EXCOLO

It's a quiet afternoon. Hermia has Glass visiting, and after getting up late I realise I am meant to be manning the reception. It seems unlikely anyone will check in today, and so I sit in my little office near the front desk, leaving the door ajar so I can hear anyone come in, and I turn to my paperwork.

"Hello?"

I step out to find - well. It's not often men like that choose to stay here.

"Good afternoon," I say cheerfully. "Can I help you?"

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A man steps in from the back, and I compose my face in tired friendliness as I take in details. Well dressed. Close to my height and age, though he seems far less weathered. Well dressed, handsome. Dignified manner. Something in the voice I cannot place as yet. Simple Brother Samuel might be too humble and dull a face to wear for this one. No matter. I have many.

"Can I help you?"

I extend a calloused hand, and when I speak, I allow my voice to be touched with the flavor of Central Europe. "Samuel Durand, sir. Late of the Franciscan Order. I've only just arrived, and the Whitechapel Inn was recommended to me by Deputy Hollow. Have you any rooms?"

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"Samuel Durand, sir. Late of the Franciscan Order. I've only just arrived, and the Whitechapel Inn was recommended to me by Deputy Hollow. Have you any rooms?"

He has an unusual accent, one I do not recognise.

"Valmont Laclos," I say, shaking his hand. "I'm afraid, Brother Durand, that the Whitechapel is not as quiet a place as an abbey, but we do indeed have rooms to rent." I wonder why the deputy sent him here instead of to the abbey. "We have one private room with a bathroom free, or there is a bed available in the dormitory room." I name the prices for him. "How long would you like to stay? We always ask for the first night's fee upfront, and the rest to be paid on check out."

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"An entire ocean and many long years lie between me and my own Abbey, Mr. Laclos," I say with a smile. "I didn't come all this way to sequester myself with the heavenly-minded."

"We have one private room with a bathroom free, or there is a bed available in the dormitory room."

I consider for a moment. "It's been a long time since I had much in the way of company. The dormitory will serve for now, if you can answer for the security of my things. I have many books that are quite priceless," I explain apologetically, "and I would hate to see them lost or damaged."

"How long would you like to stay? We always ask for the first night's fee upfront, and the rest to be paid on check out."

"At least a week." I fish in my belt pouch and come up with a suitable amount of gold from the hill country, crudely minted but pure, and heavy in my palm. In places that lack a common scrip, the gleam of gold usually makes for a welcome sight. It makes a deep and satisfying clack when I lay it gently on the desk. "After that, we shall see. Might be that I would need to make more permanent arrangements."

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"I didn't come all this way to sequester myself with the heavenly-minded."

And why did you come all this way still wearing your robes? I wonder, but I don't ask. It is curious, though, and I wonder about the impression this man wants to give.

"There are lockers in the dorm," I say, "and if you have any very precious items they can left in our safe, although there is not a great deal of space."

He lays a gold coin on the table, and I raise my eyebrows slightly.

"That should pay for not just the first night, but also the second," I say. And probably the third, but a man who is laying out gold for a room clearly doesn't know much about bartering. "As for permanent arrangements, a friend of my wife owns a little apartment building - I can give you her details if you like." I may, however, tell Glass to look at him carefully; while he seems pleasant enough, a man who is not a monk but dresses like one, who carries valuable books and gold but does not want the privacy of his own bedroom, seems a curious creature indeed. But there are far odder things in Excolo than that, and so I smile pleasantly as I find a key for the dorm room and another key for one of the lockers.

"If you could sign your name in the ledger, Mr Durand."

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"That should pay for not just the first night, but also the second."

"Will it?" I smile gratefully. "I never know. Some places gold is more plentiful than copper, but owning two wells makes you close to a lord." I'd even seen a village in the swamps some years ago where malaria was so ubiquitous an entire economy had sprung up around the cinchona tree, from which various cures could be derived.

A truly fascinating place, and a tragic exercise in human futility. The disease could not be eliminated for as long as they continued to live in the infested region, since they were a vital part of the life cycle of the parasite and its carrier. If they were removed from the infected region, or if they all succumbed, the disease could be eliminated in short order.

It was simple mathematics, but even I have to admit, there was a certain tragic poetry to it. The parasite who cannot survive without the host, the host who struggles to survive even knowing that his success means not a hope of a cure, but the affliction of all future generations...

I did collect the seeds the night I burned the trees. One day they will need to be replanted.

"As for permanent arrangements, a friend of my wife owns a little apartment building - I can give you her details if you like."

