The Last Spellbound House: A Steampunk Dark Fantasy Thriller

by Samuel Simons

  The Last Spellbound House had always struck Jenna as being designed to feel like a maze: to navigate it was more a matter of intuition than of logic. This concept, however, clearly didn’t apply to Anabel, who if the stories were to be believed had had fifty cycles to learn how the chambers and corridors were laid out.

  The two arrived at the stairway which led to the attic: its solid wooden stairs were more free of dust than they should have been. Jenna’s expression was quizzical as she glanced sidelong at Anabel, wondering what latest secret the elderly explorer would share.

  Anabel placed her palm against one of the decorated wooden panels which ran horizontally along the wall at the base of the stairs. Pushing it forward, she slid a cleverly disguised detachable piece of the panel forward, revealing a lever no larger than a matchstick. Flipping this switch, Anabel covered it again as she turned back to the stairs.

  A grinding noise ahead of and below the two alerted Jenna to the movement of a hidden mechanism. Starting at the top of the attic stairs, each step individually lowered from its place, every one descending out of sight behind the next. Peering over the closest steps as their neighbours fell away, Jenna could see that they now formed a new stairway, one which led down instead of up: it connected to a metallic spiral staircase which circled a central pillar of the same dark metal. As Anabel gestured for her to follow, Jenna noticed a metal hatch in the side of the pillar: its core held a chute of some kind, perhaps capable of conducting objects from the top to the bottom of the stairwell.

  “How many storeys does it go down?” Jenna whispered. Something about this place demanded a lowered voice.

  Anabel smiled knowingly. “Five. There’s a basement level accessible only from this stair: the House’s best kept secret. If anyone— and I do mean anyone— finds out about this place, I will hold you personally responsible. Do you understand?”

  “Y…” Jenna swallowed the lump in her throat. She was beginning to comprehend the importance of what she was learning. “Yes.”

  “Good, because I’d hate to leave this place to a successor who was fool enough to reveal her advantages lightly.”

  Anabel started down the steps at a swift pace, leaving Jenna working her mouth until she found her voice.

  “S-successor? Anabel, wait, I…” Jenna trailed off, still scarcely able to process the life-changing implications of the statement. Her, heir to the Last Spellbound House?

  But Anabel had already descended out of sight. There were no railings, so Jenna kept a cautious hand to the wall as she followed the Founder down the stairs.

  When Jenna reached the bottom, Anabel was already standing at the other end of a large room with an irregular floor of bedrock and a twelve-foot ceiling of the same unfinished grey-and-black speckled granite. It felt like a cave, save that the walls were too smooth to be natural. The Founder was facing a metal door with a diamond-shaped point at its top and an oversized rectangular keyhole in its centre. The adventurer raised her cane, placed it in the lock, and then pulled it back quickly to avoid having it torn from her grip as the door rose swiftly into the top of its frame.

  On the other side was a four-way intersection with unworked grey-and-black granite making up the floor, walls, and ceiling alike. Anabel strode confidently straight forward through this junction and into a small room whose three furthest walls were dark, smooth, and slightly reflective, like black mirrors. The floor here was stone as well, but little of it was visible, for every available bit of space was taken up by control banks made of tarnished copper and bronze: a dizzying array of levers, buttons, and dials.

  Anabel stepped into the centre of the room. The space was small enough that every one of the controls could be reached from the circle of empty floor. The old Founder pulled a handle to her right, and the buttons began to glow in various shades of red and orange. All three of the reflective walls lit up with a pale blue luminosity.

  The light from the walls faded to reveal three different locations in the Last Spellbound House: it was as though there were now windows looking out over the grounds, the dining room, and the entry hall. This last was still full of people, who by the movement of their mouths and the way their collective attention shifted swiftly from one speaker to another, were presumably still arguing semantics and magic theory.

  “This is the only room in this basement level that’s not empty.” Anabel said absently, turning a dial which caused the view of the dining hall to shift to an image of the library. “The viewing-screens display whatever parts of the House I want to see.”

