The Thief and the Skull

~Ten - Scars Tell Tales~

Amber wiped her hands down the hips of her dress, the silk doing a pathetic job of absorbing engine grime. She hunched back over Lucile and tucked the small bag of tools under her leather seat. They offered no help. And this place provided nothing.

Even after everything she had done, Lucile stubbornly refused to sputter into life. Without Lucile, Amber was trapped in a world both ancient and utterly alien. Trapped with Lord Ordin. He hadn’t killed her yet. So that was a win, right? If anything, he had saved her from falling flat on her face.

Cricket chimed in. “Did you know there are beasts that burrow beneath the earth, leaving trails of slime? And the sky arachnids, they say their bodies shimmer with all the colours of a sunset, but their venom… oh, their venom is potent enough to melt stone!” He launched into a breathless description of creatures that sounded lifted straight from the dusty pages of a fantasy novel, beasts eerily similar to those immortalised in bronze statues inside Ordin’s mansion.

Goose, ever silent, stood a few feet away, her gaze unwavering and fixed on Amber’s every move. Goose’s presence was comforting, in a strange, unspoken way. She watched with patience that bordered on unnerving, a silent observer.

Amber adjusted a carburettor, then fiddled with a wire. She felt the familiar frustration boiling inside her. This wasn’t just a machine; it was her escape, her freedom. After several attempts, she straightened, a sigh eluding her lips. Grimacing, she wiped her hands once more on the silken fabric of her dress.

“Come on, Lucile, it’s a lovely day,.” she said, patting the seat. “If you start, it would be better!”

Another twist on a cord proved futile. The engine remained silent. Defeated, Amber conceded. “Well, I don’t think I can fix her…”

Cricket rose from where he was crouched. “We can try again later?” he suggested. He hid something in his pocket, then exhaled deeply. “I’m hungry…”

“Me too,” Goose added, holding her stomach.

“Me three,” Amber sighed. With a grunt, she wheeled the bike back into the stables.

“Perhaps Lord Ordin can use his magic to make it work.” Cricket mused, trotting alongside. “He has awesome powers. Did you see it? Wow! I wish I could do that…”

Amber just shook her head, a weary smile playing on her lips. Ordin’s magic had been… unsettling. He hadn’t simply fixed something; he’d manipulated vines to stop her from falling. It kind of frightened her.

Closing the stable door, she turned toward the imposing mansion, its grey stone gleaming in the afternoon sun. “I’m starving!” She announced, winking at Goose. “Do you want to join me in the mansion for lunch? You are watching me, after all.”

Goose nodded as she fiddled with her braid, her dark eyes flicking to Amber’s face. “Mama’s there today. She can make us sandwiches.”

“Toasted sandwiches!” Cricket exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “With cheese and meat!”

As they walked through the rose garden, the total absurdity of her predicament dawned on her. What was she to do? She hardly had a moment alone to think. Either she was being chaperoned by Olive, Ordin, or the two children. There was no escaping this world without Lucile, and the Amerist crown, for that matter. The crown promised her a better life. But Ordin’s words resonated with her. The crown to him was Lucile to her. Her mind was a confuddled mess. If she escaped with the crown, how could see live with herself?

Cricket continued his animated discourse on the fantastical creatures he had mentioned earlier. So far Amber now knew the bear-deer hybrid was called an Ursa Furu or something like that. It was their best source of milk and meat, similar to cows and pigs in Amber’s world. The penguin creature with the bug wings and backwards cricket legs was a land hopper.

By the time they reached the mansion entrance, Amber’s ears were aching. Cricket’s unrelenting enthusiasm was grating. She pushed open the heavy oak front door. The cool air inside the manor was soothing against the sweat clinging to her back.

“This place is so pretty,” Goose whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. “It never ceases to amaze me.”

With a snort, Cricket added his two cents. “You say that every time we come in. But Mama tells us to never come to the mansion without an invitation…”

“Well, I invite you both,” Amber said with a bow, a sarcastic flourish that was mostly lost on them.

She spun around and headed for the room where she had eaten breakfast. Cricket and Goose followed closely behind, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous hallway.

As they walked by the grand staircase, a low, hushed murmur reached Amber’s ears. It came from a room just beyond the towering bronze statue of a horse like creature—a scaly hybrid beast. The statue’s eyes, Amber noticed, seemed to follow her as she passed.

Cricket, ever the curious one, stopped dead in his tracks. “Did you guys hear that?”

Goose frowned and then shrugged. “Probably just the servants talking. Or the guards.”

But something sent a prickle of unease down Amber’s spine. The urgency in the hushed voices felt…wrong. Her instincts, honed on the unforgiving streets, were screaming at her to pay attention.

