Maxwell

Far Off Unhappy Things – Solitary Reaper

Chapter seven: Maxwell

By Renko Chazakiël Rodenburg

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

– William Blake

The room was empty. Vacant. Not in a literal way. There were a lot of things in the room. It was overwhelmingly uninhabited, almost oppressively so. Not a ‘something’ but a ‘someone’ that should’ve been here, in an absolute sense, was not so.

Fleur’s room was strange. Three floors high, with ladders connecting various platforms making up the actual ‘floors’. The stone pillar holding up the entire thing had been carved to resemble a tree, with a hammock hanging at the top, suspended meters above the ground. A workdesk with piles and piles of book, vellum and ink still stacked up as if it was in use stood on the ground floor, and the floor above had bookcases, a potted plant, a chair and a small table. The last floor, near the hammock, only had a single wooden chair. It faced the glass facade of the room, the massive window that made up most of the streetward wall. There were no amenities for preparing or eating food, but this little tower was part of the Spire, and Fleur had most likely eaten in the common room together with her students.

Maxwell picked up a few of her books. Most were philosophy textbooks, a few were strange and ragged tomes on glasswork, on mirrors, on reflections in general. F. Scarborough, the spines read. They were Fleur’s own works. One stood out- A. Scarborough. Title ‘Alchemy Most Dark.’ Bound in leather that was, remarkably, not human. Most books in the Lands Lost were bound in human leather. Trolls were too rare and their skin nigh-unworkable, and angels had skin so frail it was completely useless as a material. Which left only human skin as a viable source of leather. Given that they were also the main source of meat in the diet of anyone who ate meat, there was plenty of skin to go around.

Once this world hit their industrial revolution, things would probably start taking on exceedingly bleak proportions, Maxwell thought to himself as someone else entered the room. The newcomer was not immediately flayed alive or trapped in the reflection of the windows, so Maxwell assumed he’d been a friend of Fleur’s.

“Who- who are you? What are you doing here?” The stranger asked.

“Hello. I’m Maxwell. I was looking for Fleur. She seems to be absent.”

“Hm,” the stranger snorted. “I’m Lord Bloodrose. And given that I don’t recognize you, I assume it’s ‘the Lady Fleur’ for you, not ‘Fleur,’ peasant.”

“Apologies,” Maxwell said, bowing before this little lordling. “Lord Bloodrose. My apologies.”

“Do you have any idea where the Lady Fleur could be? Are you one of her students?”

“I have no idea. I had hoped she’d be here.”

“Are you from out of town? She’s been missing for a year at this point.”

“I’m technically from Lusan. My father is a coin lord, but he owns vast assets in the Riverlands. Which is where I’ve been the last few years, learning the trade.”

“I see,” Bloodrose said, disdain dripping from his voice. Typical of a noble of Luson, to look down on their equals from the other side of the river.

“Were you close with her?” Maxwell asked. He felt like toying with this little arrogant lordling, and for that he’d need to collect some ammunition first.

“Yes,” Bloodrose said. “I am close with her.”

“A friend of the Lady Fleur is a friend of mine,” Maxwell said, smiling warmly. “If you ever have need of me, make sure to call on me.” With some luck the noble boy- he really couldn’t be much older than sixteen- was already mentally racing to try and figure out Maxwell had been to Fleur and why he’d never heard of him.

“What could you possibly have to offer me?”

“I am a wise-ard of some renown,” Maxwell said, purposefully using the peasant’s term for magician. No serious alchemist, wiseman, or sorcerer would name themselves that.

“Uh huh. I would like it if you left, now.”

“Oh, I apologize. The wards didn’t blow your innards through the Spire, so I assume you’re welcome. Please, let me evacuate the space for you.”

“Thank you,” Bloodrose spat at him.

Maxwell rushed out the room, pulled his cowl over his head and diminished his presence, thinned himself until he wasn’t here anymore, not really. Immediately he stepped back into the room, dodging ‘Lord Bloodrose’ as he closed the door to the room. Unnoticable, Maxwell paced around, observing this arrogant upstart.

