David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

“Bring the candle closer so I can see,” Gran said. Delysia promptly obeyed. They had two candles lit, one for each of them when they had sneaked out of their bedroom to see what was going on. Delysia put one on the counter next to the pantry and left the other one on the table beside the dagger.

“Need a lock,” Gran said as she examined the pantry door. “Give me that chair. No, darling, the other one, the one that didn’t cost your father ten farms worth of dairy milk.”

The pantry had a slot for a lock in case the servants’ fingers got too sticky when cooking and cleaning. It was up high, far beyond reach of Gran’s stooped shoulders.

“Hold it steady for me,” said Gran after returning to the table and grabbing the dagger.

“Yes, Gran,” said Delysia.

Gran climbed up, putting both feet on the cushion. Her heart lurched into her throat as the chair wobbled.

“You want me to split my head open like a watermelon?” Gran snapped. “Hold that blasted thing still!”

Delysia clutched the chair tighter, doing her best to keep it from rocking. She wondered what might happen if the boy inside woke up and tried to open the door. Gran would go sprawling, perhaps even taking her down with her. She prayed the boy stayed unconscious.

“Hope this’ll fit,” Gran said as she pushed the dagger into the hole intended for a lock’s latch. It slid in about a third of the way before catching. Gran grunted and pushed harder, but the dagger wasn’t budging.

“We’ll have to hope it holds,” Gran said. “I’m coming back down now.”

She stepped off, looking very relieved when her feet touched solid floor. Her wrinkled hands clutched the back of the chair as she regained her breath.

“Was a time I could go leaping tree to tree without a care,” Gran grumbled. “What I’d give to be that crazy gal again.”

“Do you want me to fetch the guards?” Delysia asked.

“You?” asked Gran. She looked at the young girl as if she’d asked to drink hard liquor and then run naked through Merchant Row. “Don’t be daft, girl. Two men, well one and a boy, snuck in with aims to rob and kill you. I’m not letting you run about on your own.”

“We have to get someone,” Delysia insisted. “What if more come? I want the guards, Gran. Can’t you go get the guards?”

Gran’s whole face turned sour. Of course she wanted the guards. Something needed to be done about the dead body and the locked up boy. But by Ashhur’s beard, she wasn’t letting Delysia out at night. Gods damn it all, why didn’t she have one of their servants stay overnight? She’d thought to make sure Delysia had her chance for some quiet with family to grieve properly. Now she’d put them in one horribly precarious situation.

“Alright,” Gran said. “I don’t like this one bit, but here’s what we’ll do. I’ll hurry out and find a guard. You stay right where you are. If that boy starts kicking and shoving at the door, you watch the latch at the top. That dagger starts moving, or the wood starts to breaking, you run your skinny ass out to the streets and the nearest guard station. Am I understood?”

Delysia tucked her hands behind her back and lowered her head. That always seemed to please Gran best when she was lecturing.

“Yes, Gran,” the girl said.

Gran was still frowning when she hurried back to her bedroom. She was only in her shift, and dead body or no dead body, she wasn’t going out indecent. Once she had on a dull beige dress and a red scarf, she returned to the kitchen and kissed her granddaughter on the forehead.

“Be safe, and may Ashhur watch over you,” she said.

“I’ll be careful,” Delysia said. Gran’s eyes darted over to the pantry as if a monster lurked within.

“You better. Remember, second it looks weak, you run like the wind.”

When she was gone, Delysia sat down on the expensive chair. She picked at the fine cloth on the cushion, not seeing how it was really any different from the other chair. She’d left it in front of the pantry door, thinking maybe if it burst open the chair would cause the boy to stumble. With his mask on, she hadn’t a chance to see much of his face, only his blonde hair peeking out from the top.

The candles slowly flickered and burned. The longer Gran was gone, the longer the seconds seemed to crawl. Delysia hadn’t realized just how quiet the mansion had gotten. For as long as she could remember, cats had lived underneath the floor of their home, sneaking in and out of holes they could never find. She heard them crawling underneath, thumping against boards and beams. Every time she heard one, her skin crawled. They’d never bothered her before, but now she imagined men with daggers instead of cats with kittens.

In that quiet, she heard a muffled noise within the pantry.

Delysia tensed. Even her breathing halted. She listened for something, anything. Another noise, this time like a foot dragging along the floor. The boy was getting up. She thought about shoving the back of the chair against the pantry door, but knew it would do no good. There was nothing for it to hook under. She’d have to trust the dagger.

Suddenly, the door rocked outward. She heard objects rattling within, and the wood creaked as the dagger caught inside the latch. Despite herself, Delysia let out a shrill scream.

That seemed to puzzle the boy inside. She heard him speak, his voice muffled but still understandable.

“You’re alive?”

Delysia wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Of course I am,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She heard a loud thump within. It sounded like he had sat down with his back against the door.

“Then I didn’t fail,” she heard him say, though whether to her or himself, she didn’t know.

“My Gran is getting the guard,” she said, thinking if she could keep him talking he wouldn’t start beating on the door. Of course, with that being her plan, she realized how dumb it was to admit guards were coming. She smacked her forehead and hoped she hadn’t screwed up too badly.

“Guards?” the boy said. “Good, you’ll be safe.”

Delysia stared at the door, certain she had misheard.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I said good, you’ll be safe.”

She blinked. Why did the boy who had broken into her home care if she was safe, unless…

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Protecting you,” said the boy.

“From who?”

“The men who killed your father.”

That sent an icy chill down her spine. She’d tried to forget the body in the hallway, tried to forget the horrible moment when her father had collapsed amid his followers. Why did people want her dead? Why did they want her father dead?

“We never hurt anyone,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “Why did they do this, my father was good! He was good, real good, more than I’ll ever be…why did…why…”

Delysia cried. The boy inside remained silent the whole while. For some reason, she found that rather kind of him.

“My name is Haern,” said the pantry once her crying died down to just sniffles.

“Hello, Haern,” she replied. “I’m Delysia Eschaton.”

“Delysia…”

To her, it sounded like he was feeling over the word with his tongue, applying it to some unknown memory or picture. Perhaps he was trying to imagine what she looked like…?

“You stay put, alright?” she said. “I’ll tell the guards you behaved when they come.”

“It won’t matter, Delysia,” said Haern.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because they’ll kill me.”

Delysia shivered, wishing she had worn something warmer. The blankets of her bed were not far away, but she didn’t want to leave sight of the pantry for a second. So far Haern hadn’t tried to get out, but he might be biding his time.