Entering the castle did little to calm Ambrose’s concern for the Queen. He had tried to elevate his morale with the notion that they were currently on their way to retake what had been taken from them, unhindered by attacking troops thanks to the awesome power given by the true silk. By the night, he would be in celebration, and thanks to being seen in the crowds and signaled out by the Queen herself to assist, he would become a legend. He felt he was being incredibly greedy in a sense, for they would be winning their city back on the same day that it fell, and yet the more he looked around the more he wished they had taken it back sooner.
The castle had been sacked. Ambrose hadn’t entered the castle since the day he had been welcomed for his discovery of the contaminated drinking well over three years ago, and yet he couldn’t imagine the changes to the internal furnishing would be this drastic in that time. The new concept taken up by the latest residents was both open floor and extremely modest in decorations, for the entrance hall was void of nearly anything.
Immediately, Ambrose’s senses went to the smell. The stench of booze was paramount, and even in the irregular lighting of the hall, the stains in the crimson rug they stepped on could be seen. The lighting was the second object on his mind; candles of random size were placed on the only furniture remaining in the hall, the decorative sideboards spaced evenly and facing its match on either side. The sideboards had their drawers and doors broken from its slots and hinges, where they lay either in front or to the side of where they had belonged. Overhead on the high ceiling, empty hooks were staggered apart, and Ambrose recalled the decorative chandeliers that should have been hanging there.
That was when Ambrose realized that Eleanor was also looking up. The face that was Paulo’s remained silent, emotionless. Ambrose startled himself as he watched her, for they passed one of the only sideboards with an attached mirror, and recoiled at his own reflection as he caught sight of it.
They continued walking down the hall until Ambrose could feel his own ears flinch at the presence of voices just up ahead. Eleanor had heard it too, and without so much a thought she immediately turned her straight course for the door that the voices could be heard from. In this expanse that extended the entrance, two rooms were set as waiting areas for guests and royalty alike. Groups of guests that entered may be ushered to one of the rooms or final preparations by the King or Queen before exiting to command a crowd of people. Ambrose had waited in the very room the bulk of the sound could be heard from, and Eleanor did not hesitate to open the door wide.
Both Ambrose and Gio could hear before they could see what happened next, as the clash and clatter of objects falling to the ground was produced immediately. Following that was the shuffling of feet and sliding of seats, before the duo finally turned to find what and who had been in the room. Soldiers of High Hillford, a handful still wearing most of their golden armor, were either on a knee or had their heads pressed to the floor.
“Well, well,” Gio started, surveying the room, “I would say this lot has been enjoying themselves quite a lot, eh?”
Ambrose was open-mouthed, unable to reply but did follow Gio’s lead as the two began to walk through the room. The space was set up with a bench protruding from the wall in front and to either side, where most of the soldiers had seen fit to place their armor and weapons. Stepping over soldiers, Ambrose was dumbstruck with the number of items they seemed to all be amassing in the hall, from paintings displayed on tables to one of the chandeliers from the hall that must have broken with Eleanor’s sudden entrance. Half drunk or empty goblets were present on the many small tables that seemed out of place and taken from a different area or were still spilling from where they had fallen on the ground. The room remained silent sans the cautious steps Ambrose and Gio took.
The soft sliding sound that came from behind Ambrose came from Eleanor, as she unveiled the true gold chalice and began speaking: “My disciples, your reward will not be the spoils of today. Your reward will come from Him, and His gift is one you shall embrace forever. Join me in the great hall at once, and direct the others to do so as well.”
Ambrose watched as the heads of the soldiers in front turned upwards, their blank eyes still able to communicate a feeling of wonder as they widened at the glimmering chalice and their smiles of genuine desire. No soldier so much as spoke a word, sans the ones they addressed to Paulo as they began to file from the room.
“To His and your glory, father!” Ambrose’s disdain for the practice that each soldier carried on their way out of the room wavered with one soldier's voice. Not only did this one soldier sound authentically excited, but the voice was not of the male sex. He looked at this one soldier; a female with sharp features, hair slickened by her helmet, and of an age that could be his own or at least proximal, he watched her leave with a bounce in her step.
