The Northern Sunrise

by Rob J. Hayes

  “I wouldn’t have thought one wanted to be relaxed during a duel,” said the Comtesse’s companion, a woman by the name of Baroness la Viere.

  Adeline gave the other Baroness a brief glimmer of a smile. “I’m not sure that is a suitable topic of conversation, Baroness.”

  “Have you an interest in gardens, Baroness Bonvillain?” the Comtesse asked.

  “A passing interest, certainly. Though I do admit, much to my displeasure, my previous occupation left me little time to indulge in the hobby,” Adeline said, admitting only to herself that not a single word of the statement held any truth.

  “Come,” the Comtesse said with a smile that stretched her skin over the bones of her face and showed entirely too many teeth. “I must show you my garden. It is my own little private place of tranquillity.”

  The Comtesse led the way and Adeline followed; as if by some hidden signal Baroness la Viere remained behind. Adeline suspected admittance to the Comtesse’s garden was by invitation only and the Baroness had never received an invitation.

  Adeline wasn’t certain what she had expected but it certainly wasn’t what she found. Comtesse Hélène la Fien led her out of the grand ballroom, ignoring many a formal greeting, through a stained-glass window bearing a depiction of the Creator and her two sons, the Maker and the Ruiner. Adeline hadn’t even suspected it might be a door until the Comtesse took out a fine clear-glass key and slotted it into a hidden lock. Glass keys had to be alchemically treated to make certain they were strong enough to withstand the alternating pressures of a normal key and they were extravagant items and no mistake.

  The Comtesse ushered Adeline through the door and closed and locked it behind them. Adeline found herself standing in a conservatory that had been completely hidden from the ballroom by the stained glass. All manner of plants, herbs and roots were growing in pots and troughs and, though he might never get to see it, Isabel suspected Jacques could name every one. Adeline let out a practised half-smile as she gazed around the conservatory, taking in all the wonderful colours and smells.

  Lamps, far too bright to be simple candles, lit each of the troughs in a blaze that seemed to mimic sunlight despite the general darkness of the night and a complex water system was dripping a pale white liquid into the soil of the troughs which wriggled in places with dense worm activity.

  “I grow all my own ingredients, at least all that I can, so I know exactly what goes into each mixture,” the Comtesse said with more than a hint of pride.

  “Alchemy?” Adeline asked peering at a plant that had fat green leaves veined with livid red.

  “I’m still a novice but I learn fast,” the Comtesse agreed. “I wouldn’t touch that one without gloves; it’s Blisterwort.”

  Adeline pulled back her hand quickly and turned an incredulous face upon her host. The Comtesse wore a warm smile and her gaunt features had relaxed a little. She was no less thin than before but she looked far more approachable. She brushed a few renegade strands of cream hair over her shoulder. “But this is just my conservatory,” the Comtesse continued. “I promised to show you my garden.”

  On the other side of the conservatory the Comtesse opened another door, this one leading out into the cool night air. Adeline took one more look at the impressive array of plant life and tried to commit as many as possible to memory before stepping outside and allowing the Comtesse to again lock the door behind them.

  There was a man outside, leaning against the glass windows of the conservatory, smoking on a pipe. He straightened when he saw the two women and sketched a hasty bow, his pipe falling from his mouth only to be caught in a quick hand, tamped against the other to remove the ash and then tucked into a pocket in his jacket. “Comtesse,” the man said in a rich voice full of courtesy before standing from his bow. He was dishevelled but wearing smart enough clothing to be guest. His un-tucked shirt poked out below his jacket and seemed to be missing a button.

  “Duc Lavouré,” the Comtesse said with a slight curtsy, that Adeline mimicked, and a warm smile. “I was not aware you were attending.”

