The Dark Magical World of Alamptria

by Richard A. Valicek

  Aware of the brewing anger, the two knights of Petoshine quickly made their way through the center of the village and continued their journey. They walked a ways until they came upon a teenage boy fiddling idly with some sticks, a bedraggled looking dog by his side. “Let me speak to him,” said Calista. She smiled sweetly and approached him. “Excuse me, my young lad, but I was wondering if you could guide us to an art gallery called Delvinger’s.” Calista swept her hair back and smiled again.

  The boy looked at Calista like he had found love. His eyes got dopy, and he blushed. “If you’re here to see the exhibit, I’m afraid that’s not possible. We’re closed today, for it is Sunday, a day of rest.” He squinted and examined Calista and Caprius. “I can tell you’re not from around here, or you’d know that.”

  “Looks like we have come to the right person. You know an awful lot about the gallery,” said Calista admiringly. She reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of the boy’s eyes.

  He looked like he might swoon and started talking rapid fire. “I actually work there. I sometimes work Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, but mostly just Fridays. That is my long day. And I get paid two shillings a day. Although I think I should be paid more because I have been working there for nearly three years now. And I’ve never missed a day of work. Oh, except for once. But that is because I had the measles. But that doesn’t count because it was on a Saturday. And I normally don’t work on a Saturday, so when my employer asked me to come in and I couldn’t, it shouldn’t have counted as a sick day. I really did have the measles, you know,” the boy jabbered.

  “My, you’re feisty!” said Calista with overly sweet admiration in her voice. Caprius rolled his eyes.

  “I’m not a boy. I’m fifteen. I’m nearly a man. My birthday is in August, so I’ll be an adult real soon,” said the boy.

  “What is your name?” asked Calista.

  “Shyla. But don’t say it’s a girl’s name, ’cause it’s not. But you could call me Shy. My last name is Doody. Please, no Doody jokes; I’ve heard them all before.” Again, Caprius rolled his eyes, but he had to smile at the young man. His chatter was growing on him.

  “So, Shy, how is it that you started working at Delvinger’s at such a young age?” asked Caprius.

  Shy shrugged. “It’s only because my father owns it. He gave me the job,” said Shyla.

  “Is anyone at the art gallery right now? Anyone at all?” asked Caprius.

  “My father is there today. But no one is permitted to get in. Except me, of course,” said Shyla proudly.

  Shy, Calista and I are from Elysium. I am the son of King Confidus. We are here on a mission,” said Caprius.

  Shyla looked at them suspiciously. “I don’t believe you. What would the Prince of Elysium be doing all the way out here?”

  “Have you ever heard of the tale of Grongone and Petoshine?” asked Caprius.

  “Maybe a little bit,” said Shyla. Caprius pulled out his sword of power from his sheath. The boy backed up. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

  “No, Shyla, we are not going to kill you,” laughed Calista.

  “We only mean to show you something,” said Caprius. He held out his claymore. “Have you ever heard of the claymores of power?”

  “Yes… I have. They are swords of great destructive power,” said Shyla. Calista drew her claymore, and with her new powers she blew an icy frost at a nearby tree. The tree instantly froze into solid ice. “Wow!” The boy exclaimed. Then, Caprius aimed his sword at the tree, shot a flaming torch at it, and melted the ice. Water came pouring down in rivulets, and the tree was unharmed. The boy jumped up and down. “You are knights of Petoshine!” he said.

  “So, let’s try this again. As I said, we are on a mission, and we could very much use your help,” said Caprius.

  “What would you have me do?” asked Shyla.

  “We need you to get us into the art gallery now. It’s imperative that we speak to a woman named Enlora Renfield. Someone called Melisa who works at the gallery knows her and will introduce Enlora to us. We need to speak with her as soon as possible,” said Caprius.

  “Well, I would help you, but as I said, the gallery is closed. And, anyway, only my father is there today. Enlora won’t be in until tomorrow.”

  “Could you perhaps, then, take us to see your father?” asked Caprius. “If you do this, let’s just say I’ll mention to your father that it’s high time you got a shilling or two raise. How does that sound?”

