The Wilds (Reign and Ruin 1) (9 page)

He began to
leave, but suddenly stopped. He took a few seconds standing in the
kitchen, looking at my face and smiling contentedly. Hands moved
slowly to his wrists, rubbing slowly like a habit. "I really can't
tell you how pleasing it is to have you here, Maggie. I'll be able
to tell my grandchildren that I met the Daughter of Palet. And that
she was so beautiful." He disappeared again into the hall and I
heard the outside porch door close and lock.

Daughter of
Palet?
That was a new one.

I walked to the
kitchen window and watched Tyler walking determinedly down the
gravel pathway through the front yard and out of the iron gates. He
stopped to check a pocket watch attached to his coat and before he
disappeared at the bottom of the hill, I saw him look back up at
the house and smile faintly.

Chapter
9

The clock ticked loudly in the otherwise silent
house. I was sat in the swing-bench on the porch watching the sun
set over the hills and patchwork fields. Tyler hadn't come back
from the town meeting yet but I didn't expect him back for a while.
In all honesty, I was practically sitting on my hands in a childish
attempt not to sneak around his house and look into drawers.

I stood up from
the bench and gave it a friendly push before walking back inside
into the dark hall. I could still hear the gentle swing and squeaks
of the chains as I stood considering the short flight of stairs up
to the second floor.

In the early
evening half-light, the place felt heavier and bigger, along with
emptier, darker and pretty close to creepy. A painting on the wall
of a man and his dog seemed to watch me from the frame. It was then
I decided that being a snoop was much more distracting than
standing in the darkness.

The steps
creaked faintly under my toes as I started my climb. The upper
hallway was short and narrow, with a thin, green runner stretching
from either end. There were three doors on my right side, all of
them closed. I felt along the wall until my fingers touched a light
switch and suddenly the hall was bathed in warm yellow from the
sconces on the walls.

Which one,
which one? I felt a guilty glee at wandering about on my own. I
also pictured what I must look like: dirty girl, pink slippers, and
did I just mention 'glee?' Yup, I have become that crazy lady who
lives on her own. Practice for the empty years ahead, huh?

Standing in the
hallway and listening to the clock tick, Cirrus entered my mind. I
don't know if it was the thought of 'empty years' or what that made
his face appear, but he was there. And the feeling I had forgotten,
or put aside to forget, of what it felt to have his green eyes
pinned to my face. What would those years be like sharing my mind
with him? Would I wonder the hallways, speaking to him and to
myself, dragging a dirty bathrobe behind? Is that what the ruler of
Palet should look like? Or would it be companionship, a body to
move against and someone to get dressed for in the morning? I
shivered and was afraid to admit what it was for. I told myself
that it was insidious to think about.

The first door
that I opened led into an abandoned room filled with furniture
covered in heavy, white dust cloths. The curtains were drawn but I
felt how stale and ancient the air was. But the second one I tried
opened onto a room that must have been Tyler's. The handle turned
smoothly and the well-oiled door silently opened into an obviously
lived-in bedroom.

The space was
as dark as the hall, but at least the furniture was uncovered.
There was no musty smell or feeling of dampness and when I drew
back the curtains to bring in the last remaining light from outside
I saw that unlike the rest of the house, someone had rid this room
of the dust.

The large bed
was unmade and clothes littered the floor around the chest of
drawers: suspenders, briefs, wrinkled white dress shirts. Tyler had
obviously gotten dressed in a hurry, but besides that the room was
tidy, personal, and filled with small bits of a normal human
being.

Periodically
listening to make sure there were no sounds of my host coming back,
I took my time wandering around the room. It wasn't all that
interesting, but I didn't know what I was expecting. He had a box
of buttons on his dresser and a bookcase filled with leather bound
volumes on birds, foraging, and crafts. A well-thumbed paperback
was perched by his side of the bed next to an identical photograph
of Clara, still sat sombrely by the same fern.

