[An Epic Fantasy 01.0] Skip Read online

  “As well as the happiest, I should hope,” Lady Wythnos said.

  “That above all,” Gregory said, looking deep into Kali’s eyes. “My every thought and action begins with Kali’s happiness.”

  Lady Wythnos fanned her red cheeks again. Lord Wythnos raised his goblet.

  “To the future of our great families,” he said.

  Everyone raised their goblets and took a swig, Jera noticeably slower. The dessert plates were now empty, and the footmen came to clear them. They brought tea and coffees, adding milk, cream and sugar at each diner’s request.

  “How is the City these days?” Lord Wythnos said.

  “Demanding,” Gregory said. “The hunger in the City is insatiable. It’s difficult to keep up with demand sometimes.”

  “But we do our best,” Richard said with a smile.

  Jera looked over at Richard out the corner of her eye. He was rugged and handsome with a little stubble on his chin. He was four or five years older than her, she guessed. His curtains were long gone.

  “Though the business side of the family is not our only concern,” he said.

  “Would you care for more coffee, sir?” the maid said to Richard.

  The maid was a little thing, with her hair pulled back tight from her scalp. But her arm was steady with the weight of the pot she carried in one hand. Instead, it was the handle that was weak, and snapped off. The pot hit the table, splashing hot coffee over Richard’s lap. He shot up onto his feet, brushing at the scalding liquid with his napkin.

  “Sir!” the maid said. “I’m so sorry!”

  Richard’s expression turned dark. He glared at the maid, who took a step back. Richard looked at the people around him, and the scowl dissolved.

  “It’s quite all right,” he said to the maid. “Accidents happen.”

  He turned to the other guests.

  “Please excuse me,” he said. “I must go change. I appear to have had an accident.”

  “You’ll find it’ll happen more often the older you get,” Lord Wythnos said with a small smile.

  He turned to a footman.

  “Take Mr Ascar to his quarters, please,” he said.

  Richard followed the footman out of the dining room.

  “I must apologize,” Lord Wythnos said to Gregory. “This place has a great deal of history, but unfortunately those things do tend to fall apart.”

  Gregory waved his hand.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “Richard has suffered a great deal worse.”

  “Now that excitement’s over with, where were we? Oh yes… How is the police force treating you?”

  “Very well. We have reduced crime throughout the kingdom, though a new plague is gripping us as we speak. It is a curse upon humanity, and the worst thing of all: we are virtually powerless to stop it. It is an addiction amongst the people and despite our best efforts the profiteers of this vile concoction continue to elude us.”

  “My goodness,” Lady Wythnos said. “Is it such a scourge that even the police force cannot combat it?”

  “Unfortunately so, my lady,” Gregory said. “They call it ‘Gap’ for reasons I cannot fathom, other than perhaps as a gap in the user’s judgement when trying it for the first time. We’ve invested a great deal of the family’s money into making people aware of its dangers, but alas our efforts are fruitless. It spread first through the lower classes, but is now finding a foothold in the middle and upper classes too.”

  “My goodness. Even the gentry have found its allure appealing?”

  “The concoction in question does not distinguish between class, my lady. If you are a living, breathing host, by consuming it you have allowed yourself to be consumed by it. I implore you all, should you ever be offered such a concoction, you are to refuse it at all costs. It has torn families apart and removed all wealth and honour a gentleman might have once had.”

  Gregory looked at the women around the table, their expressions shocked. He shook his head.

  “I apologize,” he said. “This is not the sort of topic to have in polite company.”

  “Not at all,” Lord Wythnos said. “It reminds us all of how fortunate we are.”

  The doors opened and Richard entered wearing a fresh pair of breeches. He carried a chest in his hands.

  “Ah!” Gregory said, pushing his seat back and getting to his feet. “I almost forgot. We brought gifts.”

  “You shouldn’t have,” Lady Wythnos said.

  “You do not visit the well of beauty without offering a gift or two,” Richard said.

