The House on Durrow Street

by Galen Beckett

  EVENING SEEMED TO take its time coming, and without any regard to the tolling of bells from down the street or for Rafferdy’s thirst. If he had ever made a habit of consulting the timetables in the almanac, he was sure he would have done so then. However, as he never did, he took a small brandy instead. At last the sky bothered itself to darken, and Rafferdy put on his coat and gloves, took up his cane, and called for his cabriolet.

  Warwent Square, where his house was situated, was nearly as close to the most notorious sections of the Old City as it was to the most fashionable avenues of the New Quarter. Thus, it was only a short while before the cabriolet turned down a lane some way off Durrow Street and halted before a squat building of gray stone. A sign hung over the door, barely visible in the cast-off light of a streetlamp. On it, painted in weathered green and silver, was the picture of a curling leaf pierced by a sword.

  Rafferdy entered the tavern and immediately saw Eldyn Garritt, sitting in their favorite booth in the back corner. Despite Rafferdy’s velvet coat and ivory-handled cane, few eyes glanced toward him as he moved through the tavern. It was not unusual for young gentlemen to frequent some of the seamier taverns and drinking houses in the Old City. Nor, in a place like this, did an expensive coat always mean a man was a magnate or shabby attire mean he was not.

  Garritt stood as Rafferdy drew near. Rafferdy took off his gloves, and the two men clasped hands warmly.

  “Playing at being a lord must suit you, Rafferdy,” his friend said with a broad grin, “for you look very well.”

  “And playing at being a clerk must do the same for you, Garritt. You look well yourself tonight.”

  In fact, now that Rafferdy studied him, Eldyn Garritt looked exceedingly well. He wore a gray coat that was not overly rich, yet was nonetheless very handsome, and his face was not pinched with shadows, but was rather open and cheerful. These characteristics aroused a curiosity in Rafferdy, for he was used to Garritt appearing gloomy and threadbare.

  He made no comment about it as the two of them sat in the booth. Garritt had already ordered a pot of punch, so they dispensed with idle words and instead got right to it. Rafferdy put a lump of sugar in his cup, squeezed a lemon over it, and filled it with sweet, heady liquid. Only when each had drained his punch halfway did they resume speaking.

  Garritt admired the cup in his hand. “Now, that’s a fine end to a fine day.”

  “A fine day you call it,” Rafferdy said, affecting a skeptical tone. “Yet the weather was not remarkable, and I heard of no special happening in the city. As far as I recall, the lumenal displayed not a single characteristic that I would call fine. So why should it have been fine for you?”

  “Why shouldn’t it have been? If there was no reason for it not to be fine, then fine it should be. It is the intrinsic quality of a lumenal to be good, don’t you think?”

  Rafferdy scowled at his friend. “God above, what’s happened to you, Garritt? You are in an awfully cheerful mood tonight.”

  “You speak as if that’s something you find disagreeable.”

  “Of course I find it disagreeable. ‘Dreariness always desires a friend,’ as the saying goes, yet I find I am alone in being miserable tonight. Our positions are reversed from their usual and more natural arrangement, as I am all in a gloom, and you are in high spirits.”

  Garritt laughed. “What in the world do you have to be miserable about, Rafferdy?”

  “A great deal. That is why I asked you to meet me here tonight, for who else in the world can I count on being miserable with? Yet instead you defy every usual expectation and are merry. You are no use.” Rafferdy finished his cup, and pushed it forward to be filled again.

  Garritt complied, tipping the pitcher over Rafferdy’s cup. At least his friend could be useful in that way.

  “Come now, Rafferdy,” Garritt said encouragingly. “I am sure that you can bring me down if only you try. You are very skilled at getting what you want after all. So do your best—give me every reason to discard my happy mood, to let misery supplant cheer, and to pity you.”

  “An easy enough task!”

  “Go on, then.”

  “For one thing, there is yet another session of Assembly I am required to attend the day after tomorrow.”

  “How many does this make that you have sat through?”