His desk was
placed by the window. It was an old wooden roll-top that slid up
and over to reveal a writing surface. I saw a keyhole in the front
but when I went to open the lid, it moved smoothly open without a
key. I flicked aside a few pieces of papers and discarded pencils.
I absentmindedly picked up one of his letters and read a few lines
about fabric thickness and the difference between cotton and linen.
My God, this man was so boring.

I think I felt
I was owed something. If I was going to revert back to my
adolescent days I was damn well going to find some secret. This man
had to have some, even if it was as boring as soft porn or a pair
of women's underwear. I opened a drawer and rifled to the back,
where my hands touched upon a small box about the width of a
postcard. I opened it up quickly and saw, amongst a stack of old
photographs, a bag of tobacco and some rolling papers. Jackpot!

A whistle
floated up from the front garden and looking quickly out of the
window I saw Tyler hurrying back up towards the porch.

"Shit," I
whispered with a little thrill. I slid the top back on the writing
desk and tiptoed quickly back over the carpet to the hallway.
Closing the door silently I tucked the box of tobacco under my
jacket and quietly moved further down the hallway. I jumped towards
the farthest door in the three and slid inside just as I heard
Tyler's keys jingle in the lock.

Yes! Just made
it. I leaned against the door, smiling to myself as Tyler moved
into the front hallway. These small triumphs were the sweetest . .
.

The bed was
stripped and there were sheets and a blanket folded at the end of
the mattress. I rushed over and stuffed the box under the bedframe.
I heard his whistle drift softly up from the downstairs, but he
didn't come to check on me. Part of me was relieved.

I pried open
the window by the bed and pulled the tobacco box out again. What I
needed now was a drink. Or a smoke. And I had one so fuck it, I was
going to sneak a cigarette out of the window like a lame
teenager.

The first drag
was incredible and so sue me, the second drag was, too. I relished
the feeling of the cool air drifting in, carrying out the sweet
smoke as it swirled around the room and back out of the window.
Once the cigarette was finished I thumbed through the box past the
photographs and rolled another one. I probably smoked three or four
before I stopped, and then I just sat looking out the window,
running my hands over the gold chain around my neck and thinking of
Cirrus's fingers around my waist.

I wish I had
looked further into that fucking box . . .

***

I must have fallen
asleep. When I awoke the next morning, the room was still dark.
Someone had drawn the curtains shut and covered me with the large
comforter from the bed. I pushed off the comforter and stretched my
legs out luxuriously. My foot knocked against the wooden tobacco
box.

Oh,
great
, I thought. He must have come in and seen his tobacco.
He'll be angry. I meant to sneak it back into his room when he was
in the washroom. I didn't know what time it was but the crack
between the curtains let a small stream of daylight in. It must be
early morning, but not too early because I could hear that
tell-tale whistle out in the garden. Expecting to see Tyler
outside, I drew open the curtains.

A man's face
stared back at me through the window.

I cried out and
stumbled backwards, my feet nearly catching on the rug. It was the
coal man from the train! His face was still smeared with the black
dust and he was looking straight into my eyes. My hand fumbled for
the knife in my pocket and the man watched me clumsily open the
blade with trembling fingers.

Brandishing the
knife in what I hoped was a terrifying manner, I pointed it
directly at his face through the glass. The whistling continued
outside.

"What the fuck
do you want?" My voice came out harsh and croaky and entirely too
soft to frighten anyone. It has been too long since I had smoked,
and the burned patches of my throat resisted, throwing up a bought
of coughing that caught me unawares. It seared and the man simply
stood on his ladder, watching me as I tried to stay upright during
the coughing fit, tears streaming down my eyes.

I eventually
pulled myself together and when he caught my eyes again, he moved
his arm toward the box on the bed. He shook his head.

"What? You want
a cigarette?" I asked disbelievingly. He shook his head again and
mimed tipping it over. "Dude, say something. I'm serious or I am
calling Tyler."

The coal man
put a finger to his lips and started to climb back down the ladder.
My knife and I rushed to the window to watch him walk through the
back garden and climb over the wall, just in time to miss the
gardener walk around the corner raking the leaves, whistling.