To his surprise Bloodrose produced a bunch of books from an overcoat too small to have contained them. He was somewhat of a magician in addition to a lord, then. To his astonishment, they were titles Maxwell would have recognized blind. Mild interest made way for a deep fascination with this character as Bloodrose put ‘The Wealth of Nations,’ ‘The Brain of the Firm,’ and ‘The Enchantments of Mammon’ into Fleur’s bookcase. They’d vanished from his own bedroom about two years ago, and he’d always wondered if it had been Fleur that had stolen them. One mystery solved, two new ones discovered. Befriending Lord Bloodrose was now his main goal for the foreseeable future. He had to see where this thread led if unraveled far enough. Like a ghost he hovered over his shoulder, trying to figure out what the boy was thinking. After staring out into Lusan for a while, Bloodrose left the room. Maxwell chased after him, following him through the winding maze that was the Spire, the highest institute of learning in the Lands Lost. Allegedly the original constructors had wings, like the angels up north, so all the stairwells, railings and windows must’ve been added later. It made sense. The architecture of the place was all over the place.

It probably wasn’t angels that built the place, though. The angels of the Lands Lost were strangely feral, possessing only animal intelligence. A far cry from holy and majestic creatures, they were clawed, scrawny and strangely fragile winged humanoids. But what else? If Fleur had known, she’d never deigned to share it with Maxwell. As Bloodrose neared the Spire exit, Maxwell rushed out ahead of him, found a bench along the main road to sit on, took off his cowl and waited for his new obsession to pass him by.

“Lord Bloodrose,” he said, waving as the young man approached him. “I hope you managed to find what you were looking for. I know the Lady Fleur and I hadn’t seen each other in a while, but she important to me. I can only assume she was all that and more to you. I can of course only pray to the Prince that she’ll turn up again. I’d give anything to be able to discuss literature with her again.”

Bloodrose raised a single eyebrow at Maxwell. Bullseye. “Where did you know her from?” he asked.

“I grew up around her. She and my father were quite close. Every now and then she’d borrow me a book. I’ve never had a classical education, you see, so who I am today is primarily thanks to her,” Maxwell lied. He lied as easily as he breathed. Lying was pretty much the same as breathing, after all. Inhale, exhale.

“I find that hard to believe,” Bloodrose said. Aside from disdain, there was now also suspicion in his voice. If he believed Maxwell could get him more ‘esoteric’ literature then perhaps he’d give him at least some of the time of day.

“Hmhm,” Maxwell said. “I figure it is. But she was a strange woman. Is a strange woman, I mean. If you want to, I can give you the books she never picked up. I’m only passing through here, after all.”

“Actually,” Bloodrose said. “I think I would like to have those, yeah. Even if she doesn’t return, they are mine by right. We were slated to get married.”

Jackpot, Maxwell thought. Wow. This idiot was on edge because he was scared he had ran into a competitor. “Oh!” He cheerfully exclaimed. “That’s wonderful. The Lady Fleur always had a thing for younger boys, so I’m glad she found you instead of being roped into a political marriage by one of those older, stuffy bastards.” Parry this, you amateur.

“Excuse me?” Lord Bloodrose said, almost yelled. “I could have your spine for this kind of talk.”

“Hey, woah,” Maxwell said, defensively throwing up his hands. “It was a compliment.”

“I will not tolerate this kind of talk from a trader’s son.”

“I apologize, Lord Bloodrose. I mistook my familiarity with the Lady Fleur for familiarity with yourself. I took on a casual tone that I should not have taken on.”

“Good,” the boy answered.

“If you want to, I can take you to my father’s house. Fle- The Lady Fleur her books are there. I was going to go there to pack my stuff anyway. But if you are elsewise occupied, I can leave them in the storeroom and hand them to you in half a year’s time.”

“I would actually like to see the books,” Bloodrose said. “Lead the way.”

Maxwell jumped up, and started skipping through the streets of Lusan, making sure to move ever so slightly faster than Lord Bloodrose could keep up with. To his frustration, he kept up quite well, so he had to move faster and faster, as fast as he could without breaking into an actual sprint. By the time they’d navigated the dozen little streets and alleyways between the Spire and Fisher’s Lane, where the Allestar estate was, Maxwell was solidly out of breath. Lord Bloodrose on the other hand, was not even winded.

“You must be a magician,” Maxwell innocently remarked. “I’m sorry for trying to make sport, I couldn’t help it.”

“I am indeed a magician,” Bloodrose coldly remarked.

Maxwell shrugged and used the large copper doorknocker to tap on the door three times. A powerful brass noise rang out throughout the building. Not long after, Octavia opened the door. Octavia, the Allestar family’s maid. She carefully avoided the little bit of sunlight coming in through the door, as Lord Bloodrose took a step back in surprise. “Vampire,” he hissed.

