The Spark (8 page)

Waiting for him, in the center of the room, was none other than his old friend, the current Chief Scholar, Edwin Baltrus.

“Dalar, my lad,” the older man said as he moved forward and embraced the younger. “How good it is to see you in these troubled times. I hope Lillian does not mind my abruptness?”

“Of course not, Edwin. She knows my loyalties to the scholarhood.” Dalar replied smiling.

“I am sorry for the urgency, but the Chancellor could not afford to wait a fortnight for our annual gala.” Edwin patted Dalar’s shoulder as they broke their embrace. “How is your son, big now I would assume, yes?”

“Quite,” the thought of his son filled Dalar with a longing for home. “Jakob will be three this time next month. He has an uncannily inquisitive mind, from me no doubt, and a fierceness that I am sure he gets from Lily.”

Edwin smiled, leading Dalar to the western most stair. They gossiped briefly as they ascended
.
The older man led Dalar through a large archway of granite. Dalar had no need to guess they headed for Edwin’s private chambers. As they wound their way through the upper halls of the Libatorium, they passed many more effigies to the great minds of science, art and literature.

Before long, Dalar found himself sitting in a cozy wing backed chair made with the softest purple velvet cushions a man could ever ask for. Dalar let himself be consumed by the luxurious comfort. Edwin sat in a matching chair to Dalar’s right. The room was aglow with a soft orange light that came from a small little fire that burned in the bowels of an ornate hearth. Between the chairs sat a lonely end table, which stood roughly three feet in height. Atop it sat a bottle of hard Di Delgan rum, the best known to Wynne.

Edwin handed a small, crystal glass to Dalar and poured them both a drink.

“I suppose it would be best to tell you of the urgency.” Edwin stated absently, as they each held their drink, lost in thoughts to the embers across the room. Dalar took a small sip of his rum, and motioned for Edwin to continue. “You know of the troubles Valvius faces?”

“Aye,” Dalar said, suspecting his urgent summons was somehow related. “I know of the troubles, but not the extent. We don’t hear much in Le Clos Noire about the greater world.”

“I know, I know.” Edwin sighed. “I won’t bore you with the details, but things have gone from troublesome, to out right dangerous my dear Dalar. And it is only getting worse.” The older man took a mouthful of his drink, never removing his gaze from the low burning fire.

“I had no idea it was so bad.” Dalar said after a minute.

“That is only the beginning. Right now we don’t know what is truth and what is rumour. The reports that come in are as varied and inconsistent as they can be. The only thing that stays the same in all the tales is either loss of life, destruction of property, or women being stolen from their homes. And recently,” Edwin hesitated, and distracted himself with another mouthful of rum.

“And what Edwin?”

“You are familiar with the Margoux family?” Dalar indicated it was so. “Well, over a fortnight ago Katherine Margoux went missing in Malefosse.”

“Katherine? What was she doing in Malefosse?” Dalar asked. The heir to the Margoux family estate had long been a close confidant, and friend, for Dalar. He had shared many of his deepest secrets with the lady Katherine as children. Perhaps more distressing than the loss of a close friend was the woes inherent in her disappearance, for the Margoux estate funded a good portion of Valvian industry.

“Oh you know her, trying to save the impoverished.” Edwin took another mouthful of his drink, finishing off the glass. “But that’s not all. Her cousin, Lucian, has taken it upon himself to go against the grand council and is creating search and rescue teams to set forth into the wilds of Wynne to find our missing women. I do not doubt he hopes to uproot the people behind the troubles we Valvians have been facing these long months aswell.”

“That is either very bold or very foolish of the representative.” Dalar stated, taking a deep pull of his own drink. “Probably more akin to outright stupid. This is why the Chancellor should have sent a
scholar
to the grand council, not a soldier.”

“I agree Dalar, but the Chancellor is supporting this, and the purposed plan in how it will operate.”

“Can you tell me what this plan is, Edwin, or is it not for any ears other than yours?” Dalar leaned towards his old friend.