“Let’s just… check it out,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. The thrill of potential danger, coupled with an innate desire to be in control, propelled her forward. It was a dangerous combination. And how she ended up in this place.

Amber crept silently across the hallway, her footsteps muffled by a thick cream rug. Cricket and Goose followed; each step hushed. They reached the entrance to the study. It was open an inch. That was enough. She stilled her breath and peeked inside.

Lord Ordin was seated at a massive mahogany desk, his hair haphazardly brushed from his eyes. The room was dimly lit, the heavy velvet curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. The only illumination came from the Amerist Crown, resting on the table before him.

Her heart plummeted into her stomach. The Amerist Crown was anything but ordinary. The crown that had caused her such trouble was glowing with a light so consuming it sucked the air from her lungs. It called to something inside her.

She wanted to touch it, to hold it, but she suddenly remembered what Ordin had told her. It was a family heirloom, passed down through his family. If she could feel that magnetic pull towards it, maybe it was connected with Ordin on a level Amber couldn’t understand. That was why he sensed the crown under her jacket.

Lord Ordin’s hand hovered around the crown, the light licking against the skin of his palms. He looked even more severe than usual. His face was tight with concentration, his jaw clenched.

He mumbled something, then Ruben and Olive stepped up beside him.

Amber strained to listen, but she couldn’t make out the exact words, only snippets carried on the hushed tones.

“…this can fix everything…”

“…if we just knew how…”

“…must be kept secret…”

“…what about the girl…”

“…we must do something about her…”

A chill ran down Amber’s spine. Secrets? What was so broken a crown could fix it? And what was their plan for her?

Cricket tugged at Amber’s oil-stained dress. “What’s going on?” he whispered, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination.

Amber shook her head, her mind racing. What could she do? She needed to get away. She needed to find her clothes, fix Lucile and leave! Forget the crown. She needed to think about herself.

Goose grabbed Amber’s arm. The contact made Amber flinch, a jolt of unwelcome awareness shooting through her. “We need to go,” she hissed, removing her hold. “This is none of our business.”

But Amber couldn’t tear herself away. She needed to run far from this place, so why couldn’t she move?

A door opening down the hall brought Amber back, releasing the strange grip the crown had on her. Someone was coming. They had to move, and fast.

“Come on!” Amber hissed, ushering them into the hallway, away from the study, as Heti appeared around the corner.

Heti smiled, a picture of serene domesticity, oblivious to the magic brewing behind those polished doors. Amber forced a smile in return, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird.

“Mama!” Cricket barrelled towards his mother, clutching his stomach. “Mama, I’m hungry… Amber invited us in. Can we have something? Please?”

Heti’s gaze sharpened, her eyes fixed on Amber. She noticed a flicker of fear, a shadow of knowledge, that she didn’t voice.

“Is that so?” she said, her voice smooth as silk. She gestured towards the dining room. “Seeing as Miss Amber has invited you to the mansion, I will make you something…”

“Thanks, Mama…” Goose said politely, her eyes flitting between Amber and her mother.

“You two head in,” Heti said to her children, her gaze returning to Amber, lingering on the smudges of oil and grime marring the borrowed silk dress. “I’ll help Miss Amber change and then I’ll make lunch…”

Cricket, ever the carefree child, grinned his signature grin and skipped towards the dining room without a backward glance. Goose, however, remained rooted to the spot, casting worried glances at Amber. She had heard the secret conversation, felt the oppressive light radiating from the crown.

“Go now, Anya,” Heti said, gently steering her daughter towards the dining room.

Goose opened her mouth to protest, but Amber intervened, offering a small, reassuring nod. “It’s okay. I’ll be right there.”

Reluctantly, Goose turned away. As she reached the dining room doorway, she glanced back, her eyes meeting Amber’s. A silent conversation passed between them—a plea for caution, a promise of protection. Then she disappeared into the room, leaving Amber alone with Heti.

“Okay,” Amber said, turning to face Heti, her voice trembling slightly. “I hope it’s okay that I brought them here?”

Her face unreadable, Heti gestured towards the hallway that led to Amber’s room. “We should get you changed, Miss Amber… before Lord Ordin sees you so filthy.”

With a frown, Amber peered down at her dress. It was more black than fawn. “Oh, umm…” flushing, she met Heti’s gaze. “This is why I prefer my clothes…”

Amber ran a hand through her hair, leaving another dark smudge on her forehead. “I hope it doesn’t stain…”

Heti shook her eyes head, a smile lingering on her lips. “We have our ways…”

Back in Amber's bedroom, Heti collected clothes from the magic draw Olive had the night before. “These are more your style…” she placed a pair of black linen pants on the edge of the bed, draping a long white shirt over it. “It’s only temporary. Our seamstress is attempting to construct clothes like what you came here in.”

