Post by Sylvestre de Valmont(D) on Apr 4, 2006 17:32:36 GMT -5
The Siovale countryside is just as tedious when you’re moving through it than when you’ve spent the last ten years staring at it. Thankfully, physical and emotional exhaustion, to say nothing of a large of quantity of spirits and absinthe, lulled me to sleep, despite the jolting of the coach, which, quite frankly, was dreadful. I managed to spend most of that journey drifting between sobriety and intoxication, sleeping and waking. We stayed at various squalid little inns and stopped at various equally squalid little posting houses – I was moderately surprised to discover so much of the peasantry in mourning. For Clovis? Self-righteous, stuck-up, ever-dutiful, ever-tiresome Clovis? Honestly. Peasants. They’ll mourn anything. It made them woefully reluctant to offer up the best of their cellars to me – dead is dead, why deprive me of the pleasure of life? And my luck was completely out as far as the prettier daughters were concerned. Damn Clovis, it was almost as he was reaching out from beyond the grave to thwart me. Even Betta stayed out of my way. I think she was afraid I changed my mind and send her away. I probably would have had I caught sight of her. She looks bad enough without being travel-stained as well.
But it was not the worst journey I have ever endured – far better, in fact, than my journey into exile which was a trying business and involved an almost unendurable quantity of Clovis proselytising at me. We made reasonable progress and how my heart soared when, upon the horizon, I caught my first glimpse of the City after ten years of excruciating absence. I do not think even the first sight of a lover has ever pleased as much. Ah, the city, in all her glory and squalor, full of the best and worst of humanity, such beauty, such filth, such endless variation and potential. I could almost have wept for the sheer joy of something that felt like a homecoming, as if the last ten miserable years of my life had been nothing more than an a opium dream to fade into mis-remembered mists. But they had not been a dream. Ten years? That was the bright flame of my youth. Curse Clovis, he deserved his fate. He took my life, now I took his.
I stayed awake – and at least moderately clear-headed – for end of the journey, watching the ramshackle slums give way to mercantile districts, to respectable housing, to the fashionable centre. And the excessively grand and ornate townhouse looming in the distance – that would be mine. All mine. I felt an incredible urge to laugh again. The carriage stopped outside a set of high, wrought iron gates into which the Siovale coat of arms was cleverly woven. No-one came forward to open them so, in the end, I threw open the door of the carriage and climbed down onto the street. Silence covered everything like a blanket. Possibly it was just the approaching twilight but even the air seemed a little darker, a little colder. Despite my travelling clothes, a shiver travelled through me and I was half-afraid.
I moved up to the gates and reached out a gloved hand to push them open. They swung open without even a creak and I stepped into the courtyard. It was quiet and deserted. And there was a scent that seemed both familiar and unfamiliar to me. There were dark shadows between the cracks of the cobblestones. It took me a moment to realise that it was old blood.
Betta held my hair out my face until I had finished being sick. “If you ever … ever mention this to anybody,” I snarled, holding a silk handkerchief to my mouth, “I will discharge you without a reference.”
“There there, Master Sly,” she said, dabbing the tears from my eyes. “You’ve had a nasty shock.”
“Shut up. Shut up. I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine. That didn’t happen.” I took a deep steadying breath … and then wished I hadn’t as it made me inclined to retch again. “Where is everyone? Why has nobody … cleaned this. It’s … disgusting.”
While we had been … occupied … the front door had opened. A man of stately bearing came down the steps towards us. It had to be the butler. Clovis was just the sort to employ an intimidating butler. By Elua. Clovis was dead. Clovis was dead.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing low to me. “Most of the servants have fled. Or are …” he faltered for a moment “…unable to attend to their duties.”
“Not you, though?”
He drew himself to full height which was impressive. “I would never be so disloyal to this family.”
I was trembling.
“Would you care to come inside, your Grace?”
I nodded. The entrance hall was worse than the courtyard. I closed my eyes and lent against Betta. “Why … how … why …” I stammered. Come on Slyvestre, control yourself. You don’t care. Why should you care? This is weakness. And foolishness.
“I can only presume the motives were political. His grace was …” Again, the butler faltered. “a fine, fine man. And unyielding loyal to the crown and his country. Perhaps certain forces perceived him as a threat.”
“What about me?” I wailed. “Am I in similar danger?”
I felt the butler’s gaze settle upon me, heavy like a hand upon my shoulder. I saw the scorn in his eyes. I think an honorary retirement was due to this one. “I very much doubt it, your Grace,” he said.
