A Mischief in the Woodwork

CHAPTER 34

The Casualty Pattern

Tanen's recovery was not hampered by the turbulence of the lungs that had bullied the rest of us. The others saw that as a sign of fortune, but I knew it was simply because he had been temporarily plucked from the midst of his condition by an almighty hand. Granted a temporary pardon. So while others patted him on the back, congratulatory, I privately lamented the truth hidden to their naivety and sheltered my own sense of foreboding at the illusion of his good health.

It was strange, having brought a man back from Death's gates. All the stranger because he didn't know it. There was an inevitable, misplaced sense of intimacy blossomed between us, disjointed because only one of us was aware, but forged as surely as the deepest sentiments known to pass between two people. There was nothing more intimate than delving soul-deep into another's affairs.

It occurred to me: he would never believe I had done such a thing.

I eyed him out in the field, thinking this, as I retrieved the paper from the porch. He was helping Dashsund with some task or other – I did not have the presence of mind to distinguish what, my thoughts revolving around the more weighty causes for him being here.

I tucked the scandalous knowledge away, however, and turned to the paper to get up-to-date on that front. Only one dire matter at a time, I told myself. So what evolution of mischief was in the headlines today? It only took a glance for one of said headlines to catch my eye;

Manor in South Hempton Swallows Masters

Struck by a chord of all-too-recent familiarity, I skimmed the article, wondering at the like occurrence.

Several days ago, the Capers of South Hempton

discovered their long-time neighbors the Baltanes

unresponsive to a routine knock on their manor door.

When at last a resident slave responded to the call,

it was confirmed that the Baltanes were missing

from the premises. Accusations of an uprising

amongst the slaves were quick to fly, suspecting a

group of them had finally taken advantage of their

huddling superiors and betrayed the dependance

established therein, abusing their freedom and the

fiercely-cultivated mannerisms of this age of survival

to overthrow their masters.

Has a new age dawned? One ripe for slave

overthrowing master?

Details of what actually occurred emerged, however,

when Newsboy Eevie encountered Sir Aphram Tophurst,

fleeing over the rubble. Sir Aphram was a guest in the

Baltanes manor, who confirmed the slaves' own claims:

that the Baltanes met their end by way of the manor's

own wrath, one by one disappearing into the very

walls of the place until Sir Aphram recognized a pattern

of disappearing whiteskins – reinforced when a fellow

guest was taken as well – and therefore fled for his life.

His observation should not go unheeded.

It remains a compelling fact: not a single

slave was taken. It seems whatever beast

possesses Manor Baltane has no interest in

victimizing the lesser kin beneath its roof.

I glanced up from the piece, considering. Considering its implications and the ways it rang true, the thought-provoking consistencies it proposed. Because we sheltered a consistency right under our own roof. That upstairs room that was supposed to serve as a haven to the Masters had turned on Mr. and Mrs. Dorn, swallowing them up same as the fated Baltanes. At this rate, if such a pattern was to continue, there would be no need for any slaves to rise up against their Masters, if such was in their hearts. The job was being done for them.

Brooding there on the porch a moment longer, I took in the men working in the field once more, and then turned to wander in. I found Letta in the kitchen.

“I don't think we should continue delivering the paper upstairs,” I said.

She looked up. “No? What inspires this disinclined nature?”

I stared thoughtfully at a crude loaf of oat bread she had managed to bake, where it sat cooling on the counter, absently handing her the paper. She wiped her hands on her skirt, then accepted it and skimmed what I had just finished reading. When she was done, she let the paper rest against her skirt, thoughtful.

“There's no sense feeding their horror if Falicity isn't going to let them out,” I said.

“On the other hand, this could be what spurs her to do just that,” Letta pointed out.

“And if she doesn't? That's no way to live, knowing something like that may very well be coming for you. That's no way to die. And anyway, depriving Felicity of her awareness might draw her out just as effectively. If we blind her sources, she'll have no choice but to crawl out of her den to get a handle on developments herself.”

“Or do something madwomanly and endanger the others as hostages until we deliver.”

I sighed through my nose, lips pursed. “And what would she do if we all died down here? Scream her demands, shout out her threats, and murder them all one by one, until there was nothing left to barter with and she was forced to wander out herself, only to discover she'd done it all for nothing?” I said it a little challengingly, not wanting to believe it, but in truth I knew it could happen just like that. The image haunted me.

Letta looked at my a little sympathetically, and I let it go, changing my tune;

“They're all going to be taken anyway. Except Vandah.”

“We don't know that.”

“We do,” I insisted, a bit more forcibly than I meant to, looking at her. The absence in my eyes had turned sharp. Putting a hand on myself, I softened and finished more gently, evasively half-hearted; “I do.” And with that I would look at her no more, unwilling to elaborate. I could feel her staring at me, wondering what I meant, where it came from. But I closed myself to her.

Closed myself and turned away. Maybe she was right. If I was being honest, I really had no idea. My call was no better than hers. What good was being privileged with insight, if it didn't also tell you what to do with it? It was just a burden, knowing what was coming. It did not make me wiser. It just made me the middleman charged with knowing.

I left the paper with Letta to do as she willed. She didn't understand, yet she had always been wiser than I, so let her decide what she saw fit. Surely no more disaster could come of it than the disaster that already had a hold of the land. Fate was going to be fate. The only fate I ought to be concentrating my efforts on ensuring was an exception was Tanen's, because that was the one I had been granted a say in. I ought to be running with that – not neglecting it for some other cause I didn't know how to redeem.

I only had two months, and the clock was ticking. It had been two days already.

Insight into other matters was just going to have to be a privilege. One that sat on the mantle of my heart.