  “That would be great! Let’s go,” said Shyla. He started walking quickly, and the two knights followed him. Calista gave Caprius a thumbs-up.

  Soon they came to the front doors of the art gallery. Shyla opened the door.

  “Well, my friend, thank you for showing us to the art gallery.”

  “There’s a small hotel just one block up the street, the Delvinger Hotel,” said Shyla.

  “Your father owns the hotel, as well?” asked Caprius.

  Shyla shrugged. “He’s a busy man.”

  They said their good-byes, Shyla looking forlorn as he watched Calista depart.

  Early Monday morning, Caprius and Calista headed out to Delvinger’s. They sailed in and went directly to the elegant-looking woman there. “Excuse me. My name is Caprius Seaton, and this is my partner, Calista. We are conducting an investigation and are wondering if you can help us.”

  She smiled gently and bowed her head. “How can I assist the Prince of Elysium?” she asked.

  “We are looking for Enlora Renfield,” said Caprius.

  “Yes, she’s here. She comes here to paint portraits. She is in the middle of one now, so I can take you to her, but she greatly dislikes being disturbed when she’s at work. I’ll introduce you when she’s finished,” said the woman. “Come this way.”

  While they followed her, Caprius asked, “May I ask your name?”

  “Melina,” she said.

  “That is my wife’s name,” said Caprius.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know.”

  The last thing Calista felt like talking about was Caprius’s wife. “I see you have some wonderful paintings here. Such a fine collection,” said Calista effusively.

  “Some of our paintings go back as far as the eleventh century. They fetch quite a price,” said Melina.

  “I should be very happy to have one of these,” said Calista.

  “I’m afraid they’re only for private investors. But for a more reasonable price, I’m sure Enlora would be happy to paint something for you,” said Melina. “On average, it takes her about three weeks to finish a portrait. People come here from all over Alamptria.”

  “Funny that I had not heard of the Delvinger’s Art Gallery before. I didn’t know such a job in painting portraits existed,” said Caprius.

  “People hear about us through word of mouth,” said Melina. They came to a large room, every wall surface hung with paintings. In the corner by a window sat a tall, thin woman with porcelain skin and dark hair that cascaded down her back. She was concentrating on some detail work on her canvas with a small brush. A fine gentleman in full evening dress posed for her. “This is Enlora,” said Melina. “But please keep your voices down so you don’t disturb her. You may speak with her when she is finished.”

  “Thank you, Melina,” said Caprius. Melina walked away and left the knights standing in the room. They watched the artist at work for some time until it became clear they were distracting her and she was getting annoyed.

  “Caprius, why don’t we look at the paintings,” said Calista, taking Caprius’s arm in hers. They inched their way around the room whispering to one another about the art. After gazing at innumerable paintings, Caprius began to get bored. Luckily, Enlora set her brush down not long after that, sat back, and examined her work.

  “Mr. Bradshaw, I do believe it’s finished. Would you care to have a look?” asked Enlora.

  Bradshaw got off his seat and came around to admire the painting. “It’s a perfect likeness,” h
e said reverentially.

  “Of course it is. It will need one week to dry, so please do come back to pick it up then.” He kissed her hand, exclaiming platitudes, and left. The artist began cleaning her brushes in a sink. Caprius and Calista came to her. “That’s a very good painting, Mrs. Renfield.”

  She stared at him sharply. “Yes, it is. And it is Ms. Renfield. But you may call me Enlora.”

  “Enlora, my name is Caprius Seaton, and this is Calista Genesis. We are with his majesty’s assault force on investigation.”

  “Assault force,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Am I to be your target?”

  Calista laughed. “We would just like to ask you a few questions,” she said.

  “What makes you think I have the answers?” asked Enlora, patting her brushes on a towel.

  “We are aware that you have knowledge of the dark cult and know the marking on pocket watches. A source told us that this pocket watch”—Caprius pulled the watch out of his pocket—“has markings you are familiar with.” Caprius showed the timepiece to her.