“The plan, as I mentioned, involves several search and rescue units.” Edwin looked at Dalar with sad, grey eyes. “ They will operate independently and off the record. The Chancellor and Lucian both agree secrecy is paramount with this operation. Lucian fears there maybe agents working within the council for this supposed, oh what did he call it?” Edwin paused, thinking quietly to himself. “Ah yes, this so called Imperial Order of Wynne.”

“That is a bold accusation.” Dalar sighed. The soft crackling of the fire mingled with the slow ticking of a nearby clock. Dalar watched the low flames, distraught over what was happening to his beloved Wynne.

“Dalar, there is more.” Edwin said, as he, too, leaned forward.

“There always is, isn’t there Edwin?”

“Yes. I am afraid, there always is.” The chief scholar agreed. “These troupes are to consist of soldiers
and
scholars.”

“Scholars? What help will we be on this kind of mission?” Dalar could hear the confusion in his tone, and sensed Edwin had voiced the same concerns at one point.

“I thought the same when the coded telegram arrived, but once I spoke with the Chancellor, I understood.” Edwin shifted in his chair to look at Dalar again. “They are not recruiting just any scholars Dalar. They are asking for scholars that are versed in diplomacy, geography and even interrogation.”

“Which is why I have been summoned?” Dalar asked, knowing the answer before Edwin could confirm it. “What if I refuse?”

“The Chancellor has declared any who refuse will be branded a traitor to Valvius, and investigated for ties with this Imperial Order.” It was clear Edwin did not agree with the Chancellor’s consequences for refusal. “Apparently, our great and noble Chancellor views this as an issue of national security and will not take no for an answer, for the safety of Valvius falls on all of its citizen’s shoulders.”

“I told Lillian I would be no longer than a week
.
” Dalar sighed and took a deep swallow of his drink. “What happens now?” He asked, taking the last mouthful of rum.

Edwin rose from his chair, walked over to the hearth, and rested his hand on the ornate mantle piece. He looked up at an oil painting of Aristo Topeles, the founder of the Libatorium and the scholarhood.

“Now, we train.” Edwin lowered his head, hiding his contempt. “We must select and gather the finest scholars that meet the criteria and prepare them for this task. You are here as my aid in getting our brothers set for the days to come. When the time comes, you will be leading a team of your own to search out the missing Katherine Margoux.”

“I will be searching for her, and her alone?”

“Aye,” Edwin raised his eyes to meet Dalar’s stare. “You the best geographical scholar of our time, Dalar. You have this memory that works wonders. Katherine went missing in Syntar, and of all our numbers, you have been known to traverse the northern province the most. That will prove pivotal in finding the missing delegate.”

“Edwin, I have not been to Syntar since my years as an initiate. That is many moons ago now, I doubt even a mind such as mine can recall that sort of detail after all this time.” Dalar rose from his chair and stood beside his friend. “Edwin, there must be a better candidate. Surely we must have some Syntarans that would serve the task well?”

“That is where we reach the next stick in the mud,” Edwin placed a hand on Dalar’s wrist. “Lucian has had it said, from reliable sources, that Syntar is associated with this secret order. He does not want to openly accuse Syntar yet, but he does want to keep the search and rescue teams as safe as humanly possible.” Edwin smiled as he continued, “besides, miss Margoux is probably going through hell, if she lives, so a familiar face would be best suited for her rescue.”

“Edwin…”

“Dalar, there is nothing we can do to change the decisions of the chancellor and his representative. All we can do now is play our part.” The older man said as he turned his back to the younger.

Dalar sighed and watched as his mentor, and friend, pour another round of the Di Delgan rum for them. Dalar returned to the waiting wingback chair and accepted the drink.

For the rest of the evening, the two drank and shared sordid memories from their early years. After nearly an hour of talk, the chief scholar was asleep in his chair, too drunk to remain awake, or simply exhausted from his duties. Dalar’s mind throbbed behind the mask of the drink. His travel-worn body finaly began to give in to sleep as he sat cushioned in the royal chair, with the ticking of the nearby clock coaxing him to rest. Dalar rested his head upon the back cushion and looked at the small table, which stood as a sentinel between the two men. A smile crept across his face as he imagined it lifting into the air of its own accord, only to topple against the far wall within what seemed to be a split second of thought.

