The Spark (5 page)

“Nine,” Lucian continued. The construct turned its head to face its master. “We shall be taking the long way to the manse. We shall be taking the madam and her confidante to her home in the northeast.”

“Understood.” Nine said, returning its vision to a forward position.

“Ser, what about Gerrold?” Gossimer asked as he failed to see Schernoff’s steward.

“The boy will be taking the madam’s auto back to her manse ahead of us.” Lucian turned on his heel and motioned for the women to approach.

Gossimer watched Elenor’s body as it wove its way down the stone steps. Even covered as she was, Gossimer couldn’t help but be transfixed with how her body moved with such grace.

“Gossimer, quit your gaping,” Lucian hissed beneath his breath, “and get down here to open this door.”

“Sorry, ser.” Gossimer rose from his seat and descended the short step to the snow-covered street below. He took the several steps to come up beside the cabin door. Noticing an unsightly scar in the ebony body of the auto, Gossimer used himself to hide the blemish. As The lady Schernoff approached, Gossimer gave a deep bow and opened the door for the guest. The Di Delgan councilor gave her thanks and clambered into the safety of the cabin. Elenor followed next and said nothing, though her big blue eyes smiled at him from between scarf and chapeau. Lucian was last, stopping short of the entry.

“What is said in this cabin, Gossimer,” Lucian said. “Must remain in this cabin until the opportune moment. The lives of many Valvian’s could be at stake.”

“Yessir.” Gossimer said. “My lips are sealed.”

“Excellent.” Lucian patted Gossimer on the shoulder. “We have much to do and…”

“Master Lucian!” A woman’s voice hollered through the snow. Both Lucian and Gossimer turned to face the approaching shadow. “Master Lucian, please, wait!”

“Mary?” Lucian called to the familiar voice. The two men sped towards the specter of the approaching woman.

“Ser,” she began, deeply winded. In her hand she clutched a piece of paper. “A telegraph came fer ye while ye were in session. I didn’t mean t’ read it, ser, but I did not think it t’ be of importance.” She offered the paper up. Lucian eyed her suspiciously as he grabbed the message from her hand.

“Del Morte be damned.” Lucian swore. “You did well to bring this to me Mary. Come, join us for the ride back to the manse.”

“Thankee ser,” Mary said. “I’m terribly sorry.”

Gossimer took the weakened woman under his arm and lead her to the waiting vehicle. After Mary was safely inside Gossimer turned to his master.

“Ser, what is it?” He asked.

“Those bastards.” Lucian spat. “Those no good bastards.”

“What is it ser?” Gossimer furrowed his brow in confusion. “Another attack?”

“
Yes, and no.” His master said. “They took her, Gossimer. They took the only family left to me.”

H
er eyes opened to darkness. The heavy scent of mildew filled her nostrils as dampness clawed at her bones. She could feel goose pimples race up her arms as a draft of chilled air filtered from above. Beneath her, straw dug into her back, scratching at her exposed skin. Her head throbbed like the beating of a dance master’s drum.

“Hullo?” Her voice cracked as dryness raked her throat. “Is anyone there?”

“Ye shouldn’t speak so much.” A woman’s voice answered across from her.

There was a shuffling sound upon hard stone as a shadow moved in the darkness. A gentle, but firm, hand took hold of her and eased her body into a sitting position. The woman strained to see the helping stranger, but could only discern the rough outline of a woman in the dark.

Shortly, the cool kiss of a porcelain jug pressed against her parched lips. She didn’t care what trickled down her throat, for her thirst knew no bound; eager for a drink, she took large swallows of the sweet substance with a wild eagerness. Relief filled her as the icy fingers of liquid proved to be none other than simple water.
Her thirst seemed to know no bounds as excess water sloshed over her clothing. After several deep mouthfuls, the jug was taken away.

“There we go mum,” the mysterious voice said. “Now, let’s try this again.” The shadow sank and sat beside her. “We should start with a name I think.”

“My name?” The woman asked.

“Yes mum, yer name.”

“Uhm,” the woman paused for a moment. “My name?” She sat in silence, as the throbbing in her skull made it difficult to remember. After a minute of thought she was able to say; “Katherine. Katherine Margoux.”

“Such a pretty name t’ be sure love.” Though Katherine could not see it, she could sense the other woman was smiling from ear to ear. “M’name is Gingebelle Sharpe. A banker’s wife if ye can believe it!” Gingebelle chuckled. “But ye can call me Belle, like most do.”

“Thank-you, Belle.” Katherine said. “For the water I mean. I did not realize I had such a thirst.”

“Aye, nor I. ‘Twas the same when I first woke ‘ere.” Belle’s voice became soft. “Nothin’ more frightenin’ than openin’ yer eyes t’nothin’ but darkness.”

“Yes, ‘tis frightening indeed.” Katherine agreed. “Do you know where we are Belle?”