  He deposited the chest on the floor. It was decorated in a mosaic-like pattern with gold and onyx tiles, painting a beautiful vista of mountains and lakes.

  Gregory tossed his blonde hair over his shoulder before bending down to open the chest. He extracted a silk gown coloured in tiny gemstones in the pattern of budding flowers.

  “For Lady Wythnos,” he said, “a silk gown laced with the finest jewels from the Dorwin mines.”

  “Good gracious,” Lady Wythnos said, pressing a hand to her chest. “Really, this is too much.”

  “My only regret is its beauty can never live up to my Lady’s loveliness,” Gregory said.

  Lady Wythnos fanned herself with even greater fervour. Gregory reached into the chest again.

  “For our good Lord Wythnos,” he said, “a case of the finest cigars in the kingdom, made with the last Ringle tree of the cycle.”

  “Thank you,” Lord Wythnos said, taking the box. “My current batch was just about depleted.”

  “And for the two most beautiful ladies in the entire kingdom,” Gregory said, reaching into the chest and removing the last two items. “Hats designed by the most famous designer in the Capital. He’s a friend of the family and made these just for you. You shall be the envy of every lady in the kingdom.”

  “Oh!” Kali said. “Those are the most adorable things I have ever set eyes upon!”

  She took a hat and pressed it onto her head, where it enclosed tight on the top and sides. A ribbon hung loose on either cheek.

  “They’re all the rage in the city,” Richard said.

  “Would you tie it for me, dear Gregory?” Kali said.

  “Certainly.”

  Gregory stepped up close to tie the knot beneath her chin. As he did so, his eyes never left Kali’s.

  “Would you care for me to do likewise?” Richard asked Jera.

  “I… suppose that would be okay,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” Richard said with a flash of his brilliant white teeth.

  Unable to look Richard square in the eye, Jera studied her fingers. Richard tilted her head up so he could tie a bow beneath her chin. Her face was no more than a few inches from his. His skin was dark. He was a man used to being outside, his skin kissed by sunlight.

  As his fingers worked at the ribbon, Richard’s fingers grazed Jera’s chin, clearly by design. She did not shy away from it. His eyes locked on hers, and he ran a delicate finger along her jawline.

  Lord Wythnos cleared his throat, and they both started. Jera lowered her eyes and took a half-step away from Richard.

  “Would you fellows care to join me in the library for a smoke and a brandy?” Lord Wythnos said.

  “With honour, sir,” Gregory said.

  “Perhaps afterwards we could go into town,” Kali said. “It’s market day today.”

  “Certainly,” Gregory said.

  “The gentlemen must be tired what with their long journey today,” Lady Wythnos said.

  “Not at all,” Gregory said. “In fact, I’d rather like a stroll.”

  “Would you like to go, Jera?” Richard asked.

  Jera peered around at those present. They were all watching her. Kali nodded surreptitiously while her mother widened her eyes with affirmation.

  “No,” Jera said. “Sorry. I think I’ll go to my room and read instead.”

  “Oh come on, Jera,” Kali said. “It’ll be fun.”

  “I
’d like to rest.”

  “Going to the market might do you some good,” Lady Wythnos said, her voice barely concealing the heat in her words. “These gentlemen have come all this way to see you.”

  “Rest will do me better,” Jera said, turning to leave. “Thank you. I hope you have a wonderful time.”

  Richard watched as Jera left through the door. His head was cocked to the side in thoughtful repose.

  Chapter Five

  The shop was built into the ground floor of the clocktower. ‘Clock Maker’ was inscribed on a small sign perched outside the front door in peeling paint. The ‘k’ had been drawn to represent a keyhole shape. In the window was a battered piece of board with ‘Assistant Wanted’ written on it. When Elian pushed the door open, a small bell rang.

  “Hello?” Elian said to the darkness. “Is anyone here?”

