“Thank-you, Garius.” Katherine said, despite knowing she was still a prisoner of some sort. But, if she were to be a prisoner, she figured her new accommodations were much more preferable than the dank darkness of her original cell.
“Katherine,” Garius turned to face her. “It is good to see you again.” With a quick step her one time love exited the chambers, pulling the heavy door close behind him.
Katherine felt a faint smile play on her lips as his eloquent frame left the room. It had been good to see a familiar face, despite the situation. As she nestled into the deep throws of the blankets, Katherine noticed something peculiar. The curtains attached to the bed’s canopy were a deep, rich red; her favourite colour.
The auto heaved to and fro over the uneven, poorly kept roadway that ran between the teeming city of Gossac and the highland town of Opdis. Harsh, biting winds set the vehicle to precarious rocking, which heightened the risk of the vehicle capsizing. The once thriving trade roads between hamlets, villages, towns and the great city of Gossac were now buried beneath mounds of ice and snow.
With the main population isolated in the grand city, the routes into Driftwood Isle’s countryside were not well maintained, if at all. Patches of ice would send the heavy wheels of autos into violent spins. The blasting snow accumulating in threatening roadside drifts often rendered vehicles into immobility.
It was a trek Julien DiMarco would not have normally risked, however, it was a trip long overdue.
In truth he had planned to visit the College of Kinetics, located in the valley to the north of Opdis, much earlier than now. If it hadn’t been for the sudden, uncanny, snowfall that befell the Isle, Julien would have been on the return trip by now.
It was a miracle he had been able to convince his stewards to ready the auto for the trip. They protested in vain against his going, proclaiming the trip would be the end of him, for the mountain passes were not maintained. That was before they threw his age into the matter. Julien did not deny such a long, unfavourable journey for one of his antiquity did hold certain risks. These arguments, in the end, did not deter Julien, for there were larger woes to be dealt with. Woes whose needs far outweighed the dangers of travel.
What did bother the old pyrokinetic was the abrupt fall of peace. War had not come to Wynne, as of yet, though lines were undoubtedly being drawn. It was now a time of baited breath in Wynne. The citizens feared war and Julien DiMarco was hell bent on preventing it.
That was why he now sped along the perilous route to the College of Kinetics. Too much time had passed since he had received word from the headmaster and the frightful rumours of a kinetic borne disease sent Julien’s heart into panic. With allegations of kinetic involvement with the organization moving against Valvius, the last thing the kinetic folk needed was some unchecked sickness to smear their already tarnished name.
Julien needed counsel in this dark hour, and there was only one man in all of Wynne he dared to trust, and that was headmaster Cyril.
For reasons unknown to Julien, the speaker of the commons asked if she could join along in his venture to the college. Julien was only delighted to have her as a guest, but there was darkness around the beautiful woman that was foreign and ill placed.
“How are you doing madam?” Julien asked as another blast of wind rocked the cramped passenger cabin.
“Well enough ser.” Rosemary Sharpe smiled between pursed lips. “How much longer?”
“Not too long now.” Julien estimated by peering out the window. The howling wind kicked up sheets of snow, blocking many of the landmarks Julien had come to known along the road.
“Good.” She said.
The cabin fell back into a tense silence. The howling wind provided a kind of eerie, melancholic orchestra for the trek. In many ways, Julien could not fault Rosemary for her glum mood. It was a long trip in the best of weather, least of all in a snowstorm. Julien did not doubt the events of council plagued her mind as much as his. He vowed to himself to try and alleviate Rosemary’s sour mood by the end of their trip.
“Master Julien.” The soft electronic voice of the automaton driver of the auto filled the silent cabin.
Julien turned to a wall mounted speaker box and flicked a switch to enable two-way conversation.
“Yes?” He asked, adjusting his pyrokinetic lenses as they slid down his narrow nose.
“The town of Opdis is over the next rise.” The construct replied. “Shall the one called fifteen-fifteen stop at the inn?”