The final soldier left the room. Ambrose had counted sixty-two soldiers in total and confirmed the count with Gio. Standing by one another, they each looked expectantly at Eleanor, prepared for her next order. As the elder bishop concealed the chalice within the sleeves of his robe, the sound of keys bouncing off one another was produced somewhere inside them. Eleanor brought a dramatically large ring of keys out, with it only holding five keys in total.
“I want you to lock this door behind us, Ambrose. I want all the rooms and doors locked after the soldiers have been purged from them.” She thumbed through a couple and held one key up, “Each of these keys works as a master key, and this one will lock rooms such as there. Between the waiting areas, dining areas, and living areas this key will lock the doors. This one,” She moved to a slightly larger key, “Will lock any of the bedrooms, sans one. This golden key will lock both my own and my father's. I want those locked immediately, only stop on your path there if you come across a room filled with as many or more soldiers as this one had. And make my father's room the priority over mine.”
She explained how each of the other four keys worked; one for supply closets and cabinets, one for the armory, one that worked both doors to the inner courtyard, and the last for the main entrance. Once Ambrose was done with the rooms, and confirmed the courtyard was clear, he was to lock the main entrance as well.
Ambrose held the ring of keys, looking between them and the bishop who was his Queen. The cold stones that were the bishop's eyes dismissed any questions, but he pressed on just the same, “My Queen - I apologize, but I must raise a concern. Why the throne room? Why not direct them straight to the holding cells?”
Eleanor did not reply right away, and the unblinking eyes of the priest continued to burn into Ambrose. He hoped this was only a characteristic of this renowned religious leader and not something Eleanor herself was putting into effect.
“While I hear your suggestion, I am hurt by the shortcomings you believe I hold,” Eleanor started, “The cells below the castle are for those accused of a crime. I merely wish to formally prosecute the group, before starting a trial.”
Ambrose felt a tightening in his chest, “Right! Of course - that’s why I needed to apologize, I should've assumed better about your direction. I just-”
“Who shall be the jury for this trial?” It was Gio interjecting.
Eleanor snapped her attention to him. Furrowing the brow of the priest and looking to the floor, Eleanor finally said, “I do believe we must respect the traditions of those on trial. A proudly religious group, we shall allow their God to decide. May His decision be just, yes?” With that, Eleanor turned and began out of the room.
So no real jury? God to decide? Ambrose did not understand what Eleanor had in mind. Next to him, Gio was cracking fingers one at a time, smiling as he did.
“What’s got you so happy?” Ambrose said.
“Honestly, I was getting worried that I chose wrong,” Gio said, “But that Queen of yours, she’s more than meets the eye! Let's get going before we have to stand trial next, ho ho!”
They followed Eleanor, who went directly ahead into the adjacent room, where half the amount of soldiers were found enjoying their spoils of victory. Leaving with the same pupil-less yet excited expressions as the first group, Ambrose locked both this door and the previous one before they continued further into the castle.
Due to the illusion of growth, the entrance hall felt much like a tunnel to Ambrose. The ceiling there was all but two feet from the top of his head, and while he was far from ducking he didn’t realize how closed in the space was until they reached the end of it. They were now entering a large hall, considered by many to be the crossroad of the castle. It was the last public area of the castle, where three main doors set one in motion; the center door straight ahead was the largest and most decorative of the three, and with one door ajar Ambrose could immediately see the shuffling of people inside the area that was the throne room. The door was a bright wood, most likely made of a holly tree, and was fit with three golden hinges in the shape of dresses on either side. The other two doors were a match; the tint of red in each making it easy to assume the source was redwood, the left side door led to the ground floor and below for workers and soldiers, whereas the right side door led to the second and higher floors that consisted of bedrooms and solars.