  “These aren’t windows, then, they’re… magic eyes?” Jenna breathed, trying and failing to hide her wonderment. To be able to see anything, anywhere...

  “As best I can tell, ‘magic eyes’ is about right,” agreed Anabel, grinning. “It’s all right, little lady, you can stare all you like. I remember when I first saw the screens… my reaction was a little less dignified than yours.”

  Jenna stepped forward to look over Anabel’s shoulder. “And you control this… screen… with that dial? Can it see anywhere, or are the eyes it can access already in specific spots?”

  “Eager to take over, aren’t you? Well, I suppose I wouldn’t have been too impressed with you if you hadn’t shown a little fire, so fair is fair. I’ll teach you the basics in good time... but we’re not here just to sightsee.”

  Anabel pressed a button on the same panel as the dial, and a steadily shifting series of lines appeared on the screens, overlaying the corridors and curving their way along the pathways of shattered rock outside the House. By the broad view shown of the grounds, Jenna could guess the oval shapes converged on two specific parts of the House.

  “No change here,” Anabel muttered. “How about…”

  She did something Jenna didn’t see, and the three vistas on the screens changed. The library went from a dark and dusty ruin with empty shelves to a brightly lit reader’s paradise. The entry hall became empty of people and torches, now utterly lightless, though the magic eye seemed able to see in the dark. The grounds turned into a beautiful stone garden with soldiers patrolling it: at the extremities of those gardens in every direction was a lightless emptiness which filled the distance and the skies.

  “This is the Place Aside, a name I didn’t learn until cycles after my first adventure here,” Anabel said. “I don’t know any way to get there, except I suspect it’s where poor Relly ended up when he activated that machine under the library.”

  “Relly. That’s one of the four other adventurers who discovered this place? He’s one of the Founders?”

  “Yes.” Anabel paused, staring at the screen showing the library without seeing it. “I… never found his body. Never learned what became of him, even in all the cycles I’ve spent watching these screens. There are some places in the House without eyes.”

  “Have there been any changes from what you’re used to, since you changed the device down there?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, that.” Anabel shook her head as though to clear it. “Now that you remind me we’re on a mission, yes: the field lines are less dense on the grounds in the Place Aside than they were this morning. And if I’m not mistaken, there are fewer of those soldiers. Not only that, but they’re much more defined than they used to be.”

  “You didn’t turn them off?”

  “No, I actually turned them up. I adjusted the amount of power being fed to the soldiers, redirected it from the other functions to weaken them. Turning things off seems to be what gets you sucked into that Place Aside.”

  “Won’t these… powered-up soldiers be dangerous to anyone trapped there?” Jenna asked.

  “Shouldn’t. The soldiers stay outdoors on the grounds, from what I’ve seen.”

  Jenna didn’t like it, but she held her tongue. She supposed Pyke would likely have the sense to stay inside.

  “I’ll need to go back and forth a few times, to figure out what the details of each function are,” Anabel explained. “You ca
n stay here and watch if you like, but it might take as long as a day for me to be sure which function your friend messed with. Until then, you’d be doing me a favour if you went out and looked at the places I don’t have eyes on. I’ll tell you where to go, and I expect you to keep an eye out for anything unusual.”

  “Everything’s unusual here,” Jenna quipped. “But I take your meaning. If you’re sure you’ve got it under control, I have another mystery to solve while I’m at it: my missing memories.”

  Jenna didn’t fail to notice the way Anabel’s expression grew still.

  “I see,” the elderly Founder murmured. “Jenna?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Let me give you some advice that isn’t related to anything.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s about… stories,” Anabel said slowly, as though she were choosing her words carefully. “Stories have power, little lady. You may not know it, but you’re already familiar with the concept. Look at how you treat me because of my status as a Founder, though we’ve barely spoken and I’ve sure as Ash never done anything to earn your respect. I’ve traded on that power for many cycles.”