  “There was the opening session, and two more after that. So this will be the fourth time I must go in little more than half a month.”

  “That hardly seems burdensome! I would have thought your presence was required more frequently. Apparently governing the nation is an easier task than I had imagined, for it to require so little time or trouble on anyone’s part.”

  Rafferdy slammed down his cup, which might have resulted in a great splash had it not been already empty. “Easy, you say! Do you have any idea what it is like to sit on those wretched planks they call benches and listen to some ancient lord in a crooked wig drone on forever about this tax or that act or some new proposal to build more schools or hospitals or some such twaddle? Even if the benches were not so hard as to preclude any chance of dozing, you still can’t lower your head for a nap, because at any moment you may be required to suddenly stand up and shout out a vote of yea or nay. As if, after listening to some old windbag prattle on for an hour, you have any idea what the measure is about, let alone if it’s a worthy thing. And that’s just the—I say, Garritt, are you even listening to me?”

  Garritt turned his head to regard Rafferdy; he had been gazing at the door of the tavern. “Yes, of course. The benches are very hard. Can’t you bring a cushion to sit on?”

  “And look like a fool? I’ve never seen anyone else do such a thing. Even the most decrepit lord sits there contentedly as if upon a comfortable chaise. I wonder if they’ve not all of them completely lost sensation in their backsides. But I tell you, I am in agony the entire time.”

  “So bring a pillow, and damn anyone if they stare at you. When have you ever worried about what anyone else thinks?”

  “Do you not know me after all these years, Garritt? I’ve always worried what others think. That is, I worry that they do not think as highly of me as they should have the sense and wits to. But since I can hardly count upon the taste and intelligence of others, I must necessarily lower myself to secure their good opinion, as little as it is worth.”

  Garritt smiled and shook his head. “You sound like a man who willingly spends gold to buy lead.”

  “On the contrary, I’m like a man who spends gold to buy rum. The one is more valuable, but the other must be had all the same for sustenance.”

  “Well, maybe you need something to sustain you besides the approving looks of other people. Maybe you should strive to do something that wins your approval.”

  “If you mean I should do as abstainers advise and give up drink and tobacco and start chewing grass like a cow so I can feel superior about myself, you are wasting your breath. I have no desire to improve myself.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Garritt was gazing not at Rafferdy, but at his hands. With a start, Rafferdy realized he had been fidgeting with his House ring, turning it around on his finger.

  “Have you never thought about continuing your studies in magick?” Garritt went on, his tone more serious now. “I can only believe mastering some new spell or enchantment would provide you with more entertainment and satisfaction than mastering public opinion.”

  Rafferdy could only wince. A few months ago, in a drunken moment, he had told Garritt how, at the urging of Mrs. Quent, he had taken up the study of magick to help her gain entry to her family’s old house on Durrow Street, and how they had managed to keep a group of magicians from gaining an object there that had belonged to her father.

  At the time he had reveled in the tale, sparing no detail that served to illuminate his magickal prowess. Now, however, he regretted ever telling Garritt about it. The whole affair was something he wanted only to forget.

  Except she would never let him forget.
Perhaps that was another reason he had been avoiding her—not only because she had appeared so happy to be Mrs. Quent, but also because she had once appeared similarly happy to see Rafferdy work magick. If given the chance, would she not encourage him to work magick again?

  “Are you well, Rafferdy?” Garritt said, his eyes concerned. “You look ill of a sudden. Have you had too much punch?”

  “On the contrary, I haven’t had enough.” He drew his right hand back from the table, and pushed his cup forward with his left.

  Garritt filled it again, and Rafferdy took a deep swallow.

  “Besides,” he went on, “you forget what other causes I have for gloom. Or do you not recall the entire reason I am now sitting in Assembly?”

  At once Garritt’s expression grew solemn. “I’m sorry, Rafferdy. I had not forgotten about your father’s situation. All the same, I confess that sometimes I forget to consider the constant effect it must have on your spirits. You have every reason to be somber. Just because I am used to you being cheerful does not mean you don’t have the right to be in a gloom for good cause. Tell me, is there any more news?”