“Wishin’ I did mum, but I don’t.” The woman admitted. “The way I gather it is that we’re sittin’ in some dungeon or jail, or the like. But I do know
they
are behind it.” Belle spat in distate. “Mark me words love, I know it in me bones ‘tis them.”

“Who has us? Who do you mean when you say
they
?” Katherine’s head throbbed trying to understand.

“Ye mean ye don’t know ‘bout the Imperial Order o’ Wynne?” Belle sounded shocked. “Any good Valvian would know o’ the Order mum.”

“I’m sorry Belle, but I fear that I have hurt my head and it is making it hard for me to remember things.” Katherine said, reaching for the other woman’s hand. “I feel as though I should know, but I don’t.”

Katherine took her free hand and felt the back of her head. She couldn’t find or feel any lumps or bumps, cuts or scabs to explain the pounding in her skull. Worry bubbled in the pit of her stomach, worry for not knowing what was wrong with her.

“Not a worry mum,” Belle said comfortingly. “Them dregs callin’ themselves the Imperial Order o’ Wynne must’ve stole us.” Belle shifted to face Katherine, just a shadow in the dark. “They’ve been goin’ after right honest Valvians fer months now. Seems we’re some o’ the latest.”

“What do they want with us?” Katherine asked.

“Couldn’t tell ye mum.” Belle admitted. “I only know they have no sense o’ honour. Not like me poor Willard. Them bastards took me right from my bed they did. Willard he, well, he did his best. But he couldn’t…”

“Oh Belle, I’m so sorry.” Katherine felt a pang of sorrow for her cellmate, knowing how the loss of a loved one hurt.

“Don’t be sorry mum,” Belle sniffed away a tear. “He did what was right and honourable. He died protectin’ the woman he loved.”

At a loss for words, Katherine let a sullen silence fall over them. Even though Katherine couldn’t hear it, she knew the other woman mourned the loss of her fallen beau, for her body shuddered amidst shy little sniffles. Long moments passed as Belle silently mourned her fallen love, leaving Katherine to her thoughts.

Katherine sighed, once again feeling the back of her skull. Scanning the dark room, Katherine racked her mind, trying to remember how she found herself in such a place.

The morning had been a brigh and uncharacteristically warm for Syntar. I had stepped out of my villa into the congested streets. The salt-children were scampering around, pestering the nobility as is their won’t. I headed to the south, making for the designated boarding district for the poor souls destined to a life of destitution
.

Katherine rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands as she struggled to remember.

The streets were bustling with joviality. Favourable weather set a mood I hadn’t seen outside of the drunken evenings in the soup-houses. It was certainly contagious. There was something amiss though…what was it? Oh, that’s right, there was a strange man who was pasting some sort of poster along the walls of buildings. I hadn’t seen him before, but he certainly glared at me with a feverish sparkle in his eyes. Was it he who stole me? No, it couldn’t have been, as I spent the rest of the day sitting with the elderly and feeding the children.

Katherine’s mind throbbed the harder she thought. The pain was too strong for her to recall further, but Katherine was certain that had been the day she had been taken.

The rough scraping of hard soled-boots upon stone began to sift into the dark cell.

“Belle?” Katherine whispered. Someone is coming. Belle?” Katherine looked at the other woman’s silhouette. “Belle? Please, Belle!” She shook the slumped form gently at first, but as there was no response, Katherine’s attempts became more frantic. “Belle!”

Without warning, Belle snapped upright, frightened. “What d’ye want? Who are ye?” She demanded.

“Oh Belle, thank goodness.” Katherine said, relieved.

“What’s that? Oh, right. Sorry mum, I must’ve dozed fer a minute.” The woman sighed. “I dreamt o’ the night Willard was lost.”

“Belle,” Katherine said. “Someone is coming. I do not know if they come to us or…”

Voices could now be heard outside their prison. The words were too muffled to discern, but Katherine could make out the distinct sound of a ring of keys being searched through. The heavy sound of a metallic lock releasing overtook Katherine’s senses. The screeching of aged metal against metal intruded into Katherine’s mind, searing the pain already housed within. The bright shock of orange light from an everflame lantern filled the cell as the heavy door pushed open. The sudden light blinded the two women.

Standing in the doorway was a trio of men, all dressed in similar black uniforms. The man in the middle held the keys, while either of the flanking men held a lantern. Upon the breasts of their waistcoats sat a cloth-of-gold gear with the embroidered initials I.O.W. Each man brandished a holstered pistol. The central man, however, carried a sheathed rapier held up by a deep red sash that only served to exaggerate the appearance of his robust stomach.

“A’ight lads, these are th’ wenches,” the man stood a good head taller than either of the flanking lackeys. With a surprising delicacy he clipped the iron keys to the same sash that held his blade. “Orson wants them down t’ the baths t’night.” He showed half rotted teeth through a twisted smile. “They mus’ be somethin’ special t’ get the baths so soon.”

With slow, heavy steps, the trio entered the cell. Katherine was surprised to see that the space she inhabited was indeed smaller than her senses perceived. The floor was made of a terribly aged flagstone that had long been encroached by mildew. It was evident the straw Katherine sat atop had not been changed for many a moon. She was shocked to see Belle could not have been much older than thirty years.