“Wait,” Amber squinted at the maid. “Why would they do that?”

Heti turned to her. She reached up and wiped a smudge of oil from Amber’s cheek. “That is a question for Lord Ordin…”

“Oh,” Amber sighed.

“Now, go wash up… and I will see you in the dining room.” Heti turned, heading for the exit. Holding the doorhandle, she peered back at Amber. “My daughter has taken a shining to you… if you decide to spy on the Lord in the future, please don’t involve my daughter… She is too kind… too trusting…”

Amber sucked in a shocked breath. Her mouth went dry. Heti had known what she was doing. Did Ordin know? Before she could respond, Heti left, closing the door behind her.

Amber’s head grew heavy as she headed to the bathroom and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was smudged with grease, her dress stained and ruined. She resembled a mechanic, the way her father had before… before. Her mind pushed those thoughts away. Instead, Heti’s words replayed: “Too kind, too trusting.” She was right. Goose embodied that and more. And Amber had just implemented her in her nosy behaviour.

Stupid! She swore inwardly. What had she been thinking?

The hot water in the bath turned on behind her, its magic at full swing. Once it was full, she undressed. But something was missing. She wrapped the towel around her and searched through the dress. Where was the photo? No! Panic filled her, completely consumed her as she ran back into the room. Despite a thorough search, she found nothing. Was it in the stables with Lucile? Did it fall out in the corridor? Hot, raw horror drained her of any cognitive thought. What if it fell out near Ordin’s office?

As if to answer her terror, the bedroom door flew open, making her scuttle back against the furthest wall, clutching the towel for dear life.

Ordin stood in the doorway, his face an unmissable mask of fury and something else she was too afraid to decipher.

“Thief!” He roared as he scanned to room for her. “How dare you spy on me in my home!”

Amber made herself small, but his eyes soon landed on her. His words fell silent, but his anger was alive in every coiled muscle.

“Please,” she pleaded, her fear turning into tears, trudging up the memories of Loralie she desperately needed to escape. Her body crumpled on instinct, hiding behind the towel like it was her last refuge. “I wasn’t spying… I… I…” she faltered, closed her eyes and refused to look at the man. “I’m sorry… I couldn’t stop… it was calling to me…” She turned away, pressing her front to the wall, bracing for a beating that Loralie had lived through before, bracing for more wounds to scar her back.

Something brushed against her shoulder, making Amber’s eyes open. The photograph slid down her arm and landed on her feet. Loralie’s innocent eyes met hers. Was he going to beat her the way Mr. Roberts had after his daughter had tricked her into stealing?

“Who did that to you?” Ordin asked, his voice strained with anger.

Sniffling, Amber made herself turn. Ordin knelt behind her, his face twisted into pity, fear, concern?

He attempted to reach for her, then recoiled. “Amber, who did that to you?” he pointed at her back, her horrid scars. When she didn’t respond, he asked, “What happened to you in your world?”

“Loralie…” she managed through her sobs. “Loralie was a thief… she needed to survive… she… she…” she swallowed and met Ordin’s eyes. Their eerie green differed from obsidian or emerald. It seemed wholesome. “Loralie was beaten… she had no one… so she had to disappear.”

“What does Loralie have to do with these?” he asked, his voice soft but quivering. “What happened to you?”

Amber wiped the snot from her face on the towel. Her body stiff, she picked up the photo and held it, running an oil stained finger over the little blonde girl. “Because Loralie was me…” A weight so profound fell from her shoulder, an emotion so raw crawled from her chest. She stood on shaky legs, Ordin standing at the same time, and backed toward the bathroom. “But she isn’t me anymore, and she never will be.”

With that, Amber hurried into the bathroom, closing the door between them.

“Amber,” Ordin called through the door. “Open the door. Please, tell me what happened to you. Let me help you.”

Amber leaned against the door, clutching the towel. Help? What did he know about help? As a lord, he likely never experienced a single day of hardship. What could he understand about the choices a starving child made to survive?

“Go away,” she choked out. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what?” he pressed, his voice closer now. “Tell me, Amber. Tell me about you… about Loralie.”

His words were… gentle. It was a stark contrast to the fury she had seen moments ago.

She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “Just…go.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. She could feel his frustration on the other side of the wooden barrier. Finally, she heard him sigh.

“Alright. I’ll give you some space. But know this, Amber. If you need help, you only need to ask.”

His footsteps faded away, leaving Amber alone with her swirling thoughts.