  Rafferdy was gratified by Garritt’s concern. All the same, now that the topic had been brought up, he had no real desire to discuss it. He had in fact received a letter from Asterlane that morning, and the news had been no better than in the letters that preceded it. His father wrote that he was improved, but that he was not yet ready to make the trip to the city.

  By this, Rafferdy knew that his father’s condition was not improved at all. However, it was the case that Lady Rafferdy read everything Lord Rafferdy wrote to their son (as she was not one to write letters herself), and thus his father could not discuss his situation openly, for fear of increasing the degree of her fretfulness about his health, which was already acute. Nor was there any need for him to do so. The meaning of his words might be obscure to his wife, but to his son it was more than clear enough.

  Rafferdy told Garritt only that he had heard nothing new from Asterlane, which was true enough.

  “As for magick,” he went on, adopting a light tone, “even if I wished to study it again, I have no one to study it with. As I told you, Mr. Bennick turned out to be the worst sort of villain, and by all reports has fled back to his estate in Torland. Not that I am surprised. I never liked him from the moment I saw him, and I am an excellent judge of character.”

  “I’ll disagree with you there.” Garritt affected a wry grin and raised his cup. “If you were a good judge of character, I’m sure you wouldn’t demean yourself by associating with the likes of me.”

  That was the first really amusing thing Rafferdy had heard all day, and he laughed. “On the contrary, Garritt, I have never encountered a more decent or wholesome being than you in my life. Just being near you surely reduces by some degree the blemish upon my character. Most people struggle all their lives to be good, and they mostly fail. Not you, Eldyn Garritt. You do not need to strive to be good, for you are good by your very nature. And it’s not just that cherub’s face of yours. It’s who you are in your being. That you are capable of doing anything profligate or wicked is impossible. The moon is no more capable of shining in the daytime.”

  Rafferdy thought these words would have left his friend with a pleased look about him. Instead, Garritt’s grin became a grimace, and he shifted in his seat as if he’d just encountered a splinter.

  “You do me too much justice,” Garritt said after a moment, his voice subdued now. “Besides, as you’d know if you were ever awake when it was light out, you can easily see the moon during daytime. It’s faint, but it’s there. You have only to look up.”

  Rafferdy did not know how to react to these words; for some reason this sudden display of his friend’s customary moroseness did not please Rafferdy as much as he might have thought. It occurred to him that perhaps he should ask Garritt if something was wrong.

  Before he could think of something sympathetic to utter, a motion caught his eye. Rafferdy turned his head to see the back of a young man who had just walked past their booth. This would not have been remarkable except for two things. The first was that the young man’s buff-colored coat was exceptionally well made, and a rich coat was something Rafferdy always noticed. The second was that the young man’s hair rose up in a frizzy column, reaching as high as a top hat might.

  The other went to an opening at the rear of the tavern. He cast a glance over his shoulder—in the direction opposite where they sat, so Rafferdy could not glimpse his face. Then the young man vanished through the opening.

  “What are you looking at?” Garritt asked, noticing his attention.

  “I’m not sure exactly,” Rafferdy said. “I think it’s—that is, excuse me for a moment.”

  Rafferdy went to the opening in the rear of the tavern. Beyond was a hallway. It was unlighted, and he could see nothing past a few feet—though he had little trouble discerning the sour odor that drifted outward.

  Curiosity won out over distaste. Rafferdy took a deep breath, then plunged in. The only light was the wan illumination of oil lamps that seeped from behind. However, as his eyes adjusted, he was able to perceive the hallway before him, as well as several doors.

  He tried the first door, found it unlocked, and opened it. Beyond was a closet filled with barrels. The next two doors opened onto other closets, one containing a stack of boxes and the other a heap of rags. It was from this last closet that the fetid odor emanated, and he quickly shut the door.

