that their duty to the castle above all else was to have children, as many as possible as early as possible. That way at least some of them survived long enough to serve the household, ensure that life carried on, that traditions were upheld.

  "Good man."

  "The young masters are looking exceptionally well this fine morning, have you been exercising? You are looking remarkably fit." Whip tried to maintain his composure. Inside he was laughing, although you would never know it to look at him — he was a consummate professional at serving those that thought of themselves as his betters. And there was always that sense of fealty that came with his wish for capable rulers — part of him wanted to serve, to have a place in the world.

  "Thank you Whip. We are looking good aren't we? Been doing our exercises every day, gotta keep in trim." Fionn patted his flat stomach, flexed a bicep, his brother doing the same, comparing muscles.

  "You could do with putting some muscle on your frame too old man, you've always been so skinny," said Flynn.

  "Ah, well, it's because I keep so busy young masters, always so much to do." Whip still found the terms "old man" and "young masters" rather strange, but he guessed there was no getting away from the outward appearance of age. Never mi
nd that the twins were over a hundred and fifty years old — they looked young, he looked old, that was the end of it. Oh, and they still acted like children, that went without saying.

  "We have just this minute been discussing the need for new blood, Whip," said Fionn.

  Whip felt the nervous twitch of his eye at the mention of new blood, the one part of castle life he could never agree with. "Yes master," he said cautiously.

  "Oh, not that, although we must arrange a Feast for this evening. No, I meant the need for new blood to improve the minds of these pathetic servants we have to put up with. It's intolerable. Most of them can't even remember what they are supposed to be doing any longer."

  The three men stared at the various activities in the large courtyard that spread around the front of the main castle doors. Flagstones were dirty, detritus had piled up in various corners, and carts of food had their contents stacked haphazardly, brought from the large vegetable plots that climbed the hill to the castle on all sides, tended by the most trusted servants. The only food not grown inside the walls were the sheep, safe because of the fence.

  Ah, now is the perfect time to have some fun.

  "You make a good point," mused Whip. "What to do, what to do? Hmm."

  "Well, let us know if you can think of something Whip, things are getting a little bit ridiculous here, you know? Look at them." Finn pointed at a group of men, those given the job of transporting the vegetables from the fields to the various kitchens and stores that served the main castle and the servant quarters built against the outer walls, facing the castle along with the ever increasing number of makeshift hovels the more enterprising had constructed to stay dry and maybe even warm at night if they were ever lucky enough to get a scrap of wood.

  The shuffling men, many with serious medical issues due to malformed limbs or problems with numerous body imbalances, were pushing the carts, vegetables repeatedly falling off. As they watched, one of the men would stop, pick up a cabbage, walk over to the cart, put it back on the top, walk back over to the rest of the fallen cabbages, pick one up, walk back over to the cart and repeat the same thing over and over. Not once did either of the men in charge of the cart think to move it closer, or to place them somewhere where they wouldn't just fall off again. It was like watching small children as they learned for the first time, not men of thirty if not older.

  "I've told them countless times to put a net over the carts, or not to pile them so high, but they never remember. We need to improve the stock Whip, or the place shall fall apart entirely."

  "I see. Hmm." Whip scratched at his beak of a nose, ran long, liver-spotted fingers through his hair, pulling the dark, limp strands behind his ears, patting it down. "I think I may have an idea. Follow me."

  They crossed the courtyard. Whip wondered if the twins noticed the smell any longer. For Whip it was probably the worst thing of all, the reminder of the previous Feasts. The large circular pit in the center of the courtyard always seemed to burn a little, smoke and the odor of burned flesh and cooking fat a constant for centuries. How many bits of bone were still piled up there? A lot.

  Whip led the twins through the courtyard, dodging the carts, the women tasked with sweeping up, who, as far as he could tell, had just been pushing their brooms around randomly their whole lives, moving trash from one place to another. Past the small kiosks, the tables and the tattered blankets on the ground where the more enterprising had set up in business for themselves, selling anything they could get their hands on.

  It was rather clever of them actually — any object was held in almost mythical regard, nobody went outside so nothing new ever came inside either. Anything remotely interesting was much sought after and fights often broke out. A dangerous game — nobody knew how to mend broken bones, apart from Whip, and he didn't involve himself in such matters.

  Once inside, through one of the many doors dotted around the hillside below the main castle entrance, the countless walkways often clogged with trash, the ill or exhausted, Whip breathed deeply, the musty air welcome after the stench. There was the noise too: how loud these poor souls were, always shouting and squabbling like birds on carrion. Another sight that was all too common, Whip didn't even want to think about the rat situation, although that too never got completely out of control, after all, it was a staple part of the diet.

  Apart from for him.

