“So to speak,” returned Alfred faintly.
The earl chuckled and poked him again. Alfred could almost envision truth being sucked out of him like blood whenever that knifelike finger or those knifelike eyes touched him. But what was the truth? Did he truly not know what he’d done? Or was one part of him hiding it from the other, as he’d grown so adept at doing over these many years of being forced to conceal his true identity?
Alfred passed a shaking hand through his thinning hair.
“Father, leave him be.” Jera came to stand at Alfred’s side, placed her hands on his shoulders. “More wine, Sir?”
“No, thank you, Your Grace.” Alfred’s glass stood untouched, untasted. “If you would excuse me, I’m very tired. I’d like to lay down . ..”
“Of course, Sir,” said Jonathan. “We’ve been thoughtless, keeping you up well into the dynast’s sleep time after what must have been a terrible cycle for you—”
More than you know, Alfred said to himself sadly, with a shudder. Far more than you know! He rose unsteadily to his feet.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Jera offered.
The faint sound of a bell chimed softly through the gas-lighted darkness. All four in the room hushed, three of them exchanged conscious glances.
“That will be news from the palace,” said the earl, starting to rise on creaking limbs.
“I’ll go,” Jera said. “We daren’t trust the dead.” She left them, disappearing into the shadows.
“You’ll want to hear this, I’m sure, Sir,” said the earl, black eyes glittering. He waved a hand, inviting—or ordering—Alfred to be seated.
Alfred had no choice but to sink back down into the chair, although he was miserably conscious of the fact that he didn’t want to hear whatever news came swiftly and secretly in what, for this world, were the waning hours of the cycle.
The men waited in silence, Jonathan’s face was pale and troubled, the old earl looked crafty and enthused. Alfred stared bleakly, hopelessly at a blank wall.
The earl lived in Old Province, on what had once been a large and affluent estate. Ages ago, the land had been alive, worked by immense numbers of cadavers. The house had overlooked waving stands of kairn grass and tall, blue-flowered lanti trees. Now the house itself had become a cadaver. The lands round it were barren, lifeless seas of ash-mud created by the endless rain.
The earl’s dwelling was not a cavern-formed structure, as were many in Necropolis, but had been built of blocks of stone, reminding Alfred strongly of the castles the Sartan had created during the height of their power in the High Realms of Arianus.
The castle was large, but most of the back rooms had been shut off and abandoned, their upkeep difficult to maintain because the only person who dwelt here was the earl and the cadavers of old servants. But the front part of the house was exceptionally well preserved, compared to other mournful and dilapidated dwellings they had passed during the carriage ride through the Old Provinces.
“Its the ancient runes, you see,” the earl told Alfred, with a sharp glance. “Most people took them off. Couldn’t read them and thought they made the place look old-fashioned. But I left them on, took care of them. And they’ve taken care of me. Kept my house standing when many another’s sunk into dust.”
Alfred could read the runes, could almost feel the strength of the magic upholding the walls over the centuries. But he said nothing, fearful of saying too much.
The lived-in portion of the castle consisted of downstairs utility rooms: a kitchen, servants’ quarters, pantry, front and back entry-ways, and a laboratory where the earl conducted his experiments in attempting to bring life back to the soil of the Old Provinces. The two levels above were divided into comfortable family living quarters: bedchambers, guest rooms, drawing room, dining area.
A dynast clock [1] headed for its bedchamber, indicating the current time. Alfred thought longingly of bed, sleep, blessed oblivion, if only for a few hours before returning to this waking nightmare.
He must have actually dozed off, because when a door opened, he experienced the unpleasant tingling sensation of being awakened from a nap he had never meant to take. Blinking, he focused bleary eyes on Jera and a man wrapped in a black cloak, emerging from a doorway at the far end of the room.