Tenebrae Manor (18 page)

Slowly ascending, Madlyn saw the spiraling stairs as a vortex that stirred her emotions and when she reached its apex, at that clinical point at the summit of the steps, there resided the very object of her affections. This vortex that she ascended, inverted so that the epicentre of this torrent, that point which would normally lurk deep below the surface, was now at the very top of the stairs to Bordeaux's quarters. Her eyes were locked on the destination, whirling as she climbed, her feet tripping more than once on the rough stones. Her hands clutched into fists, held timorously below the collar of her slender neck as though shielding her heart from the lugubrious blows her unspoken feelings provoked.

The top of the stairs lay before her, a square of light above her head where step and railing ceased and Bordeaux's room lay. When it became apparent to her that one more step would bring her head into view of the room, she froze and for several seconds the only movement seemed to be that of her frantic heart pounding in her chest. She was as a fledging, preparing to make that first leap from the nest and pray her wings kept her aloft.

Boldness crept into her bloodstream and she stepped into the light and called out, "Hello," with a voice choked with nerves, as though her very heart were trying to jump out of her mouth.

Yet no reply met her. Any response she might of heard was a mere trick of the phantom, her ears fabricating the greeting that she wanted so much to hear. By the cruel hand of that charlatan known as fate, Bordeaux had quit his quarters not moments earlier and stood atop the very peak of the manor’s roof gazing out into the wilderness. The wind leapt wildly about him, a solitary figure in the elements and Bordeaux felt the wind on his face as he had many times over the centuries. The sensation that came with the lashings of the gusts, the sensation of being alive, despite the heaviness that weighed on his heart, provided apt palliation. For but a moment he thought of no danger or threat to his home; he could stand and appreciate the night sky he adored and like a weaning child, he was afraid of the change that would come with abandoning it.

He recalled the heat wave, now so long ago, when the sky was not of icy glass and rather dried haze. Preoccupied as he were, Bordeaux was entirely unaware of his doting admirer who now stood in his turret, in view of him if he were to only turn his head. But he did not turn. He closed his eyes and locked in his mind the image of the tree-choked valleys and knuckled mountains of his immemorial home he loved, as the gale gushed so forcefully around him.

Madlyn dropped to her knees, drawn down by the anvil drop of her heavy heart. A sensation unknown to her since childhood returned suddenly and her eyes burned with despair. From her sunken and drought stricken eyes there squeezed a tear that flicked the back of her hand and trickled to the cracks of the stone floor. It could hardly be called crying; her eyes stung with swollen tears and, once or twice, she was wrecked by the convulsion of a sob.

Something had been broken inside her; it was a glimmer of maturity that had no choice but to build itself on an unstable foundation. And it had taken one kick of the cornerstone to send Madlyn tumbling back down to ignorance, so that she presently wiped the tears from her streaked face and sat up, the cold floor numbing her haunches. Her hour had passed and Madlyn had yet again overshot the mark and come up with nothing constructive. She sat there, her mind blanked of the thoughts that plagued her hitherto, incapable of any movement for the time being.

The wind howled outside the window and this sound, coupled with the sight of those wild trees swaying in the gusts possessed every faculty of Madlyn and she was unable to do anything but sit there, broken.

19: Judecca

When Bordeaux returned to his room some hours later, Madlyn was no longer there. The room was ruffled by the wind that fluttered through the window. The curtains licked like flames with their deep red hue and the pages of Rune’s great book somersaulted over one another and sent dust flying into the air.

             
Bordeaux slipped in through the window and returned to his desk where the book lay. The chill of the breeze bit at him. Tightening up his scarf and closing the windows, he lit the small tallow candle atop the skull on his desk. Its warmth was ineffectual in the drafty room as the crimson demon flipped through the book to find the page he had read to. It was then that the spine of the book caught his glance; there was a minor imperfection in the binding in the form of a small paper tear that he flicked with his finger. There was a page missing.

             
For a moment he considered the jigsaw rip of what remained of the page, clearly it had been torn out either swiftly or by a ham-fisted hand but what concerned Bordeaux was whether it was a recent injury to the book or not. Had he simply overlooked the missing page previously? He did not want to bear the blame for damaging Rune’s priceless tome.

             
He would not have the time to properly dissect the situation, for at that moment the repellent bust of the brotherly Deadsol once again rose dreamlike into the room from the peak of the spiral stairs. Grin intact as always and eyes wide and empty with cavalier, he rasped slowly, “Bordeaux?”

“Deadsol,” sighed Bordeaux. “I am in no mood for pleasantries. Pray tell, what brings you to my quarters?”

