On Bated Breath We Wait

Chapter3

The door to my father's room laid before me, my arms full of mementos of various people he had helped; and I couldn't open that door. Something within me hesitated, I was about to step both into the shadow of my father but also into my own life. Anything and everything I would do from here on out would be because of me. As I struggled with my own feelings, as well as struggling to find the key as I held everything, I heard a familiar voice saying let me help you.

Down the hall was Meryl as she stepped out of a nearby room, and proceeded to rush in my direction and said, "Give me a second, I have a key somewhere." As she pulled out a large keyring and started to search for the right one.

As she continued her search, I blurted out, "Um, why do you have a key to my father's room?" I felt as if I just asked the dumbest question I could. However, I don't think she even noticed that I had said anything as she continued to search.

"Found it!" she shouted. Now she held a singular key on the large keyring, she stepped forward, gently stepping in front of me to get to the door. As she opened the door she explained, "I guess I get to be the first to welcome you. Welcome to the back hallways. I am the attendant to both your hallway and a few others. My job is to help you do whatever it is you are doing." Her voice changed from her normal perky, happy voice to that of a serious tone, "I will make this clear, I am to help you. I am not your maid, your servant, or any other role if I do not wish it. How I help you is my choice. My job is actually to make sure you or anyone else don't come into any harm, intentional or not. Are we clear?" She began to smile again, and she glared at me awaiting my answer.

"Yes, Meryl." I answered, wanting her glare to end. Her eyes still stared at me, I asked bravely, "Can you help me find a place for all of these things?" Still holding onto everything.

She started to laugh, "Sorry, I was wondering how long I could stare at you before you cracked." She walked over and started taking various items out of the pile I was holding. As she began to put everything away, I noticed that she seemed to know where to put everything. As the pile shrank, I got a full look at the room. It was a very large room, from wall to wall was either a bookshelf or something leaning or nailed to the stone walls. Each bookshelf from top to bottom was filled with books of all sizes and colors. Some of them looked so old I feared by looking at them, they would turn to dust. On the opposing wall to the door, the desk lit the sunlight pouring into the room from the nearby window. Meryl cleared her throat to get my attention, "Nikos, are you daydreaming again? Or am I that amazing at my job that you were left speechless?"

This wasn't the Meryl I knew, she had always been protective, calm and nice. Without a thought, I muttered, "Sorry, I was just taking it all in. This is all a bit much."

Boldly she stated, "Well, hopefully you got a good look in." She winked, and started to point to various things in the room. Pointing over to the wall to the left, she explained that it wasn't actually a wall but just a collection of bookshelves and various things.

She started to clear a section between two bookshelves. To my disbelief, there was a door there plain as day. "How did I miss that?" I asked. She opened the door to show me a small room furnished with a bed, a dresser, two cabinets and a whole kitchen. Dumbfounded, I could only point to the kitchen and ask, "How?"

"How indeed, your father did so many things to this room. Half of the things in this room shouldn't be in this room. For example, did you even notice the fireplace?" she grumbled. She continued to rant about how cold this part of the Temple got in winter and how this room was special in its own right. Most would say her rant was unhinged, others might say uncalled-for, but if I've learned anything from my years as her friend, it was that. This was her way of being happy for me. She might be angry at me, she might be jealous of the room, but she was glad someone she knew would be using it and, knowing her, I'd see a lot of her in the winter; her hatred for the cold was greatly known by all. I'm guessing she realized time had gotten away from her as the next thing I noticed was she was halfway out the door; she stopped and waved in a manner that confused me. I could only describe the gesture, not as a wave but a finger wiggle. After that, she left and from down the hall I heard, "I'll try and stop by when I'm not working! Also, fresh linens are on Livus because it's a great way to get people to remember…" her voice trailed off.

It had been a while since I had to keep track of what day of the week it was. To do so would require me to purchase a calendar from the general store. But there lies another problem. At that moment in time, I didn’t really have much money to my name. I had thought I might be able to find some hidden within my dad’s things. No such luck and going through my new place took up the rest of the day. The kitchen was bare and only the most basic of things remained; the stove, an ice chest, and some firewood. The bookshelves were filled with various books, scrolls and odd nicknack’s. The desk and chair were worn from years of use, the desk itself was bare and had a single drawer which I had yet to open. By the time I got around to opening it, the sun had almost set, and as I opened the drawer, I saw a small key shift inside.

Mysteries and questions seemed to be piling up; the more I explored my father’s life, new secrets seemed to emerge at every turn. Tucked away in a corner of the room, I was able to find a few candles and a few matches. With nothing better to do, I lit a candle and started looking through the many books for something to read. Some of the books were clearly fiction, but I guess my father wasn’t all work and no play; some of the titles included Fillory and Further, Memory of a Phoenix, and A Tear in the Fabric of Space and Time. Where did my father get these books? I didn't know, but it's best to assume he had requested the envoy to get them. I ended up reading Colds, Viruses, Parasites, and Fungus: And How to Prevent Them. The book was interesting, but it too seemed to be more fiction than not; the book frequently mentioned things I had never heard of and the only way to make heads or tales of them would be to speak with Duran’s father.