“She’s our family maid,” Maxwell said, stepping inside and ruffling Octavia through her characteristically black hair.

“That is- that’s- how?” Bloodrose said as he carefully came closer. Finally Maxwell had him well and thoroughly unbalanced.

“They are unusually rigid people. This one has been ‘broken,’ they call it. Put into a servile role for so long her mind got stuck. There’s nothing you can do to her that’ll provoke her. She’s perfectly safe to be around. Look,” Maxwell said as he grabbed Octavia around the waist. Bloodrose looked on in abject horror as he put one hand down her skirt and the other up her shirt, and cupped her breast. Octavia did not react.

“See?”

“Please tell me you do not have sex with this creature,” Bloodrose said.

“Wow,” Maxwell replied. “What’s wrong with that? That’s what servants are for.”

“That is a corpse,” Bloodrose spat. “A corpse animated by dark magic.”

Maxwell shrugged as he let go of Octavia. “Father made me feed her for most of my life. I figure she owes me.”

“She drinks your blood?” Bloodrose asked.

“Else she’d die?” Maxwell threw back.

“Autumn,” Bloodrose cursed as she stepped inside and carefully stepped around Octavia.

“Want to wait here or follow me upstairs?” Maxwell asked.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight and I’m not staying near the corpse, either.”

“Alright.”

As they walked up the stairs of the Allestar estate, towards the attic Maxwell usually slept in, Bloodrose looked all around at the ostentatious amount of artworks, golden decorations and fancy glasswork. “Say,” he began. “What does a servant like Octavia cost?”

“Oh,” Maxwell said, shrugging. “It takes almost a hundred years to train them to be as docile as her. Usually that’s unaffordable, they’re exclusively traded around by the vampire nobles. But one of the vampire nobles in the Black Forests required a truly astonishing amount of rare materials. Well, if it’s large amounts of rare goods expeditiously delivered, then Allestar’s your man. My dad got Octavia and another, Samantha, as payment.”

“I see. Why settle for vampire maids as payment? I assume these are not assets easily liquidated.”

“My father collects rare treasures. Any payment he’d have taken he’d have spent on rarities anyway. And these are some of those rare rarities that money cannot buy.”

“Your father must be astonishingly wealthy to make margins large enough to forgo actual profit on a- what? What did you say? A shipment of rare materials to the Black Forests?”

“Huhhhh?” Maxwell said, shrugging exaggeratedly. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know what has recently happened in the Black Forests?”

“Not a clue.”

“A sorcery of unusual magnitude has cloaked the entire area in eternal darkness.”

“Oh,” Maxwell said, smiling. “That makes sense. They’re vampires, after all. Guess I know what they needed all that stuff for, now.”

“I have never in my life heard of your family,” Lord Bloodrose said. “But here you are alleging that you’re some of the richest people in the Lands?”

“Our main presence is in the Riverlands,” Maxwell explained. “Do you know of Narcissus? The goddess of beauty who rules there? We hold vast lands for her.”

“Uhuh?” Was all Bloodrose answered.

“My room, in the attic,” Maxwell said, pointing at a ladder. “It’s not fit for a Noble. Let me just grab your books, Lord.”

He climbed up and wondered what books to hand to this lordling. The man seemed to have an interest in twentieth century economics. It felt dangerous to give him any more of that, so instead Maxwell grabbed a bunch of novels and took them back down.

“Here you go, the books I borrowed from the Lady Fleur. ‘Infinite Jest,’ ‘House of Leaves,’ and ‘Don Quixote.’”

“Aha,” Lord Bloodrose said as he turned the books over and over again. His eyes grew wide, and Maxwell could swear he was salivating. The books disappeared in whatever larger-on-the-inside pockets he had kept the previous books Maxwell had seen him with as he thanked Maxwell.

“No problem, it’s my pleasure,” Maxwell said. “I also found some hashish. Do you smoke?”

“Smoke hashish?” Bloodrose asked. “Sometimes.”

“There’s a spot near the great bridge to Luson. I used to sit there all the time as a boy. If you want, we can share some hashish there.”

“I- near the bridge, you say? I guess you have been exceedingly helpful to me, though I don’t think I trust you any further than I could throw you. Yes. Let’s do that. I’ll take you up on your offer.”

