“It’s to hide the appearance of the pollution,” he explained. “You wouldn’t imagine how easily clothes tend to collect it.”
“Nasty!” Fae scowled.
Though slightly tinted and unwashed, the windows overlooking the city afforded a grand view of the Cinderstone Ziggurat. The ornate and rather busy design of the Royal House of Freland, was a four-tiered structure with lofting spires and long, pointed ramparts that towered over the lacework of roads, bridges and buildings of its city. Situated in the center with Hamilton Tower facing its eastern flank, there were also the sights of other, smaller zeppelins in the distance, as well as factory smokestacks attached to simpler, less impressive steel buildings frothing debris into the air.
“They said we could collect Salvador downstairs by the large cargo area,” Miss Baxter said, pink lips framing a smile. “The poor thing must have been awfully lonely being by itself in the brig.”
Simon was sure the dead jackass didn’t really mind either way where he had been placed, but couldn’t help but smile at the young lady’s compassion for the creature.
“Well let’s go down then,” he said, glad that Mr. Darcy had offered to hold his briefcase so he wouldn’t have to force himself into exhaustion. “Then perhaps we can exchange addresses and meet up in the evening for supper.”
Though Mr. Todd really would have rather not had to visit with his father, he knew if word got out he had been in the area without seeing either of his parents, Mum would be utterly flabbergasted. Simon didn’t want that, but thought however that his familial duties towards his mother and father were a private affair, and like his accounting ledger, better handled by himself with care.
“Certainly, Mr. Todd.” Mr. Dashing whirled on his feet, walking towards the caged lift in the center of the building.
“Say hi to ya mum fer me. Maybe if yer lucky she’d a baked some of them mince pork pies!” Fae rubbed at her stomach, sticking her tongue out. “If she ‘as bring one back fer me, will ya?” Simon chuckled as Fae leaned over his shoulder, platinum hair brushing his cheeks and tickling his nose.
“Alright, alright! If she has some,” he said, swatting her away. “Don’t plan for me to go in and insist she make them for you, though.” He adjusted his tie as she pulled away. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
If anyone would have been good company to bring to his parent’s house, it would have been Miss Hershal. His father used to be good friends with the owner of Hershal Bank, long before it became a country-wide business operation.
Which reminded Simon: he’d have to be sure to pay the Ebony brand of Hershal Bank a visit before he left. Perhaps, he thought, he’d do that first to get it out of the way.
The brass colored, caged door of the lift was pulled closed as the attendant stepped back, cranking the large wheel until the appropriate floor lined up with the lever. Simon stood in front with Miss Hershal, mostly lost in thought but for the feel of Lucifer pawing at his lower back from the arms of Penelope.
“Do you think it’s wise to keep Heironymous Grimguild’s dog, Miss Baxter?” Simon said, frowning as he stepped forward in an attempt to escape it.
The young shepherdess grinned, looking down at the creature affectionately.
“I don’t think it can cause any harm,” she replied, wagging her finger beneath its chin.
The sight of her happiness calmed Simon’s heart, but he blushed as the furry creature leapt up upon her breast to lick at her left cheek, and the soft, pliant flesh of her bosom pressed down beneath its paws.
Mr. Todd heard Fae snicker as he turned back around, but Simon regarded the bars of the lift, trying his best to pay her no mind.
“First floor!” the attendant called after a while, metal hissing as he pulled the grating aside and ushered everyone out. Simon nodded his thanks as he left, the others joining him after a moment of rearrangement.
“So!” he declared, “I’ll just need to do a bit of work and we can meet up again in the evening.”
He nodded to Mr. Darcy who handed him his briefcase. The space beyond the lift was wheel-like in shape, but with green-veined, marble flooring and brass sconces on the wall.
Jane smiled. Fae did one better and laughed. “Ya fancy visitin’ ya mum a bit of work, do ya?” she teased, moving out of the way as more people lined up to board the elevator.
Simon shook his head. “If you haven’t forgotten Miss Hershal, I’m also here on business?” Simon cocked a brow. “You’re father’s business, in fact.”
