Cinders of Magic

Chapter 6-1

Chapter 6

Black banners hung from the roof of the green brick building of the Moritt estate, blowing listlessly in the breeze where not securely fastened to window frames or vining ladders. Gardeners worked on finishing their painting of the ground’s flowers to black and white and to cut away those that would not take the dye. Alara knew there was some symbolism in this, but she could not gather the energy to recall it.

The guards that halted the carriage at the entrance to the estate were adorned with the Moritt colors, leaf-green and obsidian. Their uniforms bore an unweathered spot in the shape of a rose where the emblem had recently been removed, a prudent precaution given the day. They glanced at the carriage and into the windows for only a few seconds before hurrying away red-faced. The carriage rolled without further inspection onto the grounds. The estate house loomed ahead like a monster as dangerous as its inhabitants, ready to devour the passengers and spit them out broken and mad.

A hand gently squeezed Alara’s knee. “Now is the time to collect your composure. The battle has yet to begin.” Back straight, brow furrowed, and hands endlessly seeking to manipulate something: Damian Di’Vinincia wore his ninety years with grace and insatiable impatience. It helped that he did not look a day over forty.

“Must you say it that way?” Alara turned away from him to continue her window gazing.

“Speak plainly and honestly until it is time to lie. If you see a battlefield, call it such,” he quoted himself.

“It is a funeral, not a war.”

“Battles are fought in both war and politics.”

“Of course.” Alara huffed.

“Don’t take a tone with me, girl,” he warned. “Grief is no excuse for failure when matters are this precious.”

“I won’t fail.”

“You know what you are here to do then? You have a plan already and are willing to execute?”

“Yes.” Alara turned back to him and held his gaze. Damian stared back into her with burning, red eyes flecked with gold. The carriage started to slow as it turned into the drive in front of the estate.

“I see you do,” Damian said, turning away first. “Visit with your father immediately and see if we cannot have this resolved speedily. That would be the best outcome.”

Alara grimaced at her traveling clothes, which were dirty from a half-month of travel. Her last bath had been seven days before, and her hair stood unkempt and dry. She was certain there was a smell as well, but her nose had forgotten it on the long journey.

“The internment will be tomorrow. That would be a more appropriate time,” she said.

“No. Trust me in this, granddaughter. Immediately.”

Alara grimaced. “Do you think I can be so convincing while dressed as a horse seller?”

“I know you to be very convincing. When you choose to be.”

The coachmen approached outside and slid the door soundlessly open on its steel railing. He set his arm to allow Alara to lightly press on it as she exited the carriage and waited for Damian to exit before he dug into the insides to start removing luggage.

“How well do you know him really?” Alara asked. The coachman moved between the two like a spirit, absent from their reality but visible if he needed to be.

“I know his type.”

“Well, I know the man. Speed will not be our friend here, but patience will. Give me a few days.” Alara laid her hand on her grandfather’s, where he held his cane.

Damian noted the gesture with his eyes. He turned away and ran his gaze over the estate house--the house that had once been his--and nodded. “You have them. Now go.”

Alara demurely bowed her head and climbed the stairs. A lady’s maid waited for her at the entrance. Alara didn’t recognize the girl, not too surprising given that it had been nearly three years since last she had been home. The servant was young enough to be wearing a veil, a black lace piece that was thin enough to see through, and staring to her feet as Alara took the five stone steps to where she waited on the landing.

“Is my father in his office?” Alara said, cutting off the girl’s greeting.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re dismissed then.” Alara continued past without breaking stride, leaving the girl bowing low in the entryway behind her. The quiet of the house came back to her as she entered, a smothering silence that was only broken by the muffled slapping of her traveling boots against the rug and the occasional whisper that could be heard from behind closed doors. The familiar silence made her pause.

How could I have forgotten this place, she thought.

How could I have forgotten this placeHer feet carried her towards her father’s office without further thought. The smell of burning incense mixed with recreational roots permeated the air and grew nearly overpowering as she pressed on. She stopped in the hall just off her father’s office, transfixed by what she saw. A mosaic, beautiful in its intricacy and detail, had replaced one of the bare windows she remembered being there before. The thousands of painted glass tiles worked together to build a portrait of her family, six happy figures arrayed together as if they could not imagine hardship coming. Alara admired the skill of the artist in the brief second she took in the work. The crafter had somehow managed to capture her and her brother Agillan’s uncanny twin likeness while still making them each resemble their mother or father, respectively.