  The Duc ran a tobacco stained hand through his hair, tucking the messy brown strands behind his ears. “I forgot to tell Percy to reply,” the Duc said with a shrug. “The man is so old he does nothing without being prompted these days. Sorry about… this…” he stamped on the ash that had fallen from his pipe and ground it into the dirt. Adeline saw the Comtesse suppress a flinch. “I know you don’t like people smoking indoors so thought I’d have a quick pipe out here before braving the masses.” He looked far too young to be a Duc and Isabel determined to look into the man’s past as soon as she was able.

  “Think nothing of it, Gaston,” the Comtesse replied. “I believe my husband is in his study, showing Baron Bonvillain his conquests.”

  A laugh burst from the Duc’s mouth. “I’m not sure I know a Bonvillain.”

  The Comtesse cleared her throat rather sharply. “Baron Bastien Bonvillain, newly made from Marquis van Elmer’s lands…”

  “Never heard of him.”

  The Comtesse shot Adeline a sympathetic look. “This is his wife, Baroness Adeline Bonvillain.”

  “Oh.” The Duc coughed, wiped his stained hand on his trousers and stepped forward, taking Adeline’s hand and giving it a quick peck. She made certain to flush her cheeks only a little.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” the Duc continued. “That was rude of me. I, uh, I’m not very good with, um, all of this.”

  “No, please,” Adeline said. “It’s hardly your fault. We’ve only just arrived here in Rares.”

  “The house on Anastasie street?” the Duc asked letting go of Adeline’s hand. “With the Lindle lock on the door.”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  The Duc smiled and somehow managed to look even younger. “Marvellous. I was actually hoping to catch your son, Hélène. Is he here?”

  “He should be in the ball room, Gaston.”

  “I see,” he replied looking deflated. “Well I suppose there’s no avoiding it. Hélène. Adeline.” With that the Duc sketched a lazy bow and sauntered away into the night, heading for the front of the mansion.

  The Comtesse waited until the Duc was well and truly out of sight before turning to Adeline. “I must apologise for Duc Lavouré’s manners. He is an old family friend but etiquette has never been his best quality.”

  “He seems young to be a Duc…” Adeline said letting the statement hang like a question.

  “Come,” the Comtesse said with a smile. “We were on the way to my garden.”

  Adeline followed her host down a well-lit gravel path towards a hedge so large she could not see over it. The crushed stone was uncomfortable beneath her feet and she found herself wishing she had worn hard-soled slippers but she did not let the pain show on her face lest the Comtesse turn to witness it. Set into the hedge was a wooden door; the frame to which it was set was hidden by the dense foliage. As the two women approached the door swung open by a mechanism Adeline could not see and the Comtesse entered through the portal with Adeline following quickly behind.

  The garden was beautiful. Adeline had seen many gardens in her time and some had been small and unimpressive, much like her own back at their mansion, and others had been garish and ostentatious with too many colours to count. The Comtesse la Fien’s garden was neither. It was by no means large but neither was it on the small side of the scale. Flowers were set into specific beds only and were colour coordinated; most were roses, if Adeline was any judge, and they ranged from red to yellow to a cream that was almost the colour of the Comtesse’s hair.

  The majority of the garden was short grass, freshly cut and smelling of a crisp spring day. In the centre of the garden, where the gravel path ended, was a three tiered fountain spilling forth dark water into a large pond with four benches set around it. A single tree stood in the far corner, tall and proud and reaching over the hedge. On a large branch of the tree an old rope and wood swing hung almost to the ground. The garden was
surrounded on all sides by the impressive hedge which doubtless kept out prying eyes and renegade gusts of wind both.

  In the midst of the largest city in the empire, with buildings taller than mountains and a population that bordered on the innumerable, Adeline found herself feeling as though they were completely alone amidst a glade in some magical forest. She said as much to the Comtesse who gave a good-natured chuckle.

  “I used to sit by the pond and watch my children playing in this garden,” the Comtesse said in a voice that was barely a whisper. “They are all too old to play these days and too young to enjoy the serenity. Do you have any children, Baroness?”

  “Please call me Adeline. I’m afraid with our occupation my husband and I did not think it wise to have a child. Now we are… We may reconsider.”