  The Founder took a deep breath. The lines on her face cast deep shadows in the light from the screens and buttons. “There are those you may encounter who can draw out all of the power from a tale, turn it to real magic… but you should know there’s a cost. Anyone who’s empowered by a story is also shaped by it.”

  Jenna gasped. “Fae. When you say people are shaped by their stories… you’re speaking of the Fae.”

  “Not necessarily,” Anabel said evasively. “There are many beings, including myself, to whom I could be referring. Do you understand?”

  Jenna thought she did. “So, you’re not saying there are Fae in this House. But if there were, they would be bound by the stories we tell about them. About iron burning them like fire, and about their inability to lie outright or break an oath.”

  Anabel was silent. She stared at Jenna, neither nodding nor making any gesture to indicate disapproval.

  Jenna sensed the Founder’s lack of response meant a great deal. “I see.” A shiver of nervous energy ran through her for a moment. Encounters with the Fae were the stuff of legend, and if one of this place’s Founders, an experienced adventurer and master of her House, had reason to believe a Fae was behind the disappearance of last night’s memories, then…

  “I’ll be careful. Thank you.” Jenna’s gratitude was heartfelt. “And, Anabel?”

  “What is it, little lady?”

  “You sell yourself short. You did earn my respect: you earned it with generous wages and a free place to stay. You earned it with the mysterious bonuses that would materialize every time one of my coworkers was struggling to feed her family. Nobody ever figured out how you knew, but I think I understand now: you were watching, and you cared. I won’t forget that.”

  Anabel turned away to stare at the screens, her shoulders tight. “You’re a kind girl, Jenna. Don’t let this place take that away from you.”

  “I won’t, Founder.” Jenna smiled as she turned to leave. “And believe this: I’ll use everything at my disposal to get your House back to normal, to return Pyke to our world, and to fight anyone who tries to change me. That’s a promise.”

  “See that you keep it.”

  Pyke’s head was killing him.

  He groaned and tried to roll into a sitting position, but a jolt from his wrists alerted him to the presence of a restraint preventing him from doing so. Opening his eyes, he found his wrists and ankles tied using coarse rope to the decorative carvings at the base of the wall.

  Now that his headache was no longer at the forefront of his mind, Pyke had nothing to distract him from the lances of pain his right hand was shooting through him in time with his heartbeat. He inspected his palm, and despite the dim light from a hooded lantern to his right, he could see drying blood encrusting a seeping wound: a painful imprint the exact size and shape of the Lock and Key.

  “So yer awake,” said someone from the darkness: a familiar voice.

  “Merana,” Pyke said as he identified the owner of the hostile tone. “What a surprise to see you here.”

  Merana’s fist smashed into his jaw, jarring Pyke’s thoughts and adding one more throbbing pain to his mounting list of aches and injuries. “Cut yer damn double-speak, Un-Guildsman. Wherever you sent us, it ain’t within reach o’ yer precious Fiend Hunter baby-sitters.”

  “Of course. Pardon my rudeness.” Pyke fell back into his usual method of dealing with Relic-seekers: sarcastic confidence. “I should’ve realized my appreciation for being manhandled is supposed to increase proportionately to my distance from the Fiend Hunters, a group whose average member would take gleeful pleasure in finding an Antiquarian guilty of heresy—”

  “Wolder’s dead,” Merana cut in. As Pyke’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw the murderous rage in the mercenary’s expression, and the dried blood splattered across her face on the same side as her eyepatch. “I waited for you to wake up so’s you could know what you’re payin’ for.”

  Pyke grimaced, thinking quickly. The last thing I remember is being thrown out of the space between worlds. I must have wound up somewhere near their group when I lost consciousness.

  “You think I’m responsible for his death? That I sent you here?” Pyke asked, trying to buy time. “Seems an odd conclusion, given that I’m as trapped as you are. Or did you think someone with control over a manse would seal people away in a prison-realm, then pass out there to wait for their victims to find them?”