The trio, Eleanor leading the effort as she had halted, once again took in the status of the area. This had been the area of mostly all tourism for the castle; daily, the space provided benches, tables, a rotation of game tables for chess, checkers, and backgammon, and on special occasions and weekends hosted live performances from pianists, vocal ensembles, playwrights and anyone else with a talent that could captivate a room. Now, the room appeared bare of everything, sans the Runswick flags that should have been hanging over each of the doors in front of them. They each found the first flag, dirtied, and stepped on in the middle of the room, and Ambrose identified a second flag hiding in one of the dark corners of the hall. The last one he could not immediately find.
The dying light coming through the high windows revealed the many dirty leavings of the soldiers that had invaded with filth on their boots, seemingly traversing any and everywhere on this floor. Specific footfalls could be made out, showing the direction soldiers had gone before their steps ended at one of the three doors. Ambrose was surprised to find that the door his attention focused on, the one to the left leading to the kitchens and other stations for the staff, opened. Out came two soldiers, one with a mug in hand and the other with a half-eaten bone of meat, as well as a bounty of laughter and uproar that had been trapped behind the closed door. The two did not look as surprised as Ambrose did; dropping their respective spoils, the two launched themselves to the floor in panic at the sight of the trio. Eleanor directed them to the throne room, and as they went she turned to Ambrose.
“We split from here Ambrose. Now remember, drinking, eating, or getting injured will result in your disguise failing. Should it fail, the trance will fail at once as well. Do your best to be swift, for the faster you are complete, the quicker we may be done with this torment of a task. I would ask you to join him, Gio,” Eleanor shifted her gaze to him, “But I do not trust you, and wish you by my side instead of roaming my halls. Your task will come next. Now, let us end this takeover.” Eleanor whirled on a heel and began towards the throne room. Gio, trailing behind, turned to offer Ambrose a wink.
Ambrose was busy thumbing his coin as he watched the two walk away. For one of the first times in his life, he felt confident that he knew the answers the silver would offer him. At his core, he knew he would not like the answers.
<><><><><>
Deciding to start at the ground floor before working his way up the castle, Ambrose opened the doors on the left side of the main hall just as Eleanor and Gio entered the throne room. Two senses immediately erupted as he drew the doors open; catching him off guard like a cheap shot, a saliva-inducing smell that slapped him, followed by a warmth that clung to every pore in his face.
Ambrose had invited himself to what was a full-blown party. There were hundreds of High Hillford soldiers sequestered in this area of the castle, and if there was a better to be found, Ambrose would wager that none of the lot in front of him were sober. The noise was incredible, both in the room and how it was seemingly trapped from entering the main hall, but both his sight and his mind were discussing an urgent topic with his stomach.
if there was any jealousy the residents held for the nobility, and so few gripes they held compared to the next country, it had been the quality of food. His stomach demanded food, and now more than ever he realized he hadn’t eaten a single thing all day. The smells tantalizing him were incredible; he could distinguish the prominent smell of bacon and watched as a man ate a chicken leg wrapped with bacon (That stranger immediately shot up Ambrose’s list of smartest men in the world), while the other smells seemed to clash in for superiority. Stews filled with beef and vegetables, salted and smoked meats, and at the center table he could see the remains of what appeared to be a duck. The cramp building within him was the single catalyst that drove his actions, for the faster he could herd the soldiers into the throne room, the faster the day would be over. And sooner he could eat, and of course drink.
Too loud to hear one's thoughts, only a group by the door became immediately aware of his entrance. Ambrose looked over to see that three in this group of five soldiers had been immediately put under the dress’s power, and as they looked up at him they were informing the pair that hadn’t looked in his direction. To Ambrose’s surprise, the five only offered a raising of their stolen goblets, before they each drank a long, filling, rich quench that emptied the contents of each soldier's drink.