  “You should,” the Comtesse said and it struck Adeline that the woman was beyond sincere. “While you are still able, you should. They are everything.”

  Chapter 8 - Aftermath

  Jacques and Isabel were pleasantly merry from good alcohol and a good evening by the time they arrived back at the Bonvillain mansion. The coach rumbled to a halt and a moment later the door opened just as Jacques had been reaching for it. In only a moment the smile dropped from his face and the mask of the Baron was back in place.

  Karl Trim waited on the other side of the door. He bowed his head and moved aside for his employers to exit the coach. Bastien stepped out into the night; there was a slight chill even through his heavy jacket. His hand went instinctively to the pistol holstered at his hip. Adeline stepped down behind him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Trim banged on the side of the coach and the driver spurred the horse back to motion.

  “Is anything the matter, Trim?” Bastien asked well aware it was passing strange for the head of the household staff to be outside at such an hour.

  “I was waiting for you to return, Baron, Baroness,” Trim said before lowering his voice so only they would be able to hear. It did not appear as though anyone else were on the street so late at night but better safe than bound for the gallows. “There is a woman waiting for you in the kitchen. She says her name is Mademoiselle Goy.” Trim paused. “She looks dangerous.”

  “She is dangerous,” Isabel said.

  Trim began leading them up the path towards the house. “Is it safe to presume she also works for our employer?”

  Bastien grunted his agreement.

  “I thought as much. I have directed the other staff to stay out of her way and claimed she is an old duelling acquaintance of the Baroness. She certainly looks the part.”

  Jacques slotted the clockwork key into the door and waited for it to unlock. “Good work, Karl,” he whispered. “I’ll wager we’ll be gone much of the night, keep the staff too busy to notice, if you please.”

  Bastien left Trim there and walked to the kitchen with Adeline on his arm and a stern expression on his face. The main hall looked a lot more welcoming now the Baroness had finished rearranging it and the rest of the mansion was well on its way to receiving the same treatment but still the place did not yet feel like home.

  He pushed open the door to the kitchen and strode through confidently, Adeline just a step behind. Inside Franseza Goy was sitting on a stool she had dragged up to the chopping table in the centre of the room. She had a chopping board out and upon it she had heaped the left overs of a loaf of bread, a stick of butter, two apples and a sweet pastry that one of the chefs made as a speciality (he might never admit it but Bastien had already developed a weakness for that particular chef’s pastries).

  Franseza raised an eyebrow at the couple’s entrance then used a knife more suited to combat than cutlery to lather butter on a morsel of bread which she popped nonchalantly into her mouth and set about chewing. Isabel locked the door behind them and Jacques made a quick round of the kitchen to check for any errant staff. They were alone.

  “How was the party?” Franseza asked in a mocking tone.

  “It was wonderful,” Jacques replied. “You would have hated it. Not nearly enough punching for your liking and a lot more pleasant conversation.”

  Franseza nodded away the barbed comment. “There’s a reason the Seigneur wanted you two to do the dressing up instead of me and Roache. Apparently I’m uncouth.”

  “You being here is causing a slight stir, Franseza,” Isabel said in a genteel tone. “The house staff has already started to talk.”

  “I think that may have been the point,” Franseza spread butter onto another slice of bread and bit off a mouthful. “Dangerous visitors in the middle of the night, helps add to your… uh… mystery.”

  “Mystique,” Jacques corrected the woman.

  Franseza stared at him blankly as she chewed. “That’s what I said.”

  Jacques decided against a futile attempt to educate the woman. “Why are you here?”

  Franseza smiled sweetly and for a moment Jacques got the feeling she wasn’t quite so dense as she let on. “The Seigneur wants to see you,” she said. “You might want to get changed first though.”

  Isabel changed into a pair of dark brown trousers with a black blouse covered by a long suede coat and knee-high boots laced tightly for quick, easy movement. Jacques slipped into an older suit, blue-grey and well-worn with signs of fraying around the edges. Both made certain they carried their new pistols, loaded and ready. Isabel tried to convince herself she didn’t carry the weapon for lack of trust in her new employer but the lie rang too false even to her.