My list of things to do was quickly adding up. I still hadn’t found any money and the more time I spent in this room, the more I could tell I needed things. I determined I would have to figure out what my father did for income, but that would get easier with the sun lighting the room rather than a single candle.

As I made my way to the backroom to the bed, I tripped over a loose floorboard and ended up on the floor beside the bed. My left arm and face ached in pain from the fall. As I lay there I noticed something peculiar; there was writing carved into the wood under the bed. Pulling myself and the candle under the bed, I read, “Trust not your eyes. Believe in what does not exist, for not breeds ignorance. Lastly, what is hidden will be easily seen in the corner of your eyes.” It was just signed, "Laury." It was a bit unusual for my father to do something like leave a note like this; but speaking in this cryptic manner was very like him. Growing up, if he wanted me to think for myself or have me think something through, he would always answer in a similar fashion. As I lay there, I wondered what could have made him carve this. I contemplated it for a bit before coming out from under the bed. Only to find myself thinking about it more as I tried to fall asleep.

The next morning, I woke up sore both from the fall last night but also from sleeping in a different bed. From what I could tell, the sun was just beginning to rise as, through the window in the distance, I could see light. With what little light I had, I continued my work from last night. My father’s stuff was a mess; I guess it is my mess now. I started off by pulling every book onto the open floor and attempted to sort them into fiction or non-fiction, but that was harder than I imagined. Attempting to sort each and every book would require me to understand the content within, so I ended up sorting them out on whether their titles sounded like fiction or not. In the end, I had about thirteen or so books that were non-fiction and eighty-seven books that were fiction. Something in my mind thought of the carved words under the bed and the phrase, “Trust not your eyes.” sat with me as I looked at the piles of books. The sun must have caught something in the distance as I was now blinded by something reflecting the sun into the room; the room was now lit as if it were mid-afternoon. And I saw it. At first, I wasn’t sure what I had seen, but when I started to look more closely at the spines of the books, I confirmed what I thought was there. On several of the spines of the books was a symbol. It looked like a half circle with an upside-down v in the middle. Again, with the mysteries… I sat and stared at those books until my stomach growled.

I made my way to the mess hall as people were starting to roll in for breakfast. I was able to grab some bread, some cheese and a bit of bacon before the crowd of people started to flood the room. As I sat there and ate, various people said hi before they continued on their way. I looked down at my food to attempt to ignore them, so I didn’t get sucked into any conversations, and then I heard someone sitting down in front of me. I looked up and, to my surprise, it was Duran with a large grin.

“About time I ran into you, how is everything?” Duran asked between bites of food.

As I watched him eat at a record pace, I chuckled, “First, slow down, you are going to choke. Second, everything is a pain. Every time I learn something new about my father, it’s another mystery. Like even his books have mysteries tied to them.”

Duran’s eating slowed as I continued to talk. Slowly, one of his eyebrows raised and, with a mouthful of food, he commented, “Sounds like the puzzles our dad used to give us, remember? What was that, when we were nine? You used to love these kinds of things, you got this.”

“Well, that makes one of us.” I replied with uncertainty. I mentioned that before I could solve any mysteries left by my father, I first had to have an income and that I still didn’t know what my father did for money.

Duran burst out laughing, “I just had the same talk with my parents yesterday. Speaking of which, I need to hurry off; mom is going to help me train to become an envoy starting today. She let me eat first, but I don’t want to keep her waiting.” Duran tossed what little food he had left over onto my plate before shouting from across the mess hall, “Let’s try to meet up here every few days.”

I shouted back, “You bet.” I was glared at by a few people before I realized that the people of the Temple were the answer. They knew what my father did for income. I shouted again, “Who here had my father do something for them?” Several people shouted back. Instead of having a shouting conversation across the mess hall, I walked over to each of them and asked what my father had done for them. While each answer differed, each answer was the same; he did everything he could.

As I started to walk away from the final person that had responded to my shouting, they stopped me and asked, “Do you need work? I remember when your father was young, at breakfast time he would go around asking if anyone needed anything done. What did he call it…?” The old man paused and pulled at his beard before stating, "Ah, that’s it. He called them odd jobs. If you need some work, young man, I have some things I could use a hand with."

Shocked, I agreed to help the old man, and he said he would pay me based on how quickly I could get the work done, which seemed fair. I sat down, and he continued to eat his breakfast as we discussed what work needed to be done. It dawned on me, I had forgotten one of the most important things. I stood up and introduced myself, “I am Nikos Laury, son of Donahugh Laury. I am glad that we met today and I hope I can be of service today.”

The old man smiled and said, “Good. Good, I was starting to think that Donahugh didn’t teach his boy any manners. I’m Nathan Clearwater, but most people just call me Old man Nathan now.” He continued to eat and soon finished his meal. As I left with him I saw the other people I had talked with smile and nodded at me.