  He came to the last door, at the end of the corridor. It was heavier than the others, bound with rough iron bands—more like a door that opened outside rather than to a closet or a room. Did Lord Coulten know of a back entrance to the tavern? Rafferdy hardly cared that anyone saw him enter here, but one never knew when it might be useful to make a discreet exit. Grasping the iron ring that served as a handle, he pulled the door open.

  Beyond the door was not a room or a hallway, but rather a wall of bricks.

  “But that doesn’t make a bit of sense,” he muttered.

  There was nowhere else Lord Coulten could have gone. He surely hadn’t been hiding in one of the filthy closets. However, when Rafferdy laid his hands against the bricks, he found they were rough and solid. If this had ever been an exit to the Sword and Leaf, it had been walled up long ago.

  Rafferdy was giddier than he thought. He must have turned his head for a moment or shut his eyes. It had only seemed that Lord Coulten had stepped into the opening. Instead, he had probably turned and gone out the front door. Indeed, it probably hadn’t been Lord Coulten at all, but some other man with tall hair and a fine coat.

  Satisfied by these conclusions, and moreover deciding that, despite his impairment, he was thirsty for more punch, he shut the door. As he did, a glint of blue caught his eye.

  “Rafferdy?” Garritt’s voice echoed from behind him. “What are you doing down there?”

  Rafferdy raised his right hand and looked at his ring—the ring that marked him as a descendant of House Gauldren, one of the seven Old Houses of magick. In the gloom, it seemed that an azure spark winked within the gem set into the ring, then went dark.

  “I say, Rafferdy, I’ve ordered us another round. You don’t want me to drink it all by myself, do you?”

  Rafferdy shook his head, then made his way back down the hallway.

  “I thought you’d gotten lost in there,” Garritt said when Rafferdy emerged. “You weren’t looking for a pot to piss in, were you?”

  “No, but by the appalling smell, I believe others have ventured there for such a purpose, pot or no.”

  “Then what in God’s name did you go in there for?”

  “Nothing. I’m halfway drunk, that’s all. Which means I still have halfway to go.” He seized the pot of punch to fill their cups.

  Having had his fill of serious subjects, if not of punch, Rafferdy directed the conversation in a more frivolous direction. He detailed his new robe from Larrabee’s, and he described how, so far, he had
avoided uttering anything of any sort of worth at Assembly. Garritt responded to these things in only the most absent manner.

  Indeed, Garritt’s thoughts seemed entirely elsewhere, and his unnaturally cheerful mood had returned. Several times as Rafferdy spoke, Garritt glanced at the entrance of the tavern, and more than once Rafferdy was forced to repeat himself to get any kind of response. At last Rafferdy could suffer this behavior no longer.

  “Don’t let me keep you, then!” he announced loudly.

  Garritt started in his seat, then turned to regard Rafferdy. “What are you talking about?”

  “By the way you keep looking at the door, I fathom you’d rather be somewhere else than here at the moment.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “On the contrary, your mind is already off and about. I know it, for you haven’t heard a thing I’ve said.”

  “Yes, I have. You’ve got a new robe, you said. And you’ve been a great success at being an utter failure at having any effect upon the proceedings at Assembly.”

  “I said those things a quarter of an hour ago. What have I said since then?”

  Garritt opened his mouth, then shut it again and affected a sheepish look.

  “I thought as much.” Rafferdy leaned back in the booth. “Well, wherever it is you wish to be, you might as well go. You’re no use to me in this state, Garritt. Something has you very pleased with yourself, and whatever it is you can think of nothing else. So go on, then, and get your fill of it. Yet make no mistake—when I see you next, I expect you to be melancholy!”

  Garritt offered profuse apologies, and assured his friend that he would be properly miserable when next they talked. A plan was formed to meet here again several umbrals hence, after Rafferdy’s next session at Assembly, for he surely would be in need of a drink then. They rose and shook hands, then Garritt departed—and none too slowly, Rafferdy thought.