Dalar considered the potent rum he had drank, never knowing it was one to cause hallucinations. With a deep yawn Dalar allowed his eyes to lead him to the world of sleep, where a waiting realm of wonderful chaos awaited him, a realm so similar to the very room in which he now slept. Perhaps most distressing was the wanton destruction of the humble space caused by mere thought.

S
he searched beneath the boy’s cot, and in the lower study, but not a trace of the lad could be found. “Jakob?” Most mothers in this plight would be worried, but the matron of the Rhume household had grown more than accustomed to her son’s tricks and games. As she roamed the two-floor building in search of the youngest Rhume, Lillian heard the faintest hints of mischievous giggling.

It was a muffled sound, but not so much to be missed. Lillian smiled knowing there was only one place in her quaint home that could muffle such joyful sound as her son’s laugh. She continued to play the searching mother as she entered the dining room. She noticed the corner of the area rug sat jarred and folded over, indicating a recent and hasty escape. A smile graced her tender face as she saw Jakob’s emerald eyes staring up at her from beneathe the floorboards. Pretending not to notice, Lillian stepped over the turned rug and went to her knees.

The floorboards were rough against her bare skin, despite being sanded and varnished; the touch of the wooden floor sent aches through her bony body. Using her left hand, Lillian traced the outline of the barely visible trap door, searching for the little groove that served as its handle.

“Perhaps my little Jakob is in here?” She teased. With deft fingers she hoisted the secret entrance up, letting light shine down into the dark pit. Sitting on the top three steps was Jakob, who shrieked with joy at his being discovered.

“Well I’ll be,” she said, as she reached for her son. “It seems that Jakob is indeed hidden away under here after all!” She laughed as she drew her son in for a deep embrace; the kind only a mother knows how to give.

“Now Jakob,” Lillian placed her son on the floor next to her. “You know better than to run off on your dear old mum. You also know we are not supposed to play with this door, right?” The toddler nodded. “It is very important that no one other than you, me and daddy can ever know it exists.” Lillian reached over and lowered the lid to the hidden compartment. “And if we always play with it, well, somebody one day will learn about it. And we don’t want that, do we?

“No mommy,” the toddler said, twisting his torso to and fro.

“Good,” she continued smiling. “Now, I have to start this evening’s stew –“

“I want to cook too!” he jumped up and down in excitement.

“You want to help me cook do you?” He nodded his head eagerly. Before Lillian could say another word, the boy darted to the kitchen. With the faintest of sighs, Lillian rose from her knees and followed after her darling little boy.

It was modest kitchen, with a cast iron wood stove and small counter space. Various pots hung from hooks along the farthest wall from the entryway. Running along the length of the cooking space was a simple pine shelf, which housed varying jars of pickled vegetables and meats. In the opposing corner of the cast iron stove was a small flight of stairs that led into the cabin’s cellar where the fresh meat, grain and freshly pulled vegetables were stored. Jakob stood at the top of the stair, eager to descend into the dank space below.

“Now just you wait,” Lillian said. “You wait for your mum.” She strode over to the counter where she collected a long tallow candle, and lit it with a match she had hidden in her apron. “Ready?”

“Yeah!” Jakob hooted in excitement. His little feet led the way down the short flight of crickety steps, with Lillian quickly in tow.

“Okay,” she said upon reaching the bottom. Lillian busied herself lighting a hanging lantern to give more illumination in the small space. “I need you to get me some potatoes, carrots and a smelly onion.”

Jakob darted off to find the required ingredients while Lillian set about finding an adequate chunk of beef for the stew.

“You be careful Jakob,” she said, hearing her son struggling with a sack of potatoes.

“Okay mommy.” His little voice huffed.

Lillian smiled as his little voice became muffled as he continued to dig for a choice potato. Lillian picked her piece of meat and stood watching the silhouette of her darling boy gather the ingredients. It always warmed her heart to see him take such interest in helping her; Jakob was always eager to help his mother with the daily chores around the house, and she cherished every minute of it.

“Done mommy!” Jakob declared, distracting Lillian from her thoughts.