  Merana began to snarl something, but a hand came to rest gently on her shoulder, and she swallowed whatever word she’d begun to form.

  “Eiten, was it?” Pyke said. “I believe we have something to discuss—”

  “Stop pretending you know the score, Antiquarian,” said Eiten’s smooth, confident voice from amid the shadows. “Based on your choice of how to convince Merana not to kill you, you’re just as deep in the dark as we are, aren’t you? Good work, Merana.”

  Merana grinned, and Pyke realized he’d been tricked: she wasn’t nearly as out of control as she’d led him to believe. “Now, if ya can convince me ya do know somethin’ o’ use, I might be persuaded to keep ya around.”

  “I take it you have my Relic,” Pyke said coolly. “It could be a way out of here, but it won’t work without the activation phrases.”

  Merana produced a dagger and placed its tip at Pyke’s throat over the largest vein. “Which yer gonna give us.”

  “Which I’ll give you when I’m confident I’m not going to be killed as soon as I do,” Pyke corrected her as calmly as he could manage, internally thanking his mentor Van for drilling him on the basic formula for dealing with extortionists: let them think they’ll get what they want, at least until you can figure out another way to beat them… but never relinquish their ultimate goal for anything less than whatever it is they’re withholding.

  “You have my word.”

  “Your word’s not worth much to me, Merana. How about starting by releasing me from these restraints?”

  Merana looked to Eiten, but Pyke still couldn’t see the man: either his dark cloak blended so well with the shadows that the lantern didn’t illuminate him, or there was some magic to the garment. Merana evidently knew what his silence meant, though, and she wordlessly sliced through the ropes.

  Pyke attempted to get to his feet, but froze when Merana replaced the knife at his throat. “Now. The activation phrases.”

  “Not yet.” The fact that Pyke couldn’t even try to leave this Place Aside was just now sinking in. The three sisters had made it clear that until he served their purposes, any attempt to escape would be met with harsh denial. The stories were many and legendary of how little the Ancients had cared whether their mortal servants survived the tasks they set. Fighting through the wave of hopelessness which struck him, Pyke resolved to at least remain useful to
his captors by pretending to help in their escape.

  “You’ll have the phrases when we’re ready to leave this place. As I see it, you’ll never get them if I’m dead, and I won’t have my Relic back as long as you hold the power here. We need each other.”

  “You little…” Merana trailed off into a shout of frustration, smashing the hilt of her weapon into the wall and leaving a dent in the wood. “Eiten, what’n the Ashen hells do we do now?”

  “Find a thin place and leave, with our guest’s help,” the man said, his smooth voice betraying no emotion. “I suspect he’ll be motivated enough to share some information with us in exchange for his freedom from what he calls a ‘prison-realm.’”

  Pyke shook his head. “A thin place won’t do. The Lock and Key— the Relic you took from me— it won’t open a place which was never a door. It’s designed to open any portal, even ones without locks, by metaphysically being the lock as well as the key. A thin place is more like a very small window: you can sometimes see through, but never travel. The only spot I know of where someone could use the Lock and Key is the place where you came through.”

  “Where we came through?” Eiten repeated, “And not where you came through?”

  “A misspeech,” Pyke lied, trying to insert the right degree of casual sincerity into his tone. He wasn’t about to reveal the presence of the hidden room in the library without a good reason to do so. “Associating myself with a group of Riskers and illegal Relic-seekers isn’t something I was taught to do lightly.”

  “And yet yer here with us,” Merana sniped from the corner where she was polishing the blade of her dagger on her shirt. “Fer all the famous caution of yer ‘guild,’ ya still ended up in the same cookpot.”

  “Even so. And I should be so punished for the mistake of trying to find and free you,” Pyke shot back.

  “You were trying to help us?” asked a surprised voice from the hallway, on the other side of the half-open door of the room.

  “Vino! Stop listenin’ in and focus on watchin’ for trouble, ya damn fool!” Merana hissed, evidently trying to keep her voice down.