Novels

When he was sufficiently armed with the scripture of the ages, Edmund removed the last nails from the tapestry and pulled down the rest of the crumbling wall..

From the front, the statue looked like a beautiful marble statue that wouldn’t move, no matter how long Edmund prodded at it. Around the back, however, was a large opening at the base of the woman’s torso. A few frayed threads stuck to two threaded bolts suggested the opening had once been covered by a piece of cloth, and perhaps it still would have been, had the rat not found it before Edmund.

It was almost dinnertime when they finally stopped. Edmund had lost every game.

Before they started, Edmund was skeptical; Draughts looked perfectly balanced to him. Both sides had the same number of pieces, the same rules for movement…any game had to end in a tie, or at least be very close.

By the end of the sixth game, Edmund had learned differently. He was beginning to see the whole board at once and to plan more than a single step ahead. He was finding pleasure in small victories; he had captured three of Junapa’s pieces in the last game and even kinged one of his own.

“Wonder of wonders!” Kolb’s face was a beacon of delight as he opened the door. “How delightful! When I told Ung I would eat in my room, I hadn’t expected to be served by the future heir!” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t tell Wislydale the heir of the family is carting around cooking like a compliant courier. He’ll pitch a right fit.”

Edmund handed Kolb the tray, and then pulled out the letter. “This is also for you.”

Edmund awoke the next morning feeling different than he ever had before.

Leftover rain dripped from the roof outside. The storm had continued all night, letting up only slightly after the mansion struck six in the morning. The sudden silence had jolted Edmund from his shallow sleep.

His sleep had to have been shallow; getting to sleep had been so difficult. He had settled into bed at the stroke of one in the morning. Even so late, no matter how still he lay, his heart beat so fast and thoughts sped through his brain at such a rate that he had lain awake for hours, assaulted by a thousand ideas all demanding his attention.

Trigger Warning: poem referencing self-harm

By the time he reached his room, Edmund wasn’t angry at all. He was an orphan, would always be an orphan, and was going to leave the mansion. Everything made sense again. He grabbed up his poetry notebook from his desk, chose meter and scheme, and began to write.

It was still raining.

Edmund had resolved himself to explore as many rooms in the Mansion as possible, and wasting even an hour for meals in familiar rooms felt inefficient; so when he acquired his lunch from Mrs. Kippling, he asked for a different dining room.

She directed him to a medium sized dining room, designed to seat six diners at most. There, Edmund ate his thick chunky soup that was almost a stew and smelled of oats.

At first, Edmund was delighted to receive his first expectation as a Moulde. As he was still unfamiliar with the Moulde family, he assumed — quite incorrectly — that attending a family meeting would be an easy expectation to meet.

By the time he had made his way up the hill again, he realized it was an opportunity as well: In An Ornithological Watcher’s Primer, Lady Strumbrugge had been very explicit that the only reliable way to learn about birds was to watch them.

Black rain was still falling on Moulde Hall as Edmund walked briskly through the winding halls towards his room.

Once Tricknee had showed up, the evening had fallen remarkably quiet save for the loud slurping of soup. When the mansion finally tolled seven, everyone made weak excuses and left to return to their rooms or walk about the grounds, until it was just Tricknee and Edmund who sat at the table. Edmund didn’t remain long.

As Edmund entered Moulde Hall, Ung stepped forward to address Mrs. Kippling. “Matron’s guests have all decided to have their meals in their rooms.”

Mrs. Kippling’s face turned bright red as her hands began to wring themselves back and forth. “And I suppose they all think I can just fix it all up, no trouble? My gracious, I couldn’t take a tray to each of them — I have to start dinner soon!”

Edmund opened his eyes to the massive form of Ung staring down at him.

After a sleep brought on by trauma, it is traditional for the sleeper to take a moment to remember where they are and what has happened. Dr. Vendebirk II theorizes in his On Morpheus that this is the brain’s attempt to expunge unpleasant memories of the previous day and being entirely too enthusiastic about it.

Edmund did not have this luxury. Every hour the deafening chime of the clock bell had snapped him awake, both reminding him of his present condition and keeping him from such deep respite.