Something Amiss Amidst the Dark – Writing Month 2024 Day One
Chapter One – Bill of Goods
Lenia dropped the packet back on the table, glancing around at her compatriots, and then at the Blue Coat sitting across from them. She nodded to Roe that, yes, these documents were exactly what they were looking for. Roe signed to the one with the skull mask – Lenia can't remember their name – who dropped a sack of Coin onto the table just out of reach of the Blue Coat.
As the Blue Coat reached for the sack, Roe said “This sack will remain with you until we have completed our business. If anything goes awry, we will return to retrieve our assets, and will also make certain that the missing Coin is the least of your worries.” His voice had very little life to it, sounding flat and dead, and proportionately serious.
The Blue Coat hesitated, then scoffed and snatched the sack off the table. “En't this'un ye need be worryin' 'bout,” he said in his harsh, Severosan accent. A loud shriek filled the room as the metal chair scraped away from the table and the man began to get to his feet.
Lenia's chest tightened, and her fingers began to tingle. Does he know? She, of course, did not let her anxiety show. She is a professional, after all.
Roe cocked his head by a few millimeters, the most expressive his posture had been since entering this room. He stared at the Blue Coat through the mask, his gaze no less piercing through the slits in the ancient-looking facade.
Sensing the question in Roe's glare, the Blue Coat straightened up. “Ye see, this'un'll be outta this festerin' pisshole by tha nex' blind hour.” Skull mask changed his posture, entering a menacing stance with barely a shift in his weight. The Blue Coat eyes him warily, but doesn't seem to be particularly put off by the display.
“Dun you be worryin', like this'un said. Willn' breathe a word of this meetin' to no Provs. Nae, this'un'll be leavin' because they'll already know what this'un gone an' did. Or if'n they dun already, they'll.” He nods to himself. “They'll be where this'un's dun told. Ye can bet on it. But they'll also know ye'll be comin'. And when they're done with ye, they'll come for this'un.” Lenia's chest loosened. He doesn't know.
As he headed for the door, he turned and said “They always know.”
Once the Blue Coat had left, Roe turned to Lenia. “You did well, little ghost. Keep this up and you may find yourself calling the Wraiths family.” While he spoke, the others filed out of the tiny room, off to resume their lives.
Skull mask paused at the door. “Should we silence the slime once and for all?”
Before Roe could answer, Lenia, out of character, interrupted: “No need. He's right. The Provision will know what he did. He is, however, less correct about his prospects of leaving the city.” Her conscience twinged. She mentally shook it off, and then faced Roe. “We need to act quickly, or this information will be useless.”
Roe dismissed skull mask and thought for a moment. He gestured to Lenia and walked out the door and down the hall to the nearest window. He signed something in the general direction of the buildings across the street in that complex and beautiful language the Wraiths used to communicate. Without looking at her, he said, “Preparations are already under way. Go, rest, and prepare yourself. I have decided that you will be coming with us. A final test, a trial by fire.” Strangely, he smiled. I don't think I've ever seen him smile before.
To her this time, he said, “Hopefully we can avoid any actual fire, however, eh, Melody?”
Dismissed, Lenia made her way out the back of the building, checking the mirrors she'd placed to give her sight lines down the alleyway. She took off at a brisk walk into the gathering mist.
____
On her way back to her home, Lenia stopped by a street corner where a dirty youth, recognizing her, slipped out a box from under his filthy robe and handed it to her, accepting a few coins in exchange. She smiled at the boy, and cracked open her box, taking a moment to enjoy the slightly-flavored mushroom crackers, and ensuring she wasn't being followed. It really wouldn't do to get picked up right now. Not when I'm so close.
Finding no tail, she slipped away down yet another alleyway, those being an ever-present and monotonous feature of Doskvol, and through a crack in the foundations of one of the once-glamorous houses. An observer on the street would have seen her apparently disappear into thin air, and even a quick inspection of the foundation of the house would have made it difficult to spot the entrance, hidden in plain sight by a trick of geometry and light.
Standing over a clean, tidy yet well-worn dressing table, Lenia reached behind her head and undid the knot which held her silken mask on her face. It fell in a heap on the old wooden tabletop. Lenia stared into the spotless, though cracked, mirror above it, eyes absently glossing over the red, sweaty bands of skin where the fabric had chafed, and latching onto themselves in the reflection.
You are Lenia. She thought to herself. Then, as if not trusting the words in her head, she spoke them aloud.
“You are Lenia.” A tear glistened in the corner of her eye. Her voice caught on her name as she repeated herself. “You are Lenia.”
Shedding her outer layers, she walked the three steps to her bed, and collapsed into the threadbare-yet-clean sheets. She whispered her mantra as she drifted. As sleep claimed her, her last words were, “You. . .Are. . .”
____
She dreamt of a ballroom filled with faceless people clothed in resplendent and grotesque beauty. The women were bejeweled and to a one wore low-cut dresses, artificially-lifted bosoms bobbing as they swayed with men dressed in intricate suits made of heavy fabrics and draped with scarves and furs.
Lenia drifted through the room, not needing to dodge the dancers; they seemed to flow around her like water, paying her the same heed they'd pay a servant proffering a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Less heed, maybe. She gazed around at the finery, the luxury, the sheer ostentatious frivolity.
When she'd reached the other side of the room, she began to make her way toward the staircase. Like she did every night. Sighing to herself, she started to ascend the stairs, but her boot caught on the first stair and she stumbled. . .and the room went silent. As she recovered from her stumble, she turned to see every blank face in the room staring directly at her with eyeless regard.
He chest tightened, and her fingers tingled. Cold ran down her arms. “They know.” She thought to herself.
Wait. She thought. I didn't think that. She turned toward the voice, and standing above her—
____
She awoke screaming, frantically trying to disentangle herself from her sheets. She rolled out of bed, and scampered into a corner of her room, unsheathing the knife which was stashed beside the bed, and holding it out to an empty room.
She gasped for breath and, with a final sob, managed to take control of her breathing.
“You are Lenia,” she said weakly into the empty space.
“You are Lenia,” she said to herself.
On shaking legs, she slowly stood up. She made her way to the pitcher on her filthy, minuscule table, and poured herself a dirty glass of water. She picked her mask up from the makeup-encrusted dressing table, and looked into the stained, cracked mirror.
“Okay, Melody.” Melody said, the corner of her mouth raising in a smirk. “It's time to go to work.”