“I think that wise.” Julien said, giving Rosemary a knowing smile. “We have had enough travel for today. Let me know when we have arrived will you?”
“Of course Master Julien.” The machine replied.
“Thank-you fifteen-fifteen.” Julien flicked the speaker box back to one-way conversation and turned to face Rosemary.
She had dressed in her finest plain clothes, if plain meant stunning and radiant. Her blouse was a loose fit garment of ivory silk, coupled with a frilled lace scarf. She wore a simple, yet oversized, pendant with a glimmering opal of blue and green that rested upon her small chest. Even her skirts were more eloquent for travel than one might normally wear. The garment was royal blue velvet, with the finest floral patterning Julien had ever seen. The edges of the skirt were lined with a faux sliver, pulling the entire outfit together.
“I hope you find our lodgings sufficient.” Julien said, once again adjusting the heavy lenses upon his nose.
“I am sure they will suffice ser.” Rosemary offered a weak, almost feigned, smile.
Time passed in a rather slow way as the mechanical golem wound the vehicle up the final rise. Julien spent the time spinning his trusty cane, slow and methodical, in his withered hands. If anything, the movement helped keep his ancient mind distracted from the woes of the world.
After what felt like an eternity, the auto rolled to a stop.
“Master Julien,” the mechanical voice of the driver issued into the cabin once more. “We have arrived.”
“Thank-you fifteen-fifteen.” Julien said, giving the little switch on the voice box a quick flick on-off.
Julien used his cane as leverage as he lifted himself off the cushioned seat. The muscles in his legs had need of a good stretch, but he forced them to wait as he fetched the madam’s beaver skin chapeau from the nearby rack.
“Thank-you, ser.” Rosemary said with a slight nod.
“No trouble at all madam.” Julien smiled as he placed his own wool cap upon his balding head.
Next, he offered Rosemary her heavy hibagon fur waistcoat. It was a wondrous garment. Julien did not doubt it caught a fair price in some private mercantile shop, for the natural, deep brown fur had been dyed a similar rich blue as her skirts. It was no secret coloured clothing as vibrant as what the madam speaker wore were pricey investments, but the cost involved in dying the regal hide of the hibagon must have been staggering.
Reaching for the compartment door, Julien gave the speaker of the commons a gentle smile of admiration. The woman, ever one known for her politeness, returned the gesture. Julien turned the metal handle and let the wind pull the door open.
Outside the world continued to blow snow in angry protestation. The tropical fauna seemed as stubborn, stalwart reminders of the fading memory of tropical sun. The pointed leaves of the fern and palms bashed against the tendrils of the blizzard, as if daring Del Morte to send a more vigorous foe.
Julien grabbed Rosemary by the elbow, more for his own support than anything. He led her around to the front of the auto. The azure glow of the cortex engine had gone cold and black as the mechanical being readied the vehicle for an over night stay.
Beyond the nose of the auto rose a towering shadow of amazing girth. Little glowing orbs of satin orange followed the length of the building before them, indicating the many rooms of the inn were bustling with life. The sweet scent of roasted duck, mutton and hearty stews issued from the staggering shade. The raucous laughter of the common room spilled from the imm
ense building, beckoning the road weary travelers forward.
“Shall we?” Julien asked, adjusting his pyrokinetic lenses. Pleased with their placement, he offered his frail arm to Rosemary. The Speaker of the Commons once again offered Julien a slight smile as she wound her arm around his own.
“Lead on, ser.” She declared.
Letting his cane lead them, Julien traced out a path towards the slick, stone steps of the inn. The snow crunched underfoot, muffling the all-too familiar tap-tap-tapping of his prized ebony cane. Julien had to adjust the crystal setting of his lenses in order to see where he led, for the bitter cold obscured his vision by masking the wavering heat of the inn.
The building was a marvelous structure with a sharp, pointed roof that was home to a dozen or more single smokestacks. Each of the individual iron chimneys puffed out great clouds of smoke, which carried the sweet smell of burning wood. Thick layers of snow collected in the gutters and crevices of the roof, threatening to fall at any given moment. A single bronze weather vane, wrought in the guise of a leviathan spun wild in the wind.