  She observed the markings closely. “This is Telusion, markings of the underworld,” said Enlora. “The small inscription here is the language of the undead.” She handed it back to Caprius.

  “Who wrote this?” asked Calista.

  “The dark lord Makoor,” she said, a small smile flickering over her lips.

  “And what of the marking of the two stars with a knife? That’s what it looks like to me,” said Caprius, turning the watch over.

  “That is exactly what it is. It symbolizes Makoor’s two faithful right hands: Lydia the sorceress and Titanis Clore. The star underneath the two with a burning heart symbolizes Orphius Clore, Makoor’s devoted henchman, who betrayed him. All of Makoor’s followers, thousands upon thousands of them, carry pocket watches exactly like this.”

  “I am told that these pocket watches are made here in Jethro. Is this true?” asked Caprius.

  Enlora stared at Caprius, narrowing her eyes.

  “Enlora, is this true?” Calista echoed.

  “Yes. It is true,” said Enlora.

  “Do you know the address to this place?” asked Calista.

  Enlora now began to quickly put her painting supplies away. “I know the place, and I have the address. But I don’t have it with me. It is written down at my home.”

  She paused, then smiled slowly. “Mr. Seaton, why not come tomorrow to my home so I can give you that information? And, while you’re there, it would be my honor to do a portrait of the two of you. Shall we say 8:00 p.m.?”

  “Miss Enlora, thank you for the offer, but we have had to wait two additional days already. Two of our agents have been killed. We are losing precious time. Is there any way we can come to you tonight?”

  Enlora paused, staring at Caprius. There was something mysterious and intriguing about her. She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “Very well, tonight, then,” she said. She wrote her address down on a piece of paper and gave it to Caprius, letting her hand linger against his as he took it.

  As Caprius and Calista walked away, Enlora stared at their departing backs as if she were a leopard waiting to strike.

  When night fell, Caprius and Calista set out on foot to Enlora’s house. She lived outside of the village, and as they walked away from the center, the homes grew larger and the landscape more lush. “It is interesting how much she knew about the pocket watches. It is as though she is a part of all this,” said Caprius.

  “I don’t trust her,” said Calista. They came to a hilltop manor bearing the address she’d written down. They walked through the gate and up the long path to the house. Lying over the grassy knoll to the house was a low mist, giving the effect of a graveyard.

  When they got to the front door, Caprius took Calista by the shoulders and looked intently at her. “I think I should do this alone,” he said. “It seems she likes me, and I can use that to our advantage. While I entertain her, you go around to the back and try to check out the house.”

  Calista raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “I’ll give you five minutes before I knock on the door,” said Caprius.

  Caprius waited, listening to the call of hoot owls. After five minutes, he knocked on the door. He knocked several times. Finally, Enlora came down to answer the door. The door creaked open, and she invited him in. “It is good to see you again, Enlora,” said Caprius, noticing her gown, which was cut very low in front and touched every gentle curve of her form.

  “It is good to see you, too,” she said. “Where is Calista?” she asked.

  “She couldn’t make it. I came alone,” Caprius said.

  She smiled. “We’ll walk this way. I want to begin by painting a portrait of you.” She took him to a room at the corner of the house and escorted Caprius to a chair. “I will begin by sketching you on canvas. Then I will apply the oils.” As she said this, she ran her long fingers slowly over her arm.

  Caprius looked around. “What a beautiful room. So very many French windows,” he said, taking his seat before her canvas.

  “You enjoy looking into the beautiful surroundings, the darkness of the night?” she asked, picking up her charcoal.

  “It is a peaceful winter’s night,” he said. “You can almost hear the tinkle of snowfall coming into the room.” His eye fell on the grand piano in the corner.

  “Do you play?” he asked.

  “I will tonight, after I have taken care of you,” she said. “Whenever I invite someone over to paint his portrait, once I have finished, I always play a melody. It soothes me, for it will be the last time I shall see him.”

  “Yes, I would gather in your line of work there aren’t too many repeat customers,” said Caprius.