  Whip came to from his reverie with a start. Had he fallen asleep? No, it was one of those odd moments when you wake with a jolt even though you haven't actually been asleep, just lost in your own thoughts.

  He inched his chair closer to the fire, feeling rather decadent burning actual genuine real wood to warm his bones — such a rarity. Usually dried vegetable matter was burned, whatever wasn't given to the pigs at any rate. He hated it, it always made the room smell of cabbage. Even that was preferable to the dried dung of the animals that most people in the castle burned if they were lucky enough to gather it before their neighbors.

  "Why not?" groaned Whip. He stood and took another precious log from the depressingly small pile to the right of the fire and placed it with care on the bright flame. He sat back down, sighing contentedly.

  "Now, where was I?"

  Paint it Blue

  "What? I don't get it," said Flynn, staring at Whip, then at the tins piled high in the cobweb-covered room.

  Achoo. "Ugh, can we get out of here? The place is filled with dust, and spiders."

  "We don't like dust Whip, and we definitely don't like spiders, do we Fionn?"

  "No, we don't." Fionn frowned at Whip, then wrinkled his nose at the room.

  It was dark, cold and damp in the cellar, the low ceiling making the vast space feel very claustrophobic. Piled high, almost to the roof, was tin after tin of paint, the labels long ago peeled off, the tins rusty, some spilled onto the floor, bright patches of blue staining the ancient flagstones, mixed with red brick dust from the dangerously unstable domed ceiling.

  "If I may?" asked Whip, dragging a tin over to the twins who refused to move from the entrance where they stood preening themselves, brushing dust off each other's shoulders. Whip tried not to sigh — what was wrong with them? Everything, just about everything.

  He bent slowly with a groan — the more ineffective and frail they thought him the better. Whip prized the lid off the tin then poured a little onto the floor. He stood, staring at the twins, wiggling his eyebrows as if all was revealed. Of course, he knew they wouldn't have a clue what he was talking about, which was how it should be, gentle manipulation was needed for what he had in mind.

  "Paint," said Fionn, as nonplussed as his brother.

  "What's all this about Whip? We have better things to do than stand in horrid rooms looking at paint. And where did all this come from? Who put it here?"

  "To answer your question Master Flynn, I have no idea, I merely found it, and thought it may interest you." Whip turned to Fionn and said, "Yes Master Fionn, paint it is, blue paint. Rather fetching don't you think?"

  "Well, yes, the color is rather nice," said Fionn. "Blue."

  "Yes, blue," said Whip. "Now, you have been talking about attracting new, um, blood into Castle Kenyon, have you not?" The twins nodded mutely, keen to get the conversation over with and retreat to their nice warm quarters. "Well, we need something that will attract attention to the place, to draw people to us, correct?"

  "Yes, yes," said Fionn. "What of it?"

  "Well, if we are not going to go out and actively find people, and I must say there seems to be a distinct lack of anyone at all of late, then we need to get them to show an interest in us. What better way than using the castle itself to do the work for us?"

  "Hmm. Carry on," said Flynn.

  "I was thinking we could use some of the paint, maybe a splash of color on the upper reaches of the castle itself. A beacon if you like, to draw the wandering souls to us. They would see the blue, get curious and before we know it they are at our gates asking to be let inside." Whip waited, giving them
time to process the information, something he was used to — they really weren't the smartest, more like dumb dogs at times.

  "Yes, yes, that is a rather good idea Whip," said Fionn.

  "It is," agreed Flynn. "Just the thing. Good idea old man, it could work."

  It all backfired on Whip. Two days later the whole castle was abuzz with activity as every single person was tasked with painting the beautiful ancient stone with bright blue paint that had sat in the dark for centuries. Whip had the feeling that his old master had gathered it up when he first took occupancy, thinking to use it as some form of trade over the years, but it had lain forgotten ever since. What else did the endless rooms have to offer? He would have to investigate.

  He watched in dismay as ladders and scaffolds were erected, groaned as paint was splashed over every available surface, and actually cried when he stood back and looked up from the lower courtyard to see the home he had lived in his whole life transformed into a twisted fairytale castle, shining bright blue in the afternoon sunlight.

  Whip had thought to play a little prank on the twins, get them to do something he thought of as ridiculous. Whoever heard of a castle being anything but stone? But as usual they got carried away with their latest interest and decided that the entire structure was to be painted. They even painted the outer wall, something the brave shepherds — the only men that ever ventured outside the walls — were none too happy about. For months they had the unenviable task of being lowered over the wall in cradles, dangling above the moat with paintbrush and tin in hand as they painfully and slowly painted the walls until everything was blue.

  As the paint ran out it was diluted. The work continued; Whip despaired.

  Whip had wandered in fury for weeks, his anger increasing the more people he saw splattered in paint, the idiots so haphazard with their work that paint was splashed everywhere, not just on the walls.