“Quite right.” Dashing coughed, digging into his pocket to produce a soiled bit of card. It looked to have been something he had saved from the Milkbath. “I’ve scribbled down the address we’ll be staying at, so we can meet there when you’re done visiting.”
“I think I’d like to look around Ebonguard a bit, if anyone would like to join?” Miss Baxter smiled, her teal dress looking like ocean water in the light of the tower. The walls were all built from a warm colored, pecan wood, baseboards of golden pine and etched with depictions of soldiers. Simon faintly recalled his father telling him stories of the old knights of Ebonguard. It seemed those stories were entombed within the décor of the tower, circling the inquiring sorceress along with great, bronze statues of men and women in plate mail.
“I wouldn’t mind!” Fae called back.
“I’ll join you until I can find direction to the library,” Jane agreed.
Miss Baxter nodded, letting down the small pooch and readjusting her ivory crook. “I hope you’ll say hello to your father for me,” she asked, eyes sparkling with genuine fondness. Simon offered her a weak smile, feeling a bit saddened at the thought of it.
“Of course,” he said, his case already feeling rather heavy in his palm. “Have yourselves a good tour around the city.”
The others nodded. Fae spun with her arms in the air. “I want a mask!” she said. “I think we all ought to purchase one. The smoke is rather thick today.”
Simon thought he heard Jane scoff as he passed, but continued onward instead of stopping to inquire. Moving out the door as the others went to secure their own breathing apparatus’, Mr. Todd removed his handkerchief from his pocket before remembering that he was a ghost and probably didn’t mind the polluted air of Ebonguard.
At last, something’s working in my favor, he thought, stalling to place the kerchief back into his pocket. It was a wonder to him how he was able to interact with some items of clothing, like his kerchief or pocket watch, but not with others. Perhaps it had something to do with the wardrobe he had been attired in during his fall and subsequent encounter with the Grim Reaper. Whatever it was, his briefcase had not been part of his transformation and was becoming quite cumbersome.
Moving out the large set of ten foot doors, whereas much smaller and more manageable doors were inserted between, Simon stepped out into the flat, cobbled streets of the city. It was after noon, but the stones of the roads were black and the sky so heavy with cloud it looked like it would rain.
“Alright Mr. Todd,” he said, shaking his head and bending to open his briefcase in order to obtain a small address book. “One-Thirty Wellington Avenue.” It had been written in his mother’s handwriting. Delicately looping letters with a flourish at the end reminded him of her sitting at her desk, carefully typing up her next nighttime story as he sat counting the amount of basil leaves in the jar.
“It shouldn’t be too hard to find,” he said quietly, straightening up and steeling himself for the visit. He felt bad about not coming sooner. He could fault work all he wanted, but ultimately he had himself to blame. What was worse was he hadn’t even found time to send an epistle to warn about his visit.
If it’s a good day and Mum remembers, she’ll definitely know something is amiss when she leans in to give a cuddle. Simon bit his lip, stopping at a rather large road and watching as the unfamiliar cars of the city attempted to preoccupy his mind. Mr. Hershal was the only one in Darlington to own a vehicle like that, but even his was rather pla
in when compared to some of the shiny, metal contraptions zooming about on rubber wheels in this area.
“Wellington…” Mr. Todd mumbled, peering at a faded map on the street corner. People walking by all seemed to be looking down, minding their feet as they busily hurried towards their destinations. Mr. Todd stopped a moment to regard them. Most were wearing long coats with plain hats to probably keep any yellow dust from getting on their clothes. Many men and women wore gas masks, and despite the effort to make them fashionable, Simon thought they looked rather garish, especially when concealing the soft, sweet faces of young girls. Other masks were almost supernatural in appearance. They covered the entire face and large bulbous canisters stuck out along the jawline like mandibles.