“Thank-you Jakob, you’re a wonderful help to your poor old mum.” She bent over to collect the heaviest pieces from his little arms. “I want you to carry this here carrot for me, I need a strong man to do it for me.”

“I’m strong!” He showed his muscles to her, proud of what little muscle was there.

“I see that,” Lillian handed the orange vegatable to her son. “You take that up to the kitchen for me now.”

“Okay mommy.” Jakob turned and ascended the stair again, though not quite as quick as he descended, for he had to go one foot at time. Lillian took just as much time as was needed, arms full of food, right behind her son.

They entered the kitchenette and set to work. Lillian had gathered the water for the stew in the early morning from her private well round back, so now she needed only to set it to boiling. She sat Jakob on the counter top while she peeled and chopped the vegatables and potatoes for the stew, handing them to him to place in a small tub of remaining water for rinsing.

“Where’s daddy?” Jakob asked, plopping a chunk of onion into the basin.

Lillian stopped what she was doing and looked into Jakob’s green eyes. “He had to go to Brixon.”

“Why?”

“To see his old friend, you remember him don’t you? Mister Edwin?” Jakob shook his head ‘no’. “Well, regardless, that is why your daddy has left.”

“When will he come back?”

“Soon.” She smiled, convincing herself as much as Jakob. “Here, put this carrot in the water please.”

Later that evening, well after the stew was eaten and the sun had set, Lillian washed Jakob and put him to bed. She tucked him in nice and snug in his little cot, promising once again that Dalar would soon be home. She kissed his brow and closed the pine door, but kept it open a crack so she could hear him.

She retired herself to the den on the first floor, opposite the dining room. She set a small fire in the hearth and poured herself a glass of a deep, ruby wine that had been recommended by the local wine merchant. It was a full-bodied red from the eastern vineyards of Valvius, displaying aromas of black cherry and pepper. It seemed to Lillian there was even the faintest touch of vanilla on the nose. The bouquet alone let Lillian know she was in for a royal treat.

With her wine in hand, Lillian curled up on her red sofa, which had been embroidered with gold thread in a dazzling floral arrangement. Looking into the fire, she sipped her drink and lost her thoughts to memories of her husband.

He had been the kindest man she had met in Le Clos Noire, though back then he was barely old enough to be called a man. He was the fourth son to the local business magistrate, making Dalar a noble by birth. Though, as Lillian quickly learnt, it was a title he cared not for.

In those early times, they spent many afternoons strolling in the foothills of western Valvius, often admiring the rolling vineyards. In Dalar, she had found someone whom could share the simple pleasures of life with her.

She loathed it when he would have to return to Brixon for his studies in the scholarhood, and she detested it even more when he travelled abroad for those damned reports of his. But, her sweet Dalar always returned to her.

Those were peaceful times, back when everything made sense; back when the simple pleasures of life was all one needed to get through the day.

Lillian must have dozed for a minute or two, for a gentle wrapping on the front door of the cabin woke her with a start. Sighing, Lillian placed her glass down on a nearby trestle table and made her to the waiting caller.

“Who’s there?” She called, pressing her body against the varnished wood. Before his departure, Dalar had warned her against strange callers. He never said why, but he made her promise that she would be mindful of everyone who came calling.

“Who’s there?” Lillian asked again, not hearing a reply.

A muffled voice responded, but the words were unclear due to the thick wood between her and the caller. Lillian bit her lip, unsure of how best to proceed. Her heart beat upon her chest as the situation sent a wave of panic through her body. Lillian cursed her husband for leaving her under such stern warnings. Resigning herself to a course of action, Lillian Rhume cracked the door open enough to peer into the night.

“Oh, Madam Fernley!” Lillian said in surprise. “I am so sorry.”

With embarrassed fanfare, Lillian opened the heavy door wide and motioned for her guest to enter.

“Thank-you Miss Rhume,” the elderly woman said upon entering the cabin. “I appreciate your trepidations. One can never be certain in such trying times.” The woman’s homely, wrinkled face contorted into a comforting smile. “I dare say, tonight has quite a chill, despite this thrice damned heat.”

