Brechalon (7 page)

A slight shiver ran through Smedley’s body that
made her smile, but he didn’t look away.

“
So?”

“
So what?” she purred.

“
Will you marry me?”

“
I believe I will have you.
Yes.”

“
Thank you,” he beamed. “You’ve
made me the happiest man in Brech.”

“
Not yet, but soon.” she replied,
reaching under her head and stroking the crotch of his trousers.
“After all, just because I must wait to have you, doesn’t mean that
you must wait to have me.”

“
What a tart.”

That was two thousand nine hundred and seven
days ago.

* * * * *

“
One thousand nine hundred sixty
eight days. One thousand nine hundred sixty eight days.” Zurfina
pressed her face against the cold stone of the cell. “Bloody
bastard.”

* * * * *

Terrence had no idea what day it was. At least
he knew it was Pentuary. Oh, yes. He knew that. It was starting to
get hot and nobody wanted to spend their days indoors. That was
where he had spent most of the last week though—holed up in to the
back part of the house “seeing.” During that time he had very
little food and almost no real sleep. He looked at the collection
of tiny bottles in the wooden case. He had already finished one and
all but finished another. He tucked the box under the bed and left
the room, carefully locking the door behind him. The empty hallway
and the stuffy air gave him a strange sense of déjà vu.

* * * * *

It had been Pentuary too when it happened,
sixteen years before. Iolanthe, Augie, Yuah, and Dorah were sitting
in a circle on the floor around Master Akalos, who was making them
recite the names of the books in the Modest Scriptures. That two of
them were the children of aristocrats and two were the children of
servents made no difference to Master Akalos. That three of them
were Kafirites and one of them was a Zaeri did, and the tutor
gained a perverse delight in drilling them on the set of scriptures
that the Zaeri did not believe in. Terrence, who was watching from
beyond the door, could see the queer laughter hiding behind the
man’s eyes. Both twelve year olds, Terrence and Enoch, had finished
their lessons for the day. Enoch had hurried off to his chores in
the stable, while Terrence had made himself a sandwich.

He leaned against the doorframe and took a
bite. From this location he could see both the other children at
their studies through the door and the carriage sitting in front of
the house through the open window. His mother’s friend, Simon
Mudgett, was visiting again. His carriage was out front, the horses
still harnessed. He squeezed the last two or three bites together
into his mouth.

“
Julien, Wind, March, Magic, Raina,
Egeria, Dallarians, Zaeri…” the four children recited, almost
together. Iolanthe missed Raina and went right from Magic to
Egeria. Yuah was determined to recite the loudest. Augie was moving
his mouth without actually saying anything at all. All of them were
casting envious glances at the scant breeze blowing in through the
window.

Then Terrence saw a movement out of the corner
of his eye. It was his father down the hallway. Quickly heading
down the hall after him, Terrence saw the shotgun in his father’s
hand. This was a great opportunity. Terrence liked shooting as much
as any boy. But his father was going the wrong way. He was headed
up the stairs. Had he already been shooting? Was he going to clean
his shotgun now?

Terrence followed, now just a few feet behind
his father, and as the elder Dechantagne opened the door to his
wife’s bedroom, Terrence followed right on in. Then it was as if
everything was in slow motion. Terrence’s mother was in bed, the
bedclothes covering only the bottom half of her naked body. Next to
her was Simon Mudgett.

With agonizing slowness, Lucius Dechantagne
raised the shotgun to his shoulder and fired. A red spray blossomed
from the bare chest of Iphigenia Dechantagne, covering the bed in
blood. A second shotgun blast hit the bed just to her left, but
Mudgett was already on the floor running for the window. The snap
of the shotgun being opened was drowned out by the crash as he
broke the glass from the already open pane, crashing through and
falling naked and bloodied from the sloped roof to the grounds
below. Terrence’s father snapped the weapon shut again and walked
to the window, only to find nothing to shoot at. He turned around
to find his wife, her mouth and eyes wide open as she gurgled a few
last dying breaths and his twelve year old son, his face gone
white, staring at each other. He shot his wife once more in the
chest, turned and gave the boy a long look, and then turned back
and shot her in the head, leaving a corpse that no longer at all
resembled a living human being.

* * * * *

Terrence walked into the parlor to find it
surprisingly cool. Iolanthe was there sipping an iced beverage. The
outside of the tall glass was covered with beads of condensation.
She looked up casually, but narrowed her eyes at his
appearance.

“
What have you been doing?” she
asked.

“
What are you drinking?”

“
Iced tea.”

“
Really? Is it any
good?”

“
Very refreshing. Would you like
one?”

He nodded, taking a nearby chair, and she waved
to a servant standing in the doorway, who then hurried off after
the drink.

“
What have you been doing, I ask
again?”

“
Reminiscing.”

“
I have been as well.” She gestured
to the family scrapbook on the divan next to her.

“
You should burn that.”

“
We can’t do that. But you are
right, dear brother. We should stop looking to the past. Our future
begins now.”

“
If you say so,
Iolanthe.”

* * * * *

Minutes before her brother had arrived in the
parlor, Iolanthe had indeed been thinking over the past. It was not
the same tragedy that Terrence had been reliving though. She knew
that Terrence carried a scar from the murder of their mother,
though she didn’t quite understand exactly what it was or how deep
it cut. She had her own, more recent scars—scars scarcely ten years
old.

Iolanthe had continued to live in her father’s
house near Shopton, long after her brothers had gone away to
military school. By her seventeenth year she had grown into a
strikingly beautiful young lady. Not one to stay in the brooding
mansion, she spent her days happily riding across the countryside.
It was here that she met a young man named Jolon Bendrin. At first,
she found him attractive. He certainly found her so. They met
several times and talked and she enjoyed his company.