Though most of the buildings rose up like sheer cliffs around him, Simon could see the faded curtain of dust settled upon everything. Walls, street lanterns, newspaper stands, ornate handrails, were all thinly dusted with pollution. Even some of the passing pedestrians seemed a bit jaundiced, and Simon couldn’t help but wonder if the purchase of soap skyrocketed around this time of year.
It hadn’t taken Simon long to get to his parent’s house, but he had been pleased to try out the Ebonguard Gray Train. It was awfully efficient. Five pennies got a man to the residential areas of the city in but a handful of stops, and from there it was just a ten minute walk if you didn’t want to hop a carriage.
Simon had managed to stand on the train without any hassle too. He had even placed his case on the holding rack to give himself a break from being corporeal. There was a bit of an odd look when an older woman stumbled back at one unexpected stop, however. Simon surmised she hadn’t been too worried about falling into the young accountant behind her. That is, until she realized that he must have moved at the last second and she had begun to flail wildly to catch herself. Simon felt bad about being a ghost and unable to help the woman, but was secretly glad she had usurped the majority of the commotion with her shrieks of surprise, rather than be the spectacle himself.
“Here we go!” His family’s home was miniscule in comparison to the large towers vaulting upwards from the center of the city. The house sat in the small urban street surrounded by a wrought-iron fence and was rather narrow with three stories. A stone path led up to a squat stairway that ended in twin mahogany doors with stained-glass paneled windows, only slightly covered with yellow dust. The entire structure was made of brick and quite sturdy, reminding Mr. Todd of his father, whereas the decorative moulding around the rooftops, windows and upstairs balcony whispered entirely of his mother.
Simon took in a deep breath as he pulled open the fence and walked up the stony path. There was a slightly overgrown herb garden, as well as a few shrubs that needed grooming, but otherwise the yard looked tip top. Streams of smoke poured from one of the two chimneys when Simon glanced up whilst climbing the stairs. The soft hissing of steam pipes reached his ears as well.
Perhaps Father will be on business. Ah, but that wasn’t fair. He did want to see him too. He just didn’t want him to know…
Simon looked down, straightening his tie and smoothing out his lapels. Taking another calming breath, he allowed for his body to become normally solid and proceeded to knock three times with the slightly limed door knocker.
“Hello?” he called after a moment had passed, standing on the tips of his toes to get a better look through the window.
The door opened half a moment later, and a small woman with gray-brown hair and wide eyes stared back at him with a smile.
“Sorry!” she said. “I was in the kitchen baking.”
Simon looked fondly at his mother. Though she was in her late forties, Marigold Todd still had the kiss of youth on her features. A long, pointed nose and gentle smile may have been adorned with a few lines, but her eyes were still clear, if not at the moment recognizing.
She was wearing a frilled burgundy blouse tucked into a loose, ankle length, three tiered skirt. She had a wrap sprawled about her shoulders. Simon recalled the brass brooch pinned at her neck. It was of a rather sweet looking fox adorned in marigolds; a gift from his father before they had gotten married. Simon wondered if she had attached it at her neck herself, out of memory, or if his father had done it for her.
“Cooking mince pies?” he asked, eyes widening as they held her own. “I’ve been dreaming about your pies, Mum, ever since I left Darlington.” Simon smiled, watching as she cocked her head to the side, and her mousy blonde hair fell out from the braided bun atop her head. “I admit I’ve been a bit lax at cleaning the oven,” he continued after a moment. “too afraid to lose the smell of them to pine wash.”
Though his expression may have been happy, Simon felt his hands clench at the thought that she wouldn’t recall him.
I should have come sooner echoed in his head like the tolling of a belfry. It hadn’t been long since the sickness had set in, but who knew how much she had lost since he had been away.
“Simon?”
Mr. Todd felt his heart begin to calm as the recognition in her voice moved to her eyes.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long, Mum.” He stepped forward, opening his arms as his mother reached out to embrace him. She smelled the same as he remembered: faintly of spices and ink, and soap and cloves. He was a good head taller than her and much more angular in the face by comparison, but he had her square jaw and clear eyes.