“A’ight boys, let’s get ‘em ready fer inspection.” The men stopped short of the sitting women, an eagerness hidden in their eyes. The leader indicated for the left flanking man to grab hold of Belle and for the right lackey with the lazy eye to apprehend Katherine. Katherine shied away from his touch, but with such little room to move, he was able to grab her with little trouble.

Katherine looked to Belle and saw the same fear in her eyes. Katherine reached out to her, wanting to comfort Belle the way she had comforted Katherine, but the bald headed leader stepped in between.

“My, my, ain’t ye a pretty lil’ dove.” His teeth shone yellow and brown as he smiled at Katherine. “Ye must be noble born no doubt.” Katherine’s eyes watered as a tart, astringent odor filled her nostrils as he came in close, smelling her hair. He stepped back with a lusting look and smiled. “Noble indeed.” With a clack of his teeth, he motioned for his men to follow as he led the way from the cell.

The troupe wound their way through twisting stone corridors, all of which were as mildew covered as the cell they left behind. The leading man kept prattling on about preparations, the importance of being polite, and, above all else, behaving themselves during their stay. He promised no harm would come to them if they listened well and did what was asked of them. Every so often he would look back at the two women to feed the hidden hunger in his eyes. It was the same with the two other men. Katherine could feel the heat of their eyes eying her body as they led the women through the tunnels.

Thankfully, for Katherine, the man who held her had a firm, but surprisingly gentle grasp. Unlike his fellow aggressor, who more or less pushed and guided poor Belle. Although, if Katherine did stray, or lagged even but a little, he would be right behind to push her forward.

Before long they came to a large oak door. Like everything in this dank hole, it too had seen the damaging affects of age. The bald man halted long enough to find the appropriate key.

As he fumbled for the key, Katherine asked; “What is beyond that threshold ser?”

He looked back at her, glaring at the interruption. He quickly changed his anger to a mocking smile.

“All in good time love.” He licked his lips with the same longing fueling his eyes.

The tall man discovered the key in which he sought and unlocked the old door. Just like her cell, this mechanism was well used, filling the air with a terrible metallic grind. Katherine tried to cover her ears, but her captor prevented her from the protection she sought.

Looking back at the two women, the leader gave a hideous, knowing grin. His rotted teeth seemed to glisten in the lantern light.

“Now ye needs remember t’ be polite,” he whispered pushing the door open. “Elsewise they’ll ruin ye.”

A bright light shone through a dense cloud of steam that issued forth from the opposite side of the entryway. Katherine hesitated for a moment, fearful to go any further. Her captor nudged her, forcing her through the yawning doorway, seeming to have lost his earlier patience. Of all the things Katherine may have feared about what lay on the other side of that door, she certainly did not expect what greeted her.

Katherine realized she was in a very twisted place. If she had not known better, she would have thought she were in the employ of one of Syntar’s pleasure kings, for it would only explain the amount of women. Yet, that idea could not have been true for the pleasure kings boasted the finest teats from all the provinces of Wynne; the pleasure houses prided themselves for offering women from each and every province. These women, however, all shared the olive skin and dark hair shared amongst Valvians.

A large steaming pool rose from the floor, and it was here many of the women congregated. In the waters of the bath, elderly women dressed in rough spun robes of brown scrubbed and soaped the fellow captives.
Katherine had never known, or heard of, any captor in all of the history of Wynne to treat its prisoners with such a kindness.

Standing along the upper lip of the bath were silent wardens, men all, dressed in similar black coattails with rapiers on their waist. They neither watched the women be bathed, nor did their eyes wander over the room. Their heads remained bowed, as if in silent prayer. Katherine did not doubt these men were ever ready in the case of trouble.

The bath itself was a wonderful ornamental piece, replete with a mosaic of virtuous women and men, entwined like lovers. The fresco was so serene and beautiful it seemed out of place in such a deep, dark place as it was.
Water glistened through the rising steam of the pool, leaving the skin of those inside red and raw. Pumps of bronze and copper sat at the furthest most edge of the bath. It did not take much thought to understand the source for the water’s heat came from there.

A green and black marble made the surface of the floor. Its appearance reminded Katherine of the ostentatious nature of Wynne’s nobility. The floor ran an elliptical course, meeting walls of rough hewn stone. Along the outer borders of the hall were great pillars, each with a carved visage of a cleverly covered woman. Fellow captives huddled around the base of these plinths, shying away from the heat of the bath. Katherine did not doubt many of these women awaited their return to cells similar to her own.

A crooked and bent crone approached the bald headed man. They spoke in hushed voices, and every so often the crone would eye either Katherine or Belle. Katherine noted the old woman’s eyes were a misty grey, a common trait within the salt-kin of Malefosse. Katherine wondered if, perhaps, her captors employed the aid of the destitute families of Syntar, or if these bent elderly women were prisoners as well.