“I just set a fire in the den, if you would care to warm yourself?” Lillian offered, closing the door behind the town’s mayor. “I have opened a bottle of a wonderful red from the eastern fringes. Perhaps a glass would do well by you Madam?”

“Of course,” the older woman replied. “You will never hear of Agnus Fernley turn down a red from those esteemed vineyards!”

Lillian led the way from the front hall to the awaiting den.

“Here madam,” Lillian said as the mayor entered the room. “Please sit while I gather your drink.”

“Thank-you, again, child,” the mayor said smiling. “This is such a lovely space. Did your husband acquire these items in his travels?” She indicated to the variety of novelty pieces scattered over the room.

“Aye, well, most to be sure.” Lillian replied. “Some have been purchased from our market here in town.”

Stooping over the small trestle table, Lillian filled a glass of wine for the mayor and topped her own off as well. Lillian handed the mayor her drink with an anxious smile.

“What do I owe the pleasure of your visit Madam?”

“Just the pleasure of good, honest, Valvian company.” The mayor smiled, again, as if trying to convince herself the truth of her words. With graceful effort, the older woman sat onto the embroidered sofa. Madam Fernley patted the spot next to her – indicating for Lillian to join her. “I admit, though, I do come bearing tidings and felt it best to see you at once.”

“My husband…what has happened?” Lillian’s heart froze and her body began to feel weak.

“Eh?” The mayor looked confused. “Oh, no dear child, nothing has happened – nothing bad that is. Your dear husband is quite alright.” The older woman must have seen the anguish etched on Lillian’s face for she placed a comforting hand on the younger woman’s. “Perhaps I started the wrong way,” she chuckled. “At my age, the fears of the young are often lost on me.”

“I apologize Madam Fernley,” Lillian took a deep breath, burying her emotions. Despite herself, tears began to well in her hazel eyes. “It’s just…Dalar told me what is happening to Valvians about the world and, in honesty? It has frightened me greatly. I try my best not to show it around dear Jakob. Deep down, though, I fear most every shadow and unknown sound.”

“It is alright Miss Rhume,” the mayor’s tone was soft and understanding.

Lillian smiled as she considered her guest as they shared this rare, intimate moment between relative strangers. Madam Fernley wore a simple russet skirt with matching bodice, which was hidden beneath a wonderful cloth-of-gold shawl draped over the mayor’s bony shoulders. As was her custom, the mayor wore her hair tightly pulled back and tucked under a simple chapeau that brandished a single peacock feather at its center. Normally, she wore a netted veil with conveniently embedded pearls or valuable gems that obscured her rhumey grey eyes, but tonight, it seemed, the mayor opted to go without. Beneath the simple regal attire and aged skin, Lillian sensed the old mayor harboured many fears of her own.

“Hm, delicious.” Madam Fernley declared as she took a mouthful of wine, breaking the moment. “This is an excellent vintage. If I were to guess, 125GP?” She took another sip and swirled the contents within, admiring the wine’s ruby body as Lillian confirmed the suspicions. “Most excellent indeed.”

The mayor put the glass upon a nearby end table and returned her attention to the matter at hand. “I suppose you desire to know the news I bring.” Lillian nodded. “Well, then there is no way about it other than simply telling it straight.” Fernley paused to moisten her lips. “I received a coded telegram, not but an hour ago, from the Chief Scholar in Brixon.”

“Edwin?”

“Aye. He immediately declared his message must remain secret for the good of Valvians everywhere. He also made note to bring the news to you, as he knows you will be worried.” The mayor sighed as though she held the weight of the world upon her ancient shoulders. “It would seem our great chancellor, and his representative on the Grand Council in the south, have devised an urgent mission of gathering.”

“Gathering? What is it they seek?” Lillian asked. Madam Fernley eyed the younger woman, curious at such an obvious question. Lillian felt foolish as she realized the answer to her own inquiry. “This mission involves the kidnappings of late?”

“It would seem the sudden disappearance of Katherine Margoux has been the final straw.” Madam Fernley stated. “The chancellor is now organizing mixed groups of soldiers and scholars to seek both our missing women, and the people that have taken them.” With her bony hand, the mayor retrieved her drink, finished the glass with a long, deep draught, and motioned for a refill.