"I'd be most grateful, sir." He gathers the keys and asks for my signature. I sign my name in precise, angular strokes. It has never been my way to assume another name. I put on so many faces for so many people that a name is just about the only continuity I can grasp. Without it I might well evaporate.

I catch movement from around the corner, a wan face and childlike voice, though I'm not sure I caught all the words... "Burning?" My eyebrows raise in alarm, but by then the face is withdrawn.

Edited Date: 2012-01-18 04:34 pm (UTC)

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I peek my head around the corner again, but Valmont looks kind of busy. He's talking to a man - not the Big Man, it's daytime now - which means I shouldn't interrupt. Even if I know where the burning is coming from. He's not catching, I don't think, it's not that sort of burning, just his clothes and hands and feet and skin all marked from fire.

I wonder if that's what I was like, when I came here, but I push that thought aside. Because it's not my thought at all, that whispered voice.

The cookies and the milk I set on the desk, I don't want to hold them anymore and Jarmyn is looking at them more than he should, and then I stand off to one side to wait for Valmont. Nice and patient and waiting, just like a good wife should.

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"I never know. Some places gold is more plentiful than copper, but owning two wells makes you close to a lord."

"It sounds," I say, "as if you are well-travelled. What brings you to our little town?" I watch him sign the ledger, and I put it away.

I hear a voice, and I hear a soft thunk next to me on the desk. A plate of cookies and a glass of milk, and there is Alice, looking shy.

"Cherie," I say, smiling at her. "Are these for me?"

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"It sounds as if you are well-travelled. What brings you to our little town?"

"I must confess, I didn't even know your town was here until a week ago," I say with a shrug. "I'm a mapmaker. And a chronicler of sorts. Collecting stories. Writing a new history, or at least part of one."

I study the young woman who has now fully emerged and is waiting beside the proprietor. His daughter? She doesn't have his look, though. A strange one, and no mistake. Gangly and gawky as a foal, but it's not that that catches my attention.

The eyes. Something about the eyes.

"How do you do?" I bow my head briefly and solemnly in greeting. I've never felt entirely comfortable around children, so I usually settle on treating them the same way as anyone else.

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"Cherie. Are these for me?"

I nod at Valmont, feeling the other man just watching me. "I made them! But- But I didn't mess up the kitchen. And they taste good this time, I promise. I tried one." After the cake, I wanted to make sure.

"How do you do?" The new one says, polite like how Mr Sagert would be but not the same, besides that. Not at all. And he's dressed funny.

I curtsy, just the way I was taught, and try for a smile. "Hello. I'm Alice." I look to Valmont, wondering if I should stay, but then a question comes into my head so I look back to the man. "Are you staying here?"

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"Pleased to meet you, Alice. I'm Samuel." She curtsies, and I smile. Old graces in this strange place. Still no mention of whatever the hell she said when she first put her head around the corner, but then the minds of the young are about as linear as a fruitfly's flight path. Thoughts just ricocheting around in there. Still, have to be careful. Every once in a while they can smell you, in ways adults never can. Like an animal.

"Are you staying here?

"Yes, for the time being. Mr. Laclos has been kind enough to offer to point me to more permanent lodgings in the future. Is this your home, then?"

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"I made them! But- But I didn't mess up the kitchen. And they taste good this time, I promise. I tried one."

"They look wonderful, cherie. Thank you." I smile at her, and then she and Mr Durand share awkward greetings. "Mr Durand, shall I show you to the dorm?"

Edited Date: 2012-01-19 11:53 pm (UTC)

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Samuel. I say it to myself, on my lips without the sound coming out, so I'll remember. "Yes, for the time being. Mr. Laclos has been kind enough to offer to point me to more permanent lodgings in the future. Is this your home, then?"

I nod to that, wondering where he'll stay and if it'll be near my room at all and if maybe he's nicer than his colors want me to believe. Not that he looks mean, no, but he doesn't look nice either.

"Mr Durand, shall I show you to the dorm?" Valmont says, which answers the question I didn't get a chance to ask. I look between the two of them and then settle on Valmont. "I can show him!" Maybe I'm a little too excited, even though it's obvious I can and it's not a difficult thing to do at all. But no, a grown woman wouldn't sound so excited about it, I don't think. Hermia wouldn't. So I catch myself and try again. "I mean, you should stay here at the desk. And I can show him to the dorm for you. I can help." And I can, in a lot of ways. If he'll just let me.

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I shrug, re-securing my belt pouch and testing its reassuring weight with a finger. "So eager to help. Your guests must feel very welcome." In truth, I haven't the faintest idea what to make of this young woman. When she looks at me for more than a moment, I get the feeling that her eyes aren't actually focusing on me.