Between the plethora of people standing everywhere, there were also dozens seated. What he entered was the dining section of the kitchen, with three long wooden tables and two benches associated with each acting as the gap between the door and the actual kitchen. There was little exposed wood to be seen on any of the tables, for they were all loaded with items. From full plates of food to stacks of dishes, dinner seemed to already have been served. Inexpensive tankards sat next to goblets of great value, with swords, helmets, and gauntlets finding the rest of the real estate to be had on each table. The benches were even less inviting; soldiers barking at one another, throwing items across the same table or to another one completely, and the loudest group of them all being the folk's arm wrestling at the far side of the center bench, an audience cheering on. There was no gap in the madness to be seen.
What a party! Ambrose could not dismiss his instincts. He knew a good time when he saw one, and found himself jealous that he could not partake in the affair. The thought of using his disguise came to mind, a very tantalizing thought, yet the notion was dismissed as Eleanor’s word rang in his head.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
While under the power of the dress, you can not take injury, consume beverages or enjoy food, else the power will cease immediately.
That rule seemed to be made directly out of spite for Ambrose, especially the drinking part. He reminded himself that the sooner he finished the Queen's orders, the sooner the trial, and after that his heroism would buy him every and any meal or drink he could hope for.
“Soldiers! Attention!” Ambrose barked in his most cavalier voice, surprising himself with how well it came out.
Most soldiers, but not all, did turn to face him. Most standing, some seated, locked eyes with him, and the sight of hundreds of pairs of pupilless eyes fixated upon him. But even those who found themselves under the spell did not seem to take the call urgently, finishing their drinks or continuing in their conversations. The group arm wrestling didn’t seem to give any care, too preoccupied with their match and hollering still for one side to win.
One soldier did have the courtesy to respond. Standing in a circle of similarly swaying drunks, the man's voice cracked as he cupped both hands around his mouth, shouting, “Hey Captain ‘Bastian! Take a load off for the second time in your life will ya!”
A chorus of laughter erupted from wall to wall. The soldier was being patted and praised, collectively becoming hysterical. The soldier's arm wrestling paused their match, to the dismay of no onlooker as they too enjoyed the joke. Eventually, a rhythmic pounding began at the tables, tankards slamming the surface and infecting the next table, then the next, and finally the soldiers standing pounded at their chests in merriment.
The difference between seeing Paulo and seeing Sebastian was gargantuan. Ambrose hadn’t been the brut of a joke in quite some time, and although the expense was on Sebastian, he still felt embarrassed all the same. The other thought on his mind was the specific soldier, whose voice sounded so full of youth.
“Ok, listen up!” Sebastian shouted once again. Still, the soldiers did not give him their full attention, “The Bishop has arrived, and he along with Veronica wait for you in the throne room. Rewards will be-”
The shuffling of feet, sliding of benches, and overall commotion drowned out everything else Ambrose prepared to say, which wasn’t much more anyway. He heard shouts and responses amid the frenzy to leave the room; “Why didn’t you tell us already!”, “His Holiness! Quickly now!”, “Rewards from Him! You hear that? Directly from Him!”.
Ambrose stepped aside to allow the soldiers to leave. The closest group that had seen him upon entering were the ones spearheading the campaign, becoming the first to leave the room. Three men and two women, trying to calm themselves but failing miserably as they giggled, laughed, and pushed off one another as they passed him. One even offered an outstretched hand, but Ambrose only stood and stared awkwardly at both the hand and the man, before the group exited the room.
Are they even twenty years of age? These are the hardened soldiers they sent?
The flow of soldiers continued for what may have only been a handful of minutes, and yet to Ambrose the weight he had thought was lifted from him came back to his shoulders and caused the ordeal to drag on. There was simply no mistaking the wide discrepancies in age anymore. No person in the room could confidently be pegged to be in the range of their late twenties to early forties. Of the men, dozens of beardless soldiers would pass by him before a soldier marked with wrinkles and greying of the hair did. Nearly all of the women had full faces and high cheekbones, large lips, and an energy of beautiful innocence that was hard to be found in a mother or middle-aged woman.