“Simon! You don’t know how good it is to see you!” She pulled away, her hands holding his biceps as she stepped back to get a look at him. “You’ve grown at least five inches if not half a foot. And added a stone to your weight at the least!”
“I’m certain that isn’t true.” He shook his head. “I’ve been pretty strict with my diet.” He hadn’t, in fact, eaten anything since Grimguild.
“Nonsense!” She laughed, pulling him inside as she circled around to close the door.
Simon left his case on the floor as he entered, taking a quick look around at the homey décor of pied carpet and watered ferns littering the corners.
“Come in, come in! I was just setting an apple pie to cool a moment. You’ll have a slice.”
Simon laughed as she turned and began making her way down the hall towards the kitchen. “A small one, please.” He followed after, glancing up the stairs facing the entryway before turning his head to the right to regard the sitting room.
“Are you still enjoying your apprenticeship with Mr. Hershal?”
Simon paused at the rounded arch that led into the kitchen. The far side of the room was entirely windowpanes, looking out over the backyard and rather extensive looking garden. Cast iron cooking pots all hung in a cluster by the wood stove, and a large wooden table was in the center of the room with an obvious mince pie sitting on a checkered cloth in the middle.
“I uh…” It had been years since he’d been under the tutelage of Mr. Hershal. “Actually he’s made me his full time accountant.” He remembered the first time he had told her that. They were still living in Darlington at the time.
Mari Todd frowned as she bent to place a plate in front of him. Simon could see her mind struggling to fill in the gaps of her memory. “Now I finally have enough income to come visit you more often,” he said.
She smiled, distracted for the moment by the sincerity of his comment. Bending to slice him a piece of pie, she took a seat afterwards to join him.
“You’re father isn’t around at the moment, but he should be soon. Now that he’s retired from the military he’s all kinds of time. I haven’t had a chance to write at all.”
Simon could remember very well how his mother would sit at her old typewriter and write stories for him. It warmed his heart to think of her that way, with her fingers stained with ink and the smell of paper all around her. When she first started losing her memories, he recalled her saying that she was going to start a journal.
“It’ll be grand! I can read about my life every day and wonder about how lucky I am,” she had said.
“Do you still
write?” Simon asked.
Mari took a bite of pie, coughed and said with a bit of a mouthful, “This isn’t apple.” Swallowing anyway, she turned a moment to regard the empty stove before shrugging and sitting back.
“Not as much, I’m afraid. For a little while I had lost the darned thing!” She giggled. “Your father found my diary in the garden, of all places.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “I must’ve plum forgot I put it there.”
Simon smiled, feeling a bit uneasy. “I got a good surprise when I read it again, however,” she continued. “Apparently I sometimes put the flour in the bottom cupboard instead of up in the spice cabinets. But, other times I put it in the tin on the counter.” She chuckled. “I’m as boring as a doctor’s waiting room you know, so I always write my shopping excursions down. Anyway! I had bought two more sacks of flour the very day your father found the book and so I’ve had a surplus of the stuff for a dog’s age now and not entirely sure what to do with it all.”
“Well, you always liked to bake.”
Mari nodded. “And I still do, but your Father doesn’t like me doing it when he’s away. Not since I half-baked two hens last week.”
Simon bit his lip. “Are you…forgetting more often?”
His mother only smiled. “Oh Simon,” she tapped his knee affectionately, “I don’t know.” She laughed. “I can’t remember what I’ve forgotten.”
Simon smiled despite himself. Whatever she did or did not recall, she was still the bright-eyed, happy woman he remembered. It brought joy to his heart to think that at least her spirit was intact.
“Marigold?”
Simon swung around at the sound of the door closing from the hall. A jolt of anxiousness crawled in his belly at his father’s voice.
“I told you not to bake that damned pie till I got back from the butchers!”
Simon stood up, letting go of his physical body for the moment. He was already feeling very tired of maintaining himself, but was certain his father wouldn’t come in to embrace him like his mother had.
The Curious Case of Simon Todd Page 35