Best to humor her, I suppose, if she is the proprietor's daughter. I need this first part of my stay to be... uncomplicated.

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"Why thank you, Alice, that is very kind," I say. "I am sure Mr Durand will appreciate your help. Do come back down straightaway, though, cherie," I say, because something about Mr Durand's story seems not quite right, "so you can help me eat these cookies." I have no problem if the man has a past he wants to leave behind - that is true of so many of our guests - but that doesn't mean I want to leave my ward with him until I have a better sense of his character.

Edited Date: 2012-01-21 06:32 pm (UTC)

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I give Valmont just the biggest smile, when he says I'm being kind, and nod when he tells me to hurry back. "I will! Straightaway!" Straightaway means right back, I think. "And tell Jarmyn those aren't his cookies. He has to ask to share, not just take them." If Valmont wanted to share, maybe, then that'd be different.

Samuel is just standing there, looking at me with some confusion painted on his colors, so I give him a smile too. It's not as bright as the one I made for Valmont, but maybe it'll help all the same. Then I take his hand in mine and pull him up the stairs.

I tell him all about the Whitechapel as we go, the names of each of the rooms and who is staying where. When we pass a more familiar door, though, I go quiet and look at him. Maybe he likes to know things too much, this man. Maybe he doesn't need to know about the Big Man, and where he sleeps.

"And here's the dorm!" I announce once we are on the third floor. There's no one inside, since it's daytime and nobody (well, almost nobody) sleeps during the daytime. "The bathroom is over there," I say, pointing down the hall. "And I saw Jarmyn's here, so the bar'll be open soon. And- And-" And I can't think of anything else to tell him.

Edited Date: 2012-01-21 08:45 pm (UTC)

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I'm startled when the girl grabs hold of my hand and leads me toward the stairs. It's been a very long time since someone laid hands on me without my permission, something that always put my back up, but my options are either go with it, and shoot her father a helpless look, or resist, and come off looking like an ogre. I go for option one.

She chatters on at a million miles an hour, and I try to nod indulgently. It's impossible to remember all of the details, not without having some context to even make them make sense, but I do attempt to catch the highlights and store them away for later investigation.

She grows silent at one point, and the sheer lack of noise jars me into looking down. I find her looking back at me, her startling eyes watchful as an owl's. She's hiding something, and I know enough to know that an attempt to pry it out of her would only make her distrust me. I give her a quizzical look instead, and try to give a reassuring smile.

"And I saw Jarmyn's here, so the bar'll be open soon. And- And-"

She finally just flat runs out of steam, and I relax. "That was quite the tour. Thanks very much, Alice." I remember one of the things that was puzzling me and hazard a question. "Mr. Laclos is your father? Pardon the intrusion, but lovely as you are, you don't have his look."

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"You're welcome, Samuel," I say back, feeling (again) like Mr Sagert should be here. He'd like Samuel, I think, because they both know their manners.

It's when Samuel asks about Valmont - the same question everybody asks, just the same - that I have to remember mine. I brought Valmont cookies to make him happy and all that'd be gone, poof, if I made him sore all over again by being rude. Lying is rude, very rude, and so's not answering at all. It's not Samuel's fault, either, because he hasn't asked so many things. He just feels like questions, is all, so many questions neat in a row.

"No," I say to my shoes. "Not like that, no. I just live here." I look up to him, head tilted to one side. "I'm fifteen, you know. That's an adult, not somebody's daughter running at their feet." Not Valmont's. Especially not Valmont's.

Blink.

"My family's dead."

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"I'm fifteen, you know. That's an adult, not somebody's daughter running at their feet."

The peculiar part of it is, all of a sudden she does seem more than just a child. The pup-like desire to please evaporates, and she speaks with the scent of wounded dignity. An adult? Perhaps. Old enough to face the trials of life. Old enough to bear children. Old enough to kill and die. Yet another thing that varies from settlement to settlement, the meaning of youth and the coming of age.

"My family's dead."

She's still looking at me, head cocked, and the matter-of-factness in her voice impresses me. Not a dramatic exaggeration, then. I meet her gaze levelly. "Mine too, when I was no more than a baby. I... do know what it's like to grow up a stranger in a strange land."

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I wonder if I should say I'm sorry, because his family is gone. I look at him, searching around, and just stay quiet. We're not sorry, not either one of us, so it's not something that needs to be said at all. "You're not a stranger now," I tell him instead, still feeling far off and unfocused. "You're here now, with everybody else." He's gone sharp and everything behind's gone blurry.