One woman slapped him on the arm, causing him to stir out of his thoughts. The way her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head, and the lack of cohesiveness to her words that came out as an inaudible mumble were two clear signs to the professional drinker that was Ambrose. A wager that it was her first time drinking would not fetch much of a profit to any bookie. Whisked away with the flow of traffic, Ambrose did not hear what she had to say.
He had tried to keep a count, but too many thoughts had made him lose count at nearly two hundred. He wagered that between four to five hundred soldiers had been enjoying themselves in the large space, and what a mess they had all left behind. Ambrose stood quietly as the last group made their way out of the room, and continued to stand there for another minute as he thumbed the coin in his pocket. He could not think of which question to ask first.
The group he had just directed to leave paled in comparison to what he had thought of them with their full armor equipped. Before, they seemed invincible, a powerfully equipped unit that was no match for the likes of Runswick and their patchwork militia. But now, as he saw those same helmets and suits discarded and left behind, connections he couldn’t quite make out were becoming closer in his mind.
Why would High Hillford invade us with such an inexperienced group? Why would they be left behind by their commanders? How many more soldiers did High Hillford have?
With each thought, Ambrose looked to his palm, where the coin was nestled in the large hand of Sebastian. None of the questions applied to the yes or no nature of his coin, but it didn’t matter if it did. An inner voice seemed to answer each, and above all the message was simply that they were missing something. Something that the other side knew far too well.
Ambrose left the room, using every bit of his much longer strides to hurry to the above floors.
<><><><><>
Gluttony did not appear to be a sin condemned by those of High Hillford. If the dining room and kitchens revealed the side of excess hunger, the above floors showcased an insatiable greed. Stepping into the second floor, Ambrose found himself in a long hallway that had weathered a storm. Glass was littered on the unending red rug of the hall, sparkling from the torches that were the only unscathed items in sight. Pictures were staggered to either side, laying flat on the floor and leaving the shadow from where they once hung obvious on the wall.
There had been little noise on the floor, but Ambrose had to attend to it all the same. To his dismay, the noise came from far down the hall, and making his careful way closer to it gave him awareness of the number of rooms located on this floor alone. He passed dozens of open doors, each adjacent to another door, finding them all trespassed and thoroughly looted. Beds were upturned, drawers lay smashed or discarded from dressers, and fine silk clothes were flung in every which way.
Ambrose’s feet continued to move of their own accord as he gawked at each room, and before long he was much closer to the noise than he had realized. He stopped, standing still only a few doors away from where the sounds were coming from. To his growing annoyance and disgust, the sounds being made left both a lot and very little to the imagination. A mixture of laughter, moaning, and surprised screams from both sexes left Ambrose feeling incredibly awkward and uncomfortable.
He felt for his coin, took it out, and looked at it with a furrowed brow, “I thought I was supposed to be the lucky one!” He whispered to it, “Everyone in this castle is more lucky than I am, this lot especially.”
He resigned to his duty. Taking the replica of Sebastian’s blade from his backside, Ambrose decided that it was time to speed things up. His feet pounded the floor as he made the final few strides towards the noise, turning at the open door to find what he had mostly expected. Twelve pairs of eyes stared back at him in genuine surprise, before losing the shock value with their pupils fading away. The room had lost all floor space in favor of nearby beds. To his relief, most were covered by a sheet, and of those covered, they had all halted or sprung off one another in embarrassment at his abrupt entrance. Most, but not all, as the two to his left continued like animals in a heat.
Those two were where his sword pointed, “The Bishop awaits you all in the throne room. I’m sure he would appreciate some clothes, and possibly some decency! The doors wide open, you disgusting pigs!”
Unfortunately, that was not his only experience. It was his only on the second floor, but the third floor may as well have been a brothel. He knew it as soon as stepped out onto the floor landing, the sound and smell of sex palpable in the air. This floor had been much more expensively furnished, with no lack of expense in the quality of silk used in the sheets and beddings. A revelation must have taken hold of the soldiers, as they seemed to be having intercourse with not only each other but with the clothes and fixtures as well. The amount of people he sent off who wore loose, transparent garbs revealing nearly everything was comical.