  Large dark worktables with burn and dent marks in their surfaces lined the room. Each table had instruments in small boxes in the centre. Light spilled in through the small cubby-hole windows crisscrossed with black metal frames. In their recesses were tiny figurines of men and women in various poses that caught the light produced rainbows that played at the figurines’ feet. Elian sorted through them and pocketed those made of gold and silver.

  Covering every available space on the walls were more clocks than Elian had ever seen. There were square clocks, round clocks and grandfather clocks. There were clocks with pendulums, clocks with wind-up mechanisms and even quartz movement clocks. They all ticked and tocked at the same precise moment, not one out of step. Elian fingered the doors of a cuckoo clock. He could see the bird perched inside, waiting to be released.

  Along the left hand wall were a series of stands to store things in. In one there were various pieces of bent metal. In another, tools and cranks and pistons sat up, poking out of the long row of buckets that hung there. At the back of the shop ran a counter, similar in make and design to the worktables, but gave off the tang of fresh oil.

  On it sat a single small bell. Elian pressed it. The sound rang out and pierced the silence. Once the sound reverberated to silence, Elian pressed the bell again.

  Someone took heavy steps down a stairwell that ran from the left of the entrance. One step was heavy and thunking, the other hollow and higher pitched. His long, thin hands were gnarled like someone had tied knots in them. They gripped the bannister, steadying his descent.

  The man was gnarled and old and bent. His brow was warped with a thousand whorls of wrinkles and his ears were huge like God had mistakenly set a pair of bat ears on him. They curled up at the top so they rested on the side of his head. He wore a black patch over one eye. His foot ended in a thick stump of wood, oiled like the benches in the workshop. His beard appeared to have received the same treatment as although it was naturally grey and white, it had turned brown around his lips like a tobacco chewer’s whiskers. He snarled, and the few teeth he had remaining protruded like they wished they had abandoned ship with their comrades years ago.

  “Well,” he said with a sneer on his twisted face, “what do you want?”

  “I saw your advertisement outside,” Elian said.

  “Advertisement? What advertisement?”

  The old man hobbled over to the front door. His peg leg made solid hollow thunking noises on the boards and a lasting ching sound when it made contact with a nail. His footsteps were sporadic and out of rhythm, falling onto his left stump like it had barely caught his weight, stopping him from falling over at the last moment.

  He pulled the door open and blinked against the light, reached over for the advert and carried it inside. It was half-splattered with mud and grime. It said, ‘HELP NEEDED’.

  “You mean this?” the old man said.

  “Yes,” Elian said. “I don’t have a lot of experience with fixing watches, but I’m a hard worker and I learn fast.”

  “Where’s the other lad?”

  “Which lad?”

  “The one who was working here?”

  “I suppose he must have left.”

  “And he didn’t even have the decency to tell me hisself?”

  The old man spat on the floor.

  “Young people these days have no respect for their elders,” Elian said, shaking his head.

  “I’ll have no sucking up, son. If you carry on this way, I’ll kick you out right now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The old man tossed the advertisement onto a worktable and opened his gnarled hands.

  “Give me your hands,” he said.

  Elian did, and he bent over them, inspecting them close. Elian could feel the old man’s nose hairs on his skin. The old man straightened and dropped Elian’s hands.

  “These aren’t the hands of a clock maker,” he said. “Might be the dextrous hands of something, but not a clock maker.”

  “Sir, I don’t need permanent employment,” Elian said. “Just a few days is enough. I’ll work for food and a place to sleep.”

  The old man turned away.

  “Close the door on your way out,” he said.

  “Sir, I’m a fast learner-”

  “Learning’s no good with clock making. You gotta feel.”

  “Then I’ll learn to feel.”

  “There is no learning to feel, only feeling. Sorry son, but you haven’t got it.”

  The old man turned and hobbled back toward the stairs. Elian looked at his hands and let them fall to his side. He walked toward the door.

  Cheep.

  Cheep cheep cheep.