Rich granite moulding separated the high reaching roof from the red brick of the building. Iron trellises adorned the windows, and deep gardens ran the length of the building’s base. At ground level, two pillars of white marble held a small overhanging roof aloft. Protruding from the wood of this small covering was an iron spike. A single sign, made of re-worked driftwood, hung from the iron. Its hinges creaked and protested with each gust of wind.
“The Inn of the Weeping Leviathan.” Julien proclaimed, reading the gold embossed lettering on the sign. “No finer place of joviality in all of the highlands.”
“As long as it provides me with a warm hearth and hearty food, I will be content.” Rosemary said.
“But of course madam.” Julien assured. “Even without this terrible, out of place weather, Opdis sees far cooler nights than Gossac. The Leviathan will have ample sources of heat and the chef, a Ynouxian man named Gaston, makes a mighty fine roasted quail.”
“Sounds delightful.” The speaker of the commons smiled. Julien noticed the first hints of a true, genuine response from the lady that he had not seen, or heard, since their journey began.
Julien couldn’t help but grin, knowing the lovely woman’s demeanor would undoubtedly change for the better once inside. Not wanting to lose the moment, the old pyrokinetic led the way to the small flight of stairs that led under the overhang and met at the wide front door.
The steps were dangerously slick with ice, causing Julien great difficulty in reaching the landing. Rosemary had to give him extra support, for his frail legs struggled with the slippery surface.
“I think they are in need of salt.” Julien huffed upon reaching the top landing. Julien took a brief moment to regain his dignity, and composure. “But enough of an old man’s complaints. Warmth awaits.”
Julien reached for the copper handle, releasing the latch, and opened the door.
A splash of light erupted as the wooden frame swung inwards. The warm air spilled out into the night, pulling the two councilors in with its inviting tendrils of comfort. Rosemary entered the common room first as Julien followed her lead. Upon entering the inn, the old kinetic made sure to force the frigid night out by shutting the door.
Inside, the common space was as much alive as the ambiance hinted. Men and women shared wine and mead in healthy quantities. A pianist and cellist filled the bawdy air with lays and ditties of whimsical beauty. Serving women made the rounds, offering plates of hot food and drink.
The room itself was large and square. Decorative, floral paper had been applied to the walls. Rich, crown moulding separated the ceiling from the walls. Large, oversized chandeliers laden with everflame globlets brought an ever-living light to the space. Along the far wall was a rather impressive bar, with no less then three tenders working the drink.
The counter itself was wrought from a tropical wood Julien could not quite place, but he admired how the rich, cherry varnish complimented the swirling grain. The racks were filled with all manner of stouts, ales, lagers, rums, whiskeys and ryes. There was even a section wholly dedicated to the more fanciful wines from Valvius and Di Delgi.
“Where do we check in?” Rosemary asked.
“By the bar of course.” Julien replied. “The Inn of the Weeping Leviathan operates like the inns of yore. You will not find the same sort of service the grand hotels of Gossac, Brixon or Malefosse offer.”
“Of course.” Rosemary said with hints of disappointment on her voice.
“Why don’t you get us a table, perhaps close to the stair in the back,” Julien indicated to the far corner of the common room. “I will secure us a room and a meal.”
Rosemary looked across the bustling space to the forlorn table Julien indicated.
“What are you having?” Julien asked as the Speaker withdrew her arm from his.
“Wine.” She said. “A rich Valvian red I think.”
“Excellent choice madam.” Julien said as Rosemary made for the indicated table.
Julien turned his attention back to the bar. His cane tap-tap-tapping once again on more familiar surfaces brought a sense of peace to the old kinetic. Many of the patrons gave him wide berth, both of respect for the elder, but also for the discomfort of a kinetic in their wake. Once more Julien had to adjust the crystal setting of his lenses, for now the heat of the common space was intense and bothersome to his eyes.