Weariness washed over me in great waves. This was rapidly becoming far too much like hard work. “Hire some servants as soon as possible,” I said. “Clean my house. For the love of Elua, clean my house. And find me a room that isn’t awash with blood. And bring me a bottle of wine from the cellars. The ’68 will do nicely. Actually make that two bottles. I’m going to bed. I can’t think about this any more.”
There was an awkwardly long silence. I knew the butler wanted me to know he could refuse me. But what do I care for the vanity of underlings? Eventually he bowed. “Yes your grace.”
“Betta,” I whispered to her. “Hire me a new butler. You know my tastes.”
But it was not the worst journey I have ever endured – far better, in fact, than my journey into exile which was a trying business and involved an almost unendurable quantity of Clovis proselytising at me. We made reasonable progress and how my heart soared when, upon the horizon, I caught my first glimpse of the City after ten years of excruciating absence. I do not think even the first sight of a lover has ever pleased as much. Ah, the city, in all her glory and squalor, full of the best and worst of humanity, such beauty, such filth, such endless variation and potential. I could almost have wept for the sheer joy of something that felt like a homecoming, as if the last ten miserable years of my life had been nothing more than an a opium dream to fade into mis-remembered mists. But they had not been a dream. Ten years? That was the bright flame of my youth. Curse Clovis, he deserved his fate. He took my life, now I took his.
I stayed awake – and at least moderately clear-headed – for end of the journey, watching the ramshackle slums give way to mercantile districts, to respectable housing, to the fashionable centre. And the excessively grand and ornate townhouse looming in the distance – that would be mine. All mine. I felt an incredible urge to laugh again. The carriage stopped outside a set of high, wrought iron gates into which the Siovale coat of arms was cleverly woven. No-one came forward to open them so, in the end, I threw open the door of the carriage and climbed down onto the street. Silence covered everything like a blanket. Possibly it was just the approaching twilight but even the air seemed a little darker, a little colder. Despite my travelling clothes, a shiver travelled through me and I was half-afraid.
I moved up to the gates and reached out a gloved hand to push them open. They swung open without even a creak and I stepped into the courtyard. It was quiet and deserted. And there was a scent that seemed both familiar and unfamiliar to me. There were dark shadows between the cracks of the cobblestones. It took me a moment to realise that it was old blood.
Betta held my hair out my face until I had finished being sick. “If you ever … ever mention this to anybody,” I snarled, holding a silk handkerchief to my mouth, “I will discharge you without a reference.”
“There there, Master Sly,” she said, dabbing the tears from my eyes. “You’ve had a nasty shock.”
“Shut up. Shut up. I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine. That didn’t happen.” I took a deep steadying breath … and then wished I hadn’t as it made me inclined to retch again. “Where is everyone? Why has nobody … cleaned this. It’s … disgusting.”
While we had been … occupied … the front door had opened. A man of stately bearing came down the steps towards us. It had to be the butler. Clovis was just the sort to employ an intimidating butler. By Elua. Clovis was dead. Clovis was dead.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing low to me. “Most of the servants have fled. Or are …” he faltered for a moment “…unable to attend to their duties.”
“Not you, though?”
He drew himself to full height which was impressive. “I would never be so disloyal to this family.”
I was trembling.
“Would you care to come inside, your Grace?”
I nodded. The entrance hall was worse than the courtyard. I closed my eyes and lent against Betta. “Why … how … why …” I stammered. Come on Slyvestre, control yourself. You don’t care. Why should you care? This is weakness. And foolishness.
“I can only presume the motives were political. His grace was …” Again, the butler faltered. “a fine, fine man. And unyielding loyal to the crown and his country. Perhaps certain forces perceived him as a threat.”
“What about me?” I wailed. “Am I in similar danger?”
I felt the butler’s gaze settle upon me, heavy like a hand upon my shoulder. I saw the scorn in his eyes. I think an honorary retirement was due to this one. “I very much doubt it, your Grace,” he said.
Weariness washed over me in great waves. This was rapidly becoming far too much like hard work. “Hire some servants as soon as possible,” I said. “Clean my house. For the love of Elua, clean my house. And find me a room that isn’t awash with blood. And bring me a bottle of wine from the cellars. The ’68 will do nicely. Actually make that two bottles. I’m going to bed. I can’t think about this any more.”
There was an awkwardly long silence. I knew the butler wanted me to know he could refuse me. But what do I care for the vanity of underlings? Eventually he bowed. “Yes your grace.”
“Betta,” I whispered to her. “Hire me a new butler. You know my tastes.”