I hurriedly
closed the curtains. My heart pounded and I closed my eyes for a
moment to slow it down.

He could have
killed me, but he didn't. He dragged me onto a train, put a knife
in my pocket and then played charades at my window . . . for what?
Just thinking about how long he might have been waiting there
behind the curtain gave me the creeps.

In the brief
shock of finding a lurker behind my window, I had forgotten my
brief escapade as a petty thief. Grimacing at the box on the bed,
there was nothing doing except to apologize to Tyler and hope he
was as dumpy as he came off to be yesterday.

I found him at
the kitchen table, looking over a stack of papers with a pen in
hand. Underneath the boiling of the tea kettle, an old record
player was singing Benny Carter. Tyler looked up through his
reading spectacles and put down his pen.

"Well, good
morning. You must have needed more than a nap! Did you sleep well?"
he asked.

"Yeah, I slept
great thanks." He nodded in satisfaction and put his hands
together. And just smiled. I waited for him to say something about
his missing box, but he just sat there. Smiling.

"Um, thank you
for coming in to check on me."

Tyler's smile
wavered for a second. "Your room was dark and quiet. I didn't want
to disturb so I didn't."

"You didn't
come in and cover me with a comforter?" I asked.

"Wow, you must
have been so tired, little Daughter. You can't even remember
tucking yourself in!" He chuckled and went back to his papers.

So Tyler didn't
know about the tobacco. I felt a momentary surge of relief until I
had a sudden thought. If Tyler didn't put the comforter on, who
did? The coal man's face behind my window pane flashed in my mind
and my stomach sank like a rock.

"So, I was
thinking that you needed some clothes for tonight's festival,"
Tyler was saying. "I could have something sent up from town, or you
could go down there yourself and pick something out."

"That's very
kind of you," I started uncomfortably. "But I wouldn't want you to
spend any money on me."

"Well, excuse
me for saying but you are not exactly fresh as a daisy," Tyler
replied, blowing on his tea. "You can't wear sneakers and I could
put your jeans in the wash." He raised his eyebrows hesitantly. "Be
my doll for the day?"

"I've just
about lived in these jeans. It'd be nice to be able to wear
something clean." I looked down at myself and picked at the outfit
helplessly. "But perhaps something good for moving? Walking
clothes?"

"A nice dress
would be best, really," he said, and then his face lit up. "Well,
why don't I send you down to town? It might do you some good to get
your bearings."

"Get my
bearings?" I asked.

Tyler didn't
hear me as he picked up his pen again. "I have a lot of planning to
do for later." I nodded. "But it's a small town. You can go down on
your own and I promise you won't get lost."

"I don't really
feel like going down there," I said quickly. "And a dress would
probably be a bit unnecessary. If you're busy, I could get those
plans together." He looked at me blankly. "Those maps. And
weapons."

"Well, if you
would like. But I have so much to do and the house is musty and
dark. You could go make some friends downtown."

Why wasn't he
listening?

"Tyler, I'm
leaving tomorrow anyway," I said.

"Ah, yes. Well,
that's true," Tyler said slowly. He tapped his pen on his paper
distractedly. "I will just send for the clothes then, shall I?" He
smiled good-naturedly. "And we'll set you off into your Reign Walk
first thing tomorrow morning."

He pushed his
chair away from the table and stuck some of the papers in a
briefcase.

"I'll be moving
into the office. Now that you're up, I'm sure you'll want some
breakfast and I don't think I can get much work done with someone
cooking." He waved his hand to the stove. "You can help yourself to
anything. If you need me, the office is the third doorway to the
right."

Tyler patted
his briefcase and walked out into the hall. I sat in the kitchen
until I heard the office door close somewhere else in the house and
felt my breath flood uncontrollably out of my lungs.

Everything
about that conversation left a sour taste in my mouth.

Tick tock, tick
tock . . .

I suddenly felt
tempted to hurl a rock at whatever stupid clock was making that
incredibly annoying racket!