I blink it away and, when I look back up, I'm smiling. "I gotta go now, I promised Valmont to be back straightaway, but I can save you a cookie if you want? I made them!"

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She doesn't wilt, nor does she express sympathy. She merely looks, and looks, and suddenly I feel like we have an understanding. For me, it was so long ago it can scarcely even be seen as a scar. For her... it can't have been that long ago, and that being the case, for her to be so matter-of-fact about it leaves the lingering scent of wrongness seen and done.

"You're not a stranger now. You're here now, with everybody else."

It's not what she says. It's her manner. She shapes words like things pitched to her from the dark from sources unknown, but whose truth is nakedly clear when she holds them up to the light. Every hair on the back of my neck stands up. I think of Deputy Hollow, and the fleeting glimpse of flame inside his head.

And then she blinks, and is a girl again.

"I gotta go now, I promised Valmont to be back straightaway, but I can save you a cookie if you want? I made them!"

"That's most kind," I manage, giving my head a small shake to clear it, "but I wouldn't want to deprive Mr. Laclos of such a feast. I do," I say after a second, "have something for you." It's a half-formed idea even as I say it, but it takes shape quickly. I spend my life planting seeds against future eventualities. This is no different.

"Can you keep a secret?"

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"That's most kind," Samuel says, after blinking in his own way, "but I wouldn't want to deprive Mr. Laclos of such a feast." I shrug, still smiling. That's very nice of him, not wanting to make Valmont share, even though it's just cookies and not a feast.

I'm going to run off after that, because I showed him the dorm and I don't want Valmont waiting too long, I don't want him to get sore cuz I didn't listen, but then I'm not moving. There's waiting in the air, heavy, and it seeps inside just a moment before Samuel speaks again.

"I do have something for you."

A present? For me? I wonder if he knows it was my birthday, last month. That's the only reason I can think of for presents.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes!" I say, at once, eyes gone wide. That, of course, is not the way secrets are done, not loud and bright like that, so I make myself look very serious and edge closer. He's very tall, almost big like the Big Man, but his shadow is made of the feather-light wispy stuff that hangs in the corners of my rooms. No, not the same. "Yes," I try again, voice low this time, as I look up. "I can."

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I smile. Who can resist a secret? Even after all these years, the unraveling of mysteries is my driving passion. But like all passions, it changes over time. When I was young, a mystery was a thing you slit open to twist its steaming entrails into the light of day and check their color. These days, unraveling a mystery is more like rolling summerwine over my tongue, eyes closed, head tilted. Savoring.

"Secrets are important to me, Alice. You might say they're even part of what I do. Keep secrets for the world that others would try to tell." She has sidled in close, and is looking up at me. I lower my voice to a murmur, and hold up a finger, as though about to press it to lips for silence. "A secret known by one is sometimes merely a burden. Your head cluttered up with words you can never speak. Things you can't admit you feel."

My other hand fishes in my belt pouch for a moment, sorting through paper, coin, and stone by touch until I find the one I want. When I raise it level with her eyes, I open my fist as though releasing a butterfly. Inside my palm is a stone the size of the first joint of my thumb. It is a fire opal, and when I tilt my palm to catch the light, the smoky red comes alive with flickerings of a pale and ghostly green.

I hold it up between thumb and forefinger so that she can see the stone fully; it is only half-cut, the other half as smooth and flat and grey as riverrock. "A secret can cut you into two."

I take her hand and gently close her slender fingers over the stone. "A secret known by two is a bond of trust. And power, for them both."

"I want you to do a little work for me around town, when I need it," I say. "And other times, I want you to listen to my secrets."

And keep them, I say with my eyes. I have any number of shiny baubles, but it is secrets that are the currency of the furtive heart.

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"Secrets are important to me, Alice. You might say they're even part of what I do. Keep secrets for the world that others would try to tell." A secret keeper... I move a little closer, then, eyes gone big from all the wonder, and when he holds up a finger I nod. I understand. "A secret known by one is sometimes merely a burden. Your head cluttered up with words you can never speak. Things you can't admit you feel."

Words you can never- I feel my mouth open, a little, maybe those same kinds of words wanting to come out and stopping short. I don't move, though, no. I stay right where I am. I listen. I watch. And deep inside me, where things like to curl and whisper, something else is doing the same.

It seems to take forever, time stretching on, for Samuel to find my present. I stare at him as though it'll make him move faster, on my tiptoes, and when he opens his hand in front of me I gasp. A stone. No, no, it's more than stone, it's a stone with fire trapped inside.