  The old man froze, one hand on the railing. He turned and looked back at the clocks hanging on the wall. Elian stood and watched the old man, who was drawn to one particular cuckoo clock like he was under some kind of spell.

  The doors of the cuckoo clock opened very, very slowly. A small orange beak popped out from the darkness, and the old man started back. A smile creased his features. The chick hopped out from the clock onto the ledge, its yellow feathers gleaming in the sunlight. The old man brushed the side of the chick’s cheek. It turned its head and peered over at Elian. The old man followed the chick’s sightline.

  “Are you sure?” he said to the chick.

  Cheep.

  “He’s a moron with no experience.”

  Cheep.

  “But perhaps that’s what we need. A blank slate. But never that blank, surely?”

  “I’m still here,” Elian said.

  The little chick stepped up to the ledge, curled its toes around the edge, judged the distance to the floor, beat its wings and flew toward Elian. Hesitant at first, it soon learned to hover in front of Elian’s face. Its beady black eyes stared at him, and Elian stared back. If Elian didn’t know any better he would have said the bird was appraising him.

  The chick turned and flew back toward the cuckoo clock. It was weak and couldn’t make it. The old man bent down with surprising speed and caught the chick in his cupped hands. He placed the chick back on the clock’s ledge. It panted for a moment before getting to its feet and hopped back inside the cuckoo clock, the doors closing behind it.

  “Well,” Elian said, “that was entertaining, wasn’t it?”

  He gestured to the clock.

  “It’s a cuckoo clock, right?” he said.

  “Yes,” the old man said, leaning against a worktable. “But that chick is no cuckoo. It is altogether more rare than that.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “A phoyl. According to legend, its parents were a phoenix and a hoyl, endowing it with the ability to be reborn anew, forever and eternally, but only at times of great turmoil.”

  “You don’t say,” Elian said.

  It meant nothing to him, and he barely attempted to conceal it. The old man shook his head.

  “What it is is not important, but its purpose,” he said. “It comes out of its nest but only once every one hundred and twenty years. Sometimes less often than that.”

  “Huh. Well, ain’t that something.”

  “It is s
aid that when the chick awakens, it is in the presence of the new clock maker. He who restores and maintains the great clock of the tower.”

  “So, you’re saying I got the job?”

  “Yes,” the old man said. “Against my own personal judgement, and for reasons I cannot for the life of me fathom, you have been chosen.”

  “Chosen? By the bird?”

  “By the mystical bird.”

  “Great. When do I begin?”

  “You have already begun.”

  “Excellent.”

  The old man got up and ambled over to the staircase. He stopped and turned.

  “What’s your name, stranger?” he said.

  “Elian. Elian Stump.”

  The old man’s crooked teeth made an appearance, and the wrinkles swallowed his face.

  “You know what you name means in the Old Tongue, don’t you?” he said.

  “My parents told me it means ‘time’.”

  The old man shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “It means ‘a moment in time’. Rather appropriate, don’t you think?”

  Elian frowned, not understanding the old man’s reference. The old man began his slow climb back up the stairs.

  “Oh, and put the figurines back, will you?” he said. “The place looks dreadfully dull without them.”

  The old man’s laboured footsteps disappeared upstairs. Elian took the gold and silver figurines out of his pocket, and then put them back in again.

  “I’ll just… work down here then, shall I?” he said. And then, under his breath: “Old kook.”

  Chapter Six

  Jera stood looking up at her map on the wall, following the black line she would travel. She felt a tingle of excitement, but then the smile faded from her face, and she sat down on her bed and looked at her hands.

  She made tight fists, her knuckles turning white. She untied the hat she’d received as a gift and tossed it on her bed. She pulled a large trunk suitcase out from under her bed and tossed it onto her mattress. She threw the top open.

  She started walking toward her wardrobe. She took a step and suddenly she was already across the room. Her hand was on the handle. She frowned at it. And then she jolted back and she was in the middle of the bedroom floor again.