  Enlora didn’t reply but continued to sketch. Caprius tried not to move, but his muscles were seizing up. “I’m sorry, but I need to move around a bit.”

  She lifted her hand. “That doesn’t bother me. As long as you get back into a similar position, I can finish. In any case,” she said, “I have finished sketching you.”

  “May I see?” asked Caprius.

  She held her arm out to the canvas.

  Caprius peered around at the drawing. “And next you apply the paint?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said and again stared at him as though looking through him.

  Caprius found her beautiful, but her face was so still, it was as if made of stone. She dipped her brush in some paint and began applying it to the canvas.

  Outside, Calista found a door that led out to the rear garden. It was locked, so she took her dagger and carved around the edge of a small window. After digging into the wood, she was able to pop out the glass, catching it just as it fell from the frame. She put her arm through and easily unlocked the door.

  Caprius posed again but became impatient. “Enlora, if you don’t mind, I would like to get up and walk around for a bit.”

  “Please, go right ahead,” she said.

  Caprius paced back and forth a number of times to stretch his legs. He could see Enlora was not one for idle chatter, so he didn’t bother trying. The quiet was actually rather nice. He walked over to the window and gazed out into the night, then turned and went to the piano, striking a few chords, which turned into a tune.

  “You didn’t tell me you could play,” Enlora said.

  “My brother Andromin and father are the musicians in the family. But I know a couple of pieces. Would you like me to play?” Caprius asked.

  “No!” Enlora said sharply. She raised her hands and lowered her voice. “Sorry, I only mean to say that we have no time for music. We must finish this portrait.”

  “Yes, I understand,” said Caprius, though he did not. Her behavior was so erratic. It was unsettling.

  Caprius returned to his chair, and Enlora picked up her brush. He was becoming concerned that Enlora was so driven to finish her portrait that Calista might not have enough time to explore the house. He tried to converse, hoping it would help him stall fo
r time. “How long have you been painting?”

  “Nearly twenty-one years. I started when I was just nine years old. My father was a painter, and I would paint alongside him, simple things like objects. Then I expanded into portraits. I love painting people. I have even done landscapes. But portraits are my preference. There is also a great deal of money in it.”

  “How did you join up with the art gallery?”

  “I approached Mr. Doody six years ago. I told him if he would agree to my business proposition, I would give him a cut of forty percent. I told him with his help and my knowledge we could make this venture work out. He saw it as a way to get extra money, and being a sound businessman, he agreed.”

  Caprius was relieved she was pausing to answer his questions. Clearly, when it came to her painting, she was happy to talk.

  Meanwhile, Calista was making her way through the main floor of the house. When she came to the corner room where Caprius and Enlora were chatting, she paused and peered through a crack in the door. Down in the village the church bells began to toll. They were still loud, but from this distance, the sound was manageable.

  Caprius heard them, and they brought his thoughts back to the battle they had endured a few days prior. Enlora spoke, interrupting his memory. “There, Mr. Seaton, the painting is finished. You may have a look at it.” She stood and gestured to him that he should come by her side.

  Caprius approached the canvas and looked at the portrait. He nearly gasped; it was as if he were looking at his twin sitting in the room with him. But it had a ghostly quality to it, as if his other self had passed away long ago, and this was a relic of him in life. “You have really captured the very essence of my soul,” he whispered. He turned to her. “But now I must get that information from you. Where is that watch shop?”

  “Come with me to the second floor. The paper with the address is up there,” she said. Enlora took Caprius’s arm in hers and left the room. Calista, who was in the hall, stepped back into the shadows just as they passed.

  Caprius and Enlora walked up the staircase and went into the bedroom. The room was large and luxurious with gilt and scarlet velvet furnishings. Heavy drapes hung over the windows, and it smelled of decaying roses. The bed was the centerpiece; it was large, round, and covered in satin pillows. Enlora opened the dresser drawer. She rifled through some papers until she found the one she was looking for. “Mr. Seaton, I have the address to the clock shop you want,” she said.