It did not take long for him to find his way to the counter. The barkeep was a young lad with rich, black hair and solid blue eyes. His white shirt seemed ragged, not from poor upkeep, but from trying to keep pace with the busy evening.
“What can I get ye?” The lad asked, leaning onto the counter.
“I am in need of two single rooms for the night.” Julien declared. “One for myself, the other for my companion. We would like a hot meal and a bottle of the richest Valvian red you have in store.”
“No can do.” The barkeep stated.
“Pardon me?” Julien asked, shocked by the solid declination of services.
“All full.” The lad clarified. “I can get ye the drink an’ food, but no rooms left I’m afraid.”
“Since when has the The Leviathan been full?” Julien demanded. He could feel a hotness rising in his cheeks that he strained to contain.
“Since the snows ser.” The lad said. “Small folk can’t stay in their homes, else they freeze. We’ve boarded them up until the snow’s gone.”
“Well then,” Julien struggled for words. “Do you know who I am? Who my companion is?”
“Aye.” The barkeep nodded. “Yer Julien DiMarco of the council, and she’s the lady Rosemary.”
“That’s right.” Julien said through gritted teeth. “I am certain there is room for people of our stature.”
“Afraid not, ser.” The lad insisted. “Station don’t matter when there’s no where to put ye.”
“Forget the food and drink then.” Julien huffed, slamming his cane into the carpeted floor. “We shall continue on our way then. I shall not forget this.”
“Apologies ser.” The barkeep said as Julien stormed off.
“I cannot believe this.” Julien muttered to himself as he wove his way to where Rosemary sat. The tap-tap-tapping of his cane was wild and fierce as he stormed across the wide space. “I am a councilor of Wynne. It is because of me these people have not been dragged into war. Ungrateful urchins.”
“What is it Julien?” Rosemary asked, clearly noting his sour mood.
“We are leaving.” He declared.
Julien ignored Rosemary’s protests, and questions, as he sought the front door. He was insulted, angry, and frustrated. The roads to the college would be more of a danger now the light of day had fallen. It was cold, and his ass had quite enough of the cushions of the auto. Just when he thought he was to be released, if only for the night, from the rigors of travel, he was now being thrust back into the fray.
His was a prestigious p
osition, one he had never used to his benefit. Tonight had been different. He was old, and tired. Even his younger companion was road weary. All he had desired was to sleep away the aches in the comfort befit a man of his stature.
“Ungrateful urchins.” Julien muttered again as he pulled the front door open.
The snow outside had begun to slow in its descent, and the howling wind was now more of a weak whimper. For that much Julien was grateful. He hoped the turn in weather would make the remaining hours more tolerable.
Julien did not say anything to the lady Rosemary as he held the auto’s door open for her. He did pour a mild Valvian red from the passenger cabin’s wet bar for the councilwoman.
“What happened Julien?” She asked, accepting the drink.
“The inn is full.” He said, flicking the speaker box on. “Fifteen-fifteen, take us to the College of Kinetics.”
“Julien?” Rosemary asked.
“Understood.” The golem driver replied in its soft electronic voice.
The auto rumbled to life as the cortex engine fired up. Julien turned the speaker box off and sat on the uncomfortable cushioning. The vehicle vibrated as it began its journey for the valley beyond Opdis.
“Julien?” Rosemary repeated.
“It would seem the inn has given its space to the small folk.” Julien said between baited breaths.
“How noble.” Rosemary replied.
“Yes.” Julien huffed, adjusting the lenses on his nose as they began to slide off. “Noble.”
“What is wrong with what the inn has done?” She asked, taking a sip of the weak wine.
“Nothing.” Julien admitted. “But we are councilors of Wynne. We have kept these people from war and death, yet they cannot offer us a room.”
“How can they if there is no space?” Rosemary asked.
“We are councilors.” He stated. “They should find the space.”
“Master Julien.” Fifteen-fifteen’s voice interrupted over the sound system.
Julien sighed, giving Rosemary an apologizing smile, and switched the speaker box to two-way conversing.
The Spark Page 17