She only considered the mosaic an instant, her attention being pulled to a geode displayed on a pedestal beneath the window. The stone was heavier than Alara remembered it, but as soon as it was in her hand, she was certain it was the same rock Hessaux had pulled out of a cave he and Agillan had swum during the family’s vacation south to the coast more than ten years before. There had only been five of them then, and they might have still resembled an actual family as the artist had portrayed in his window work. The jagged rock pricked at the skin of Alara’s hand, and she realized she was squeezing the stone hard enough to white her knuckles. Alara came back to the moment, took a calming breath, and managed to loosen her grip before setting the geode back in its place.

There will be time enough for that later, she thought, irritated with herself. Focus now.

There will be time enough for that laterFocus now.The door to the office opened, and a fat man with wispy white hair withdrew into the hallway. He closed the door as quietly as he could manage behind him, nearly dropped his papers as he found Alara standing behind him when he turned. The man-made polite condolence to Alara and rushed down the hallway shortly after. She ignored him for the most part, courteously accepting his expression of sympathy with a smile, but a few seconds, later she could not recall the words.

The man gone, Alara was left alone in the hallway with the challenge of the oaken door before her. She took a deep breath, tried to stuff the hard lump in her stomach out of her mind, and dared to turn the handle on the door. It opened silently, revealing a lavish study with a simple desk placed in its center.

Gillan Moritt sat at the desk inspecting a plurality of papers and texts. He was a slight man; tall, but thin of frame. His brown hair hung past his spectacled face, hands worked feverishly as he read, each writing its own set of notes on two different pieces of paper, and he slouched heavily over the table before him. He was a man of no formal schooling but a genius in his own regard. One would require genius to come from the third citizenry and become a Count. It was fortunate his genius lay in the art of finance.

“Gena will you bring me another drink,” he said without bothering to look to the door. “Mr. Alsin’s proposal left me spitting out my last one.”

Count Moritt kept a cabinet full of expensive liquors that he used to help him deal with business interests and guests familiar with a high level of indulgence. Alara found hidden away in the bottom cupboard of the cabinet the whiskey that he appreciated after dealing with a particularly difficult arrangement. The bottle was half empty, and one that had been fully drained rested next to it.

“No, not…” Gillan stopped as Alara plucked two crystal glasses and returned to her father’s desk with a bottle in hand.

“So that was Elrick Alsin. Has he finally decided to hear your offer for the eastern expansion?” Alara poured a glass of whiskey for her father, two fingers, just the way he liked it. She doubled that with her glass. She knew that she would need the courage.

Gillan took the glass absently and set it aside. He looked his daughter over, eyes meticulously scanning every detail and noting the glaring changes. There were subtle changes as well, but he didn’t bother to look so deeply.

“Yes,” he said. He turned back to his papers and started to gather them into an organized stack. “Well, no actually. He comes with a counter-proposal that is as good as an abject denial. He’s more than doubled the initial figure I quoted him for the shipping rights and has added a yearly retainer for the use of the third citizens whose contracts he holds.”

Alara took the seat opposite her father and set her drink aside. She pulled the top paper from his stack and scanned it as he watched. The writ of countenance was a particularly expensive piece of material to acquire, especially given that it was overturning the injunction directly beneath it, an injunction signed by Adjudicator Damian Di’Vinincia’s hand.

“You’ve sold the Barrow Mine,” Alara said.

“It has become more expensive to maintain than the silver it produces can afford.”

“That mine has been held in noble hands for a hundred years.”

“No doubt why Damian tried to injunct the transaction. He’d like to have it back when he removes me from the land.” Gillan leaned over the desk and plucked the paper from Alara’s hands to return to the stack.

“You’ve misspelled Bunderstan.”

Gillan stopped and scanned the writ. “So I have. A good catch, Alara. I’m sure he’d use this against me if given a chance.”

“I’m sure you would figure a way to outmaneuver him.”

“I…” Gillan pulled his attention from his papers with a sigh. “I’m sorry Alara, I shouldn’t be worrying about this right now.”

“You would be thinking about it no matter the circumstances.”

“You’re probably right.” Alara sensed shame in his words. “Not even a few minutes home, and you have to listen to your father complain about business.”

“I’ve never minded.”

“But I should know better.” He smiled, but the warmth was small and did not reach his eyes. “How was your trip?”

“Three days ride west to the coast. That was the fastest of it really, Haivian horses are giant beasts of animals that can move as fast as a ship on water across the flatland, eleven days from there down the eastern coast and up the Westerly River. We disembarked in Qiln and spent a night there. That was the first good opportunity for a wash without having a crew of seamen ogling. From there, it was seven days by carriage here, and we only arrived a few minutes ago, as you guessed.”