Bullseye again, Maxwell thought. He’d spend long evenings with Fleur on the edge of the tall cliff that split the Twin Cities apart. Almost certainly this Lord Bloodrose shared some of these memories. “Wonderful,” he said, heading towards the bridge with the lordling.

Lord Bloodrose followed him to the bridge, where he took a path to the left and down. There were little ledges in the cliff that separated the cities, and though they were hard to find now with the cliffsides fallen into disrepair and having been subject to ages of erosion, some people had put down benches on some of them.

Maxwell watched as Bloodrose paced anxiously back and forth. He didn’t mind the young lord being off-balance, but if he wanted to get anything useful out of him he needed to calm down. Luckily- hashish. He stuffed his porcelain pipe, and handed it to Bloodrose. Before he could do anything, Maxwell said “Fire,” and the hashish ignited with a small, pale and ghostly flame.

“You throw words?” Bloodrose said, meaning the skill of speaking little things into the world through strength of voice and will alone.

“Not many,” Maxwell said. “But I told you I am a wise-ard of at least some renown.”

“A folksman?” The young lord said as he inhaled the hashish.

“I guess that’s what the Riverlanders would call me,” Maxwell affirmed. He was not a folksman- a small town magician who solved local problems- at all, but it was good for Bloodrose to believe this.

“I used to come here with the Lady Fleur, too, you know,” the boy said as he took another hit of the hashish, and turned around to stare down from the cliff. Deep, deep below the river Lus rumbled in its riverbed, having carved the mountains on which the Twin Cities rested clean in half through thousands of years of erosion.

“Oh,” Maxwell said, feigning surprise. “Yeah. She liked this place.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks,” Maxwell said as he took the pipe from Lord Bloodrose. His little magical flame burned lightly, not too hot, steadily. He inhaled some of the hashish and smiled. “I always wondered if she was sad somehow, you know? But I was a boy, there was nothing I could do for her.”

“Fool,” Lord Bloodrose muttered. “How could you know the mind of a goddess?”

Maxwell nodded along, and handed him the pipe back. “What will you do now?”

“I have an assignment, royal duties. It’s none of your concern.”

“I see, I see. I have to travel back to the Riverlands, so I’m heading to Pyrite tomorrow, on the edge of the Black Forests, to take a ship along the river Lus down to the Riverlands from there. If what you say about that darkness is true, I fear for what I will encounter there.”

“Perhaps we’ll meet on the road,” Lord Bloodrose said.

Aha, Maxwell thought. He was also heading down to Pyrite. No doubt his ‘royal duties’ had something to do with the darkness he had mentioned. Very interesting.

“Perhaps we will,” Maxwell said. “Again, Lord Bloodrose, I apologize for my early abrasiveness. You’re a noble man.”

“Augh,” Bloordose said. “It’s all an act. I’m the only one of my house left, you know? I have to put on an air of strength or these rabid dogs devour me alive.” He hardly seemed to notice how frankly he was sharing his thoughts, now.

Ghostflame hashish, Maxwell thought. Worked everytime. He struggled to suppress a laughing fit. This was going to end up a wonderful evening of mutual thought-picking.

“Ah, then you’ll find that coin lords make better friends than noble friends, Lord. Gold and silver is all that moves my kind.”

“I don’t trust you, you know? You think you’re subtle, but you’re really not, Maxwell.”

“Lord Bloodrose, I still don’t know your name.”

“Alexis,” Alexis said. “Alexis Bloodrose. God. The only people who call me that are Autumn and Fleur.”

“Autumn? The Prince?”

“I’m a noble. I serve at his court.”

“Gods,” Maxwell said. “You need something stronger than hashish. Have you ever had absinthe?”

“The witches brew?” Alexis said, frowning.

“There’s a little alehouse just outside the main gates of Luson where you can drink yourself into a stupor for less than a copper.”

“Autumn, man,” Alexis cursed. “I am a noble of the higher houses of the city. I can’t go and drown myself in a common alehouse.”

Maxwell stood up, and stepped closer to the young noble. Time to take a brave gamble. Lady Fortuna favoured the bold, after all. He reached out, and took one of Alexis hand’s in his own. “You don’t always have to be a noble,” he whispered. “There’s a lot you miss out on if you can’t be someone else every now and then.”

“Autumn,” Alexis cursed again, now softly.

Bullseye, Maxwell thought.