“Ah, my brother most patient! Most patient you are, Bordeaux but you are required. Required elsewhere! Oh no, not here!”

Bordeaux rubbed his temple and groaned inwardly. “What could possibly be the matter? Can it not wait?”

“I fear not, citizen!” replied Deadsol. “To Libra’s room, to Libra with haste!”

The overenthusiastic demon lifted his forefinger skyward and disappeared down the stairs singing faintly. 

Enveloped in his own reluctance, Bordeaux began to feel an urgency fill his heart as he approached Libra’s door. Familiar voices made their way through the walls in muffled drones, there was certainly more beings in Libra’s room than just Deadsol.

As he opened the door, the conversations seemed to hush; an odd snigger here and there seemed to allay Bordeaux’s concern.

Gathered in the corner of the room there stood the quartet of Deadsol, Comets, Edweena and Madlyn. Not since Libra’s ill-fated birthday party had Bordeaux seen so many of the manor’s residents gathered in the one place.

“What is transpiring here?” Bordeaux asked of nobody in particular.

He was met with silence, yet the smirks on the faces of his friends left him bemused until Madlyn stepped forward, arms held behind her back, her body rocking on her feet like a mischievous child and spoke. “She’s stuck. She doesn’t fit, no, not at all.”

Bordeaux parted the small crowd to observe himself what pleased Madlyn so. For a moment, he was unsure just what he was looking at; a mountainous protuberance, from which a pair of trunk-like legs kicked feebly, seemed to be pressed against the stone wall where Bordeaux remembered there to be a large wooden wardrobe. The wardrobe had been moved aside and in that instant Bordeaux realised the situation and broke into a smile of his own.

Libra, the owner of those kicking legs, was stuck in some sort of small entrance that had been concealed previously by her furniture.

“Are you fools going to assist me or not?” came Libra’s venomous voice from the other side of the passage.

“Fascinating,” chuckled Bordeaux. “A passageway! Where do you think it leads?”

“I cannot comment, I’m afraid,” replied Deadsol, who puffed at his pipe.

“Madlyn found her like this,” said Edweena.

“Oh yes, stuck I’m afraid,” continued Deadsol. “Trapped, as Dis is trapped in the icy confines of Dante’s ninth circle!”

Libra squirmed like a mollusk, her fattened body bound at her hip circumference by the unyielding dimensions of the entry. Powerless as she were; she continued to kick and complain, though it only added to the comical appearance on display for the bystanders.               Comets sprung forth and began to tug at her foot, beating on her leg with his tiny fists.

"Such is a life of excess," he sighed reflectively.

"Get that damnable imp away from me!" Libra squealed. "Away!"

She kicked again, blindly trying to land a blow on the jester, who leapt from foot to foot and dodged each attempt. His bells rang excessively, blackening Libra's mood immensely.
              Appearing to be in deep thought, Deadsol smoked at his pipe with head back and arms folded as Bordeaux turned inquisitively towards him.

"Deadsol, do you deem this audience necessary? Why have you gathered so many here in this room?"

"Why, for a multitude of opinions!" burst Deadsol. "With which to conjure a plan of freeing our most trapped mistress!"

His words pleaded honesty, yet his smirk portrayed a desire to exaggerate the humiliation of Libra; of this, Bordeaux was most convinced.

Deadsol continued, "Having passed upon Madlyn in the hall, who announced her lady to be in a most dire predicament, I deemed that I make the noble dash to assemble assistance."

"A saint," muttered Bordeaux.

"It's too small there," said Madlyn. "She'll never get out."

"Serves her right if you ask me," said Edweena.

Libra retorted, "I can
hear
you, you know! Ugh! Do you
want
the night sky to weaken? Would you let the spell expire because you refused to help me - me, the very one who shields you from the light? Your life in darkness is in
my
hands, remember?"

“I am afraid that feeble frets will get you nowhere at this stage, deary,” said Deadsol.

“Feeble frets, Deadsol?” said Bordeaux.

“Oh ha! No, a difficult loquacity,
theeble threats
perhaps?”

“Feeble theeble, folly and thimble!” chimed Comets. “Fumb and Thinger, thumb and finger!”

Deadsol pulled Comets to his side by tugging at his rabbit ear cap. “What I mean to say, lovely Libra, is that if you require our assistance, you have only to ask politely.”

Libra did her best to ignore the demon; she would not back down so easily. She seemed to be attempting variations of freeing herself, crawling forwards or backwards, firstly placing her hands on either side of the plugged doorway and pushing against the wall in an attempt to gain a few forward inches.