Fire stones and secrets.

"A secret can cut you into two."

"Secrets can burn," I say, though I barely hear my voice because it's far away. The stone feels cold on my palm, though I only glance down once to look at it before my eyes go back to him.

"A secret known by two is a bond of trust. And power, for them both." There's a knot inside me at that, like the fire stone sitting in my stomach almost. A weight. "I want you to do a little work for me around town, when I need it. And other times, I want you to listen to my secrets."

"Yes," slips out and for a long while that's all, until I shake my head a little and that heaviness falls away. "I can do that. I know lots of things and- and lots of people, too." And lots of things about lots of people, I'm thinking.

I step back, I make myself step back, with both hands cupped around the stone. "You just tell me. And I'll help you. With your job." My smile's come back and there's some brightness in the room again, just when I'd started to think it had gone dark. "We can be friends!"

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"Yes."

The word hangs there in the silence between us, the sweetest word, and I smile gently. She's all but mine. Oh, this is only the first sortie, I know, but it's clear the hooks are in deep. There is power in fascination, and the desire to be special. And this is true of no one more than the young.

So long as I don't push her too far, too fast. I will solve the mystery of this oracular girl, and she will help me solve the mystery of Excolo. After that... Well.

"I can do that. I know lots of things and- and lots of people, too."

"I know you do. I would never have chosen just anyone." You're special, anyone can see. The words are unsaid, but fill the space just the same.

"You just tell me. And I'll help you. With your job. We can be friends!"

She has stepped back and is smiling up at me. My own smile shows the gleam of teeth. Friends? But the twinge that I feel is not guilt, not really, but frustration. Frustration that she allows herself to be deceived. Frustration that she likes and trusts me.

I don't want her broken like the pack animal. She needs to learn the ways of the world. She needs to learn to resist.

"Friends," I say warmly. My head is buzzing. "Go, Alice. I know Mr. Laclos needs you below." I raise a hand in farewell, pressing a finger to my lips in reminder.

Edited Date: 2012-01-26 04:51 pm (UTC)

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Samuel sends me back to Valmont with a smile and I go, quick footsteps echoing down the hall as I run, but not before wrapping my arms around his waist and hugging tight.

Secrets. Secrets.

I feel a little dizzy, from the excitement bubbling up in my head, and when I slip the fire stone in my pocket it hangs there all day like a weight.

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I had pancakes for lunch, not breakfast today. Normally you eat them in the morning time, I told my dolls - their name is Alice too, except they aren't me - but I wanted them instead of sandwiches. That's part of being an adult, deciding things for yourself. My dolls laugh at me, when I say that, but I don't care. I like pancakes.

The whole place is very quiet for a very long time, after that, because Hermia is having lunch with her friend, the woman Glass who came from the Big Man but belongs to the butcher from down the street. Valmont's sleeping, for what seems like forever, and when I finally hear him up and moving around, down the stairs and to the front, I put away my dolls and follow.

I don't go to the desk, not at first, because I want to surprise him and there's work in that. I already did the cooking, great big cookies made with oatmeal and raisins just like Cookie showed me, so then it's just putting them on a plate to look as nice as can be and a big glass filled up with milk. I would make coffee, like is his favorite from when he stayed with the duchess, but I don't know how.

Even before I'm halfway down the hall, though, there are voices. Hmm.

"Is something burning?" I ask, peeking my head 'round the corner with the milk and cookies still in hand. I don't see anything burning, but that doesn't mean it's not there.

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jaeresteade.livejournal.com

Seemed like Ri didn't want me hanging around for all of her day off, so I came over a little early to open the bar. I come in the back way and find Alice with her head round the corner into the front room, carefully balancing a plate of cookies and milk behind her back.

"Is something burning?"

I sniff, not smelling anything but what she's baked. "I don't think so, sweetheart. Are those for me?" I don't really think they are, since I can hear Valmont at the desk talking to someone. Might be able to get her to give me one, though.

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"I don't think so, sweetheart," Jarmyn says, coming up behind me. I turn a little quicker than maybe I should, because I didn't know he was there. "Are those for me?"

"No!" And maybe that's too fast, too. Hmph. "I mean, um, not really. I made them- I made them for Valmont." My face wants to get red at that, even if I don't know why, and I pretend that everything's okay. "For a present."

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jaeresteade.livejournal.com

Can see it must have taken her some doing to make the cookies. I'll just let her give them to Valmont and then I'll have one when he offers. "All right, sweetheart. Go on."

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