Then one day, he changed. They both attended a
party at the Banner residence. Afterwards they had walked in the
garden. Nothing seemed strange. When he kissed her, she had let
him. But then he forced her down onto a stone bench and reached
under her dress. She only realized the danger of her situation when
he put his hand over her mouth. He raped her. Then week after week,
he did it again. She tried to avoid him but she couldn’t. He seemed
to be everywhere. What could she do? She wasn’t strong enough to
fight him off, and there was no male protector for her—her father
was in a drunken stupor and her brothers were both away. And who
else could she tell, without disgracing herself? When she turned
eighteen, she left Mont Dechantagne, moving to Brech, and leaving
her father to waste away by himself.

* * * * *

Iolanthe took another sip of iced tea and
looked at her brother sitting across from her. No, there was no
point in living in the past. One must look toward the future. There
was a great deal to do. But there was always the possibility that
Jolon Bendrin might come to Brech. What would she do
then?

Chapter Five: Putting Plans in
Motion

Yuah knelt down and used the button hook to
fasten the twenty eight buttons on each of Iolanthe’s shoes. As she
fastened the last button, Yuah had to smile appreciatively. These
shoes cost more than she made in a year, but unlike most wealthy
aristocratic women, Iolanthe paid a premium not because the shoes
were encrusted with jewels, but because they were exceptionally
well-made, and they were very comfortable.

“
What are you smiling at?” demanded
Iolanthe.

“
Nothing, Miss. I would never smile
in your presence.”

Iolanthe pursed her lips and narrowed her
eyes.

“
What do you think about moving to
some faraway land, Yuah… say for instance Mallon?”

“
I don’t know what you’re talking
about,” Yuah feigned.

“
Oh please. I know you’re all a
bunch of spies. There is nothing that goes on in the house that you
and your father and the cook don’t know about.”

“
I’m just the servant, Miss. You’re
the mistress.”

“
You’re cheeky too. I would fire
you in a minute if it weren’t that Augie is under the impression
that you are his sister instead of me.” Iolanthe stood up and
brushed out her dress. “Have you heard from him, by the
way?”

“
Yes, Miss.” Yuah had gotten at
least three letters from Augie since Iolanthe had last asked her.
He did indeed think of her as a sister, and she thought of him as a
brother. She sent him a letter for everyone she received. They were
the same age, two years younger than Iolanthe, and six years
younger than Terrence, and had spent an enormous amount of time
together as children.

“
And?”

“
Hmm?”

“
And what did he say?” asked
Iolanthe, pointedly.

“
Oh. He wrote mostly about the
native…people. Can you call them people? They aren’t really people
are they?”

“
It matters little what you call
them,” said Iolanthe as she crossed the room to the cheval
glass.

“
Well, he’s been talking to them
and learning their language. Isn’t that marvelous? Imagine talking
to reptiles. And he writes about the creatures that live where he
is. It’s all quite amazing.”

“
Amazing that he hasn’t managed to
mess it all up.”

“
Not at all,” replied Yuah, raising
her chin defiantly. “I think Master Augie is doing the family
proud.”

“
My family,” Iolanthe reminded
her.

“
Yes, Miss.”

“
Still, he’s not the brother you
would prefer to hear from, is he?”

Yuah’s face turned red. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about… Miss.”

“
Returning to my previous topic.”
Iolanthe carefully placed her new hat atop her carefully coifed
hair. “Life would be different for you outside of Brechalon… in a
colony, I mean. Colonial life is different. You wouldn’t be a
servant any more. In fact, you could probably afford servants of
your own. You might be quite an important part of the
community.”

“
Are you trying to tell me that in
the colonies I might marry Terrence?”

“
God no,” Iolanthe laughed
musically. “Perhaps we could marry you off to a
tradesman.”

* * * * *

Zeah sat on the step in the courtyard and
sipped his tea. It was hot and muggy and many might have preferred
a cold beverage but the butler found tea soothing. The courtyard
sat towards the side rear of the house, separated from the street
on the east side only by an eight foot tall stone wall. Though
windows looked down onto it from all three stories on the other
three sides, most of those rooms were not in use, so it was
relatively private. Never-the-less, the door behind him opened and
young Saba stepped out. Hopping down the steps, he sat down next to
Zeah.

“
Good morning, Mr.
Korlann.”

“
Good morning.”

The boy had a large brown glass bottle with a
rubber stopper, which he pulled out with his teeth and spat onto
the step. Then he tilted the bottle back and took a great
swig.

“
You’ll pick that up in a minute, I
trust,” said Zeah, indicating the stopper with a nod.

“
Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“
What are you drinking?”

Saba held up the bottle and Zeah read the
label. Billingbow’s Sarsaparilla and Wintergreen Soda
Water.

“
Is it any good?”

“
I love it. Would you like a
taste?” The boy pointed the open mouth of the bottle at the
man.

“
Um, no, thank you.”

“
Is Miss Dechantagne really going
to move to Mallon?”

“
Where did you hear that?” asked
Zeah, looking at the boy.

“
I overheard my mother talking to
Yuah about it.”

“
I think it best not to speculate
what Miss Dechantagne might or might not do.”

“
You’re afraid of her,
huh?”

“
Ah… afraid? No, I’m not afraid of
Miss Duh… Dechantagne.”

“
Sure you are. Don’t feel bad.
Everyone’s afraid of her. I’m afraid of her. I think Master
Terrence is afraid of her.”