Ambrose became bored with repeating himself, but without the mention of the Bishop’s presence, no one seemed to take his direction seriously. Even with his blade pointed at one group, a lot of half-naked soldiers only continued in their lust and even offered him to join. One female had even looked down the length of his blade, before falling to her back and spreading her thighs apart. He was incredibly hot and bothered by that one, and was left stammering about the bishop as he averted looking directly at her sex.
He felt exhaustion seeping into his joints and corners of his eyes as he ascended the steps to the fourth and final floor. As he did, he became aware of his own mistake of not going directly to this floor to start but dismissed the concern in aggravation. His status seemed to have been in free fall, quickly going from savior of the Queen to breaker of parties and conjurer of blue balls. The only relief he could find was that he was nearly done driving the soldiers into the throne room, and with this floor cleared he may finally be able to relax. Patting the coin in his pocket for good measure, he hoped the orgies were behind him as he stepped into the fourth floor.
Similar to the second floor, he could hear noise in the distance, but this time it was the sound of clear-cut voices. They were coming from a place down the hall, yet Ambrose’s attention was immediately found to his left. Different from the other floors, this hall did not contain many rooms to either side of the hall, instead, the prominent rooms were adjacent to one another at each end of the hall like two heads of a long table. Nor were the two average doors, with the one he looked at now being a double arched door of intricate silver markings that looked a lot like branches of a tree, and the other appearing to have a similar but made of a shining gold. If the gold had been for the King, then Ambrose reckoned he must have been looking into Eleanor’s bedroom.
Both to Ambrose and whoever had upended the room, he found himself surprised with how unimpressive the contents were. Rooms on the third floor had far greater riches than this one, and aside from the large canopy bed, it would be impossible to assume a princess lived here. He took a cautious step inside the room.
There was simply a lack of furniture, and while the possibility remained that it had been stolen, there were no undirtied marks left in the floor that suggested a piece of furniture had left its home. Aside from the many books that littered the area and the surface of the bed, the only captivating detail to Ambrose was the large window in the room. Half-open, its large curtain flapped in the breeze. Making his way over to it, he found himself marveling at the scene it gave. It was a breathtaking view of Runswick, from the courtyard below, the fountain in the center of the city, and the outer wall nestled in the horizon. Like a colony of ants, he could see between the center and the inner wall the movement of the residents they had ordered to wait.
The door at the far end of the hall slammed open, and an invasion of laughter took hold of the fourth-floor hallway. Ambrose turned to find more than a dozen soldiers emerging from the room that he suspected was the King’s very own, and they sounded quite elated by something. Ambrose turned from the window and began in their direction.
“Careful with it now, very careful you hear!” One soldier barked, his back facing Ambrose. None of the soldiers that had entered the hall had turned to see him yet, as they appeared focused on a task at hand that still presided in the king's room. The others in the hall called out similar commands, drowning each other out.
“Give me some room would you! I’ve got it, I won’t drop it! It’s not even heavy you fools! I said move!” A much sterner voice roared over the critics in the hall, and soon the soldiers began to split to either side of the door. Ambrose had cut the distance in half and was well in view when they cleared the path to allow the man in charge to pass.
Ambrose halted, and so did the soldier as the two made eye contact. The soldier was one of the older ones; he was scruffy, yet the scruff was slick with sweat, a brutish man with a permanent scowl stamped on his face. Ambrose assumed the pupils of the man were disappearing, but couldn’t see as the man was stuck squinting back at him. The entire party of soldiers looked to Ambrose then, but Ambrose did not care for their attention. Frozen in place, all Ambrose could do was stare at the item the man held cupped in both hands and soon his eyes squinted like the man who held the source of the dazzling light.
Clutched in the man's hands and pressed to his diaphragm for ample support, was the Whitewood family diamond. The rock was so incredibly bright that the men standing near had to put a hand up to shield their eyes from it