Rewriting Memory

Chapter 6

When Ismene had left the room, Lysandra walked to the windowsill and opened the window. Sure enough, the sill was empty. Zephyr had no free time, and Lysandra was stranded here - not even alone, but with the Collingwoods. She pulled the frosted glass panes back together and stepped away from them.

Next to her window lay a small vanity. On it, Lysandra kept a brass pocketwatch - her father's. It no longer worked, and the metal was rubbed smooth in some places and crusted with dirt in others. She had meant to clean it and wind it up again, but she had not yet done it. She wished it would tell her the time.

She opened the window a c***k and consulted the clock at the end of the road. Nine o'clock. Lysandra sighed. Lunchtime wouldn't come for a few more hours, and yet Ismene wanted her to wait downstairs until the Collingwoods showed up.

Lysandra made her way down the hall until she came to Nereus's quarters. She knocked, hoping he had finished his errands for Ismene.

"Who is it?" a voice called out.

"It's me," she said.

The door opened, and Nereus's eyes locked with hers. "What do you need?" he asked.

Lysandra hesitated. "I'm bored."

"Oh." A confused expression flashed across Nereus's face. "Is that it?"

"Come on," she said, smiling. "Do you want to wait for the Collingwoods?"

He stared back at her. "I won't be there when they come."

"So you just want to hide in this corner until they leave? Come on, Nereus," she said again. "Let's just - go for a walk, or something. I need something to do."

"If you insist, Mistress Ferry."

Lysandra led him down the stairs again and out through the back doors, into the garden. He stayed just a bit behind her, until she turned and said, "Nereus, what are you doing back there? I didn't call you out here as a bodyguard, you know."

He shrugged, but moved up so that they could walk side by side. Lysandra looked up at the clouds forming in the sky, just enough to cover the sun once in a while but not enough to blot out the blue of the sky entirely. She could feel the warmth of the sun grazing her shoulders occasionally, when the shadows had faded from the ground.

They passed around the side of the house and onto the front lawn. Nereus began, "You know, Lysandra," but Lysandra never heard what it was she should know, because at that moment, the gates in front of the Ferry estate opened and the Collingwood entourage poured in.

Of course, Dagon Remiel Collingwood headed the group, riding a gray horse. He stopped the horse and jumped down from it almost heroically, waving a hand to call one of his servants over. A short and balding man in a suit scuffled over to him and took the horse's reins, leading it away from the rest of the carriages.

Dagon Remiel Collingwood - known to Lysandra as "Dragon," to Ismene as "Remiel," and to Simon as "the young Master" - was four years older than Lysandra, at twenty-two. He was, according to the rest of the Collingwoods and their servants, a prodigy in technology. He had engineered his own clocks while working in the business of his father, Alexander Collingwood. The man had passed away just last year, and Remiel had become the next owner of his business. They sold - could you guess? - clocks, putting them in people's pockets and around their wrists and on street corners.

Simon had written her a letter about Remiel, detailing his plans for the two of them. She had read it once after his arrest, staring blankly at it, not understanding. Ismene had snatched the letter up out of her hands and paraphrased it aloud, announcing that Lysandra was to marry this Dagon Remiel Collingwood and wasn't that just wonderful! Lysandra hadn't known that she hated the man until she'd met him a few weeks after her father's arrest.

"Ah, Lysandra," he'd said. "Good to see you again."

"Who are you?" Lysandra had asked bluntly.

"Who am I?" Remiel had answered in disbelief. "I'm only the heir to Alexander Collingwood's clock industry. As if you needed reminding."

Vasu had interrupted to whisper something to him. Remiel's eyes had widened at whatever it was he'd said, and he'd clapped his hand over his mouth.

"Forgive me!" he'd said. "I did not realize you were having such terrible problems with your memory. Come, I will refresh it."

That day he had taken her on a walk outside in the garden, and true, he had refreshed Lysandra's memory - on how much she really did despise him.

"Is Dagon your first name?" she'd finally asked, interrupting another one of his long stories about Alexander Collingwood and his damn clocks. "It sounds like Dragon. Is that why you go by Remiel?" she asked, feigning innocence.

His lips twitched. "Dagon is my first name. It belongs to my great-great-grandfather as well."

"But why do you go by Remiel, then?" Lysandra said. "Dagon doesn't cut it?"

"Well, like you said," he said stiffly, "it sounds like Dragon."

"But it is your first name," Lysandra teased, "Dragon."

She'd taken to calling him by that name ever since, despite the fact that - perhaps especially because - it annoyed him. After all, he annoyed her out of her mind every time the two of them stepped into the same room.