It was undeniably apparent to the others that the girth of Libra's ample rear would not fit through the opening and from the vantage point of the trapped woman herself, her sizable paunch would not compress back the way she had come. Her face grew hot with frustrated tears; the cold reality of the situation fueled her futile rage, she was not used to such powerlessness.

“Humph,
fine!”
she hissed venomously. “My… Friends. Would you be so kind as to help me?”

Deadsol bounced on his feet gaily. “Help with what, my dear?”

Libra sighed. “I’m stuck, Deadsol.”

“And why is that, my sickly sweet Lady Libra?”

“Ugh! Don’t make me say it! Just help me!”

“There’s a good sport! Not to worry, miss!” said Deadsol. “Say there, Bordeaux. Give me a hand here.”

“Please excuse this impropriety, Miss Libra,” said Bordeaux.

Each taking hold of one of Libra’s ankles, Bordeaux and Deadsol readied themselves.

              There were a few travailing seconds of exertion, with the demoniac pair pulling at Libra like she were a great anchor being hauled from the sea. Libra pressed her hands to the ground in front of her and pushed backwards with tremendous effort.

For all their valiant efforts, there seemed to be too much resistance about the doorframe to free Libra from its confines. Sweat crawled down Deadsol’s temple and on a sudden, he fell backwards onto his rump; Bordeaux placed Libra’s leg down with far more dignity than his counterpart but the unfortunate gorgon still stuck fast. The room was silent save for the treble’s laborious breathing.

“How droll,” said Edweena. “What now, geniuses?”

“Our most astute magician – foiled by a simple swell of stomach and rigidity of door…” sighed Deadsol. “It’s a forlorn hope. We’ll have to leave her there.”

“What? No!” squealed Libra in protest.

“Never mind, lass! A few weeks of starvation and you’ll be trim enough to fit through!”

“She’s double the size of that hole,” said Comets. “Half of her would fit.”

Deadsol clicked his fingers. “Half of her, capital idea! We’ll cut her in half!”

The Lady Libra shrieked in wild panic; Deadsol and Comets were erratic enough to go through with such an idea. She began to kick frantically.

At the same moment, Edweena plucked Libra’s feet into her hands and pulled one last time. By some chance combination, it was enough to twist a considerable portion of Libra’s abdomen back the way she’d come, so that she was able, with more great effort, to shuffle backwards and out of the small entrance.

Libra stood and brushed the dust from her charcoal dress, her chest heaving like a metronome. Her hair was disheveled; her face aglow with a pink hue of embarrassment and perspiration. Her mortified heart fluttered and she could only squeal timidly, “Leave! Leave me! All of you, now!”

“What’s in there, Libra?” asked Bordeaux, pointing to the passage where Libra had just been trapped.

“Nothing! None of your business! Go!”

For the first time in a while, the others saw a flash of weakness in the composure of Tenebrae’s chief lady. She lashed out feebly at Comets with a superfluous slap that the runt easily avoided.

Edweena and Madlyn, each for their own reasons, could not help but snicker at the hilarity of the scene, even though Libra’s eyes threatened them with an intense abhorrence. Bordeaux stood bemused, while Deadsol had apparently forgotten the situation entirely and now stood smoking his pipe and staring out the window.

“Has wax blocked every ear in this room? I said go away!” cried Libra.

The others shuffled out from the room unhurriedly, Comets receiving a kick in the back as the door was slammed behind him. The residents stood bemused in the halls that echoed with the tremulous sobs of Lady Libra that came from the other side of the wall.

             
The joviality of the brief comedy that had transpired in Libra’s room had little longevity for Bordeaux and he fell quickly back into melancholia. Bordeaux felt in his heart a greater fear and heaviness than he had hitherto, for the wood golems remained stationed about the ivy-choked manor in increasing numbers. As a bird is locked in its cage, Tenebrae Manor was slowly disintegrating. The once proud and archaic castle, brooding in reclusive umbra, seemed to invert into itself, weakened at the very core of its foundation. And just as birds locked in a cage will beat and scratch at the walls of their incarceration, Bordeaux felt his crestfallen chest cry for relief. In the back of his mind he knew that his idea had been hopeful at best and knew that he must now venture out to see what remained of the black rose brooch, lest he be at a complete loss to allay the decay of his home. He had no other plan and there would be no
deus ex machina
to save Tenebrae Manor from oblivion.

Bordeaux stood in his room at the window, where below he could observe the presence of an unsettling evil with his own eyes. They stood scattered as the disorderly trees of the forest surrounding; their camouflage betrayed by their bloodcurdling moans – the golems were everywhere.