  When they were ready Franseza led them to one of the three pantries, occupied mainly by a large selection of cheeses and dried meats, and paused dramatically for a moment before reaching for a concealed switch hidden behind a false panel on the wall which was in turn hidden by a particularly long string of sausages.

  One of the flag stones on the floor gave a faint grating sound and began to pivot upwards slowly revealing a rusty iron ladder leading down a circular tunnel into darkness. Isabel looked down but could not see the bottom. She raised an eyebrow at Franseza.

  “After you,” the woman pointed to the dark hole.

  “No no. You first,” Isabel replied in a most courteous tone. “I insist.”

  “I have to put the cover back in place,” Franseza said in a far less courteous tone.

  “Oh please,” Jacques said taking a pair of black leather gloves from one of his jacket pockets and pulling them over his hands. He carefully climbed down onto the ladder until both his hands and feet were upon it then let go with his feet and slid down into the waiting black. Isabel and Franseza both crowded around the opening and waited.

  “Well? Are either of you two wonderful ladies going to follow me?” Jacques’ voice drifted back up the ladder.

  Isabel had never had a head for direction. She was an actress and a thief, a consummate liar, possessed of heart-rending charm when the need called for it, and a fair musician with a flute or with a song, but a mental road map was not something she possessed and she suspected Franseza was taking them along a particularly winding route through the tunnels in order to confuse them. It was working.

  Their way was illuminated by the dull red light emitted from Franseza’s single alchemical light and the woman had warned them to be silent as she claimed there were things living in the tunnels that they did not want to disturb. Isabel wanted desperately to check some of the ladders that they passed to see where they led but she was unable to sate her curiosity. She suspected many homes belonging to some of the richest of the city’s inhabitants might have such secret entrances and she also suspected those same inhabitants were unaware of said entrances. For a thief the prospect of such easy access to valuables was tantalising and no mistake. Not that Jacques would ever agree to such an easy theft; for him the planning and the execution of a complex heist were as much a payoff as the loot they stole.

  Franseza stopped and held up a hand behind her signalling her two companions to do the same. There was no ladder nearby and no obvious reason to have stopped
. Isabel was just about to ask their guide what the problem was when she heard something. It was a strange noise and not quite natural; almost like water trickling over stone but not. Isabel looked back at Jacques, Jacques shrugged back at Isabel. Franseza took a slow step backwards, waving frantically with her hand.

  Isabel let out a sigh, tired of the woman’s amateur dramatics and Franseza twisted around with a finger to her lips and the most severe expression Isabel had ever seen her wear. Worse than Franseza’s face though was what Isabel could see behind her. In the flickering red light of the lantern it almost appeared as though they had run into a dead end down in the tunnel but the dead end was moving towards them at a pace no more than a crawl. The surface of the thing seemed to shine as though it were slick with water and smooth to the touch.

  Again Franseza waved at them and began backing away, more quickly than before but no less carefully. Each foot the woman lifted off the floor silently and put down even more so. Isabel followed her lead and had no doubt Jacques was doing the same.

  They backed their way to a crossroads where Franseza stood silent and still for a while, her eyes closed and her head cocked in such a way that she seemed to be listening for something. Now she knew it was there Isabel could hear the sound of the thing coming towards them inch by inch. She looked at Jacques but he looked more excited than scared. Eventually Franseza opened her eyes to the dim red light, selected the passage to her left and started down it. With no other options open to them Isabel and Jacques followed.

  By the time Franseza led them up another ladder, Isabel presumed they had skirted the thing in the tunnels, and through a four feet tall door into a wardrobe which in turn opened into a luxuriously decorated bedroom, Jacques was near vibrating with excitement.

  “Was that an Ooze?” he asked with bright eyes.

  “No,” Franseza stated firmly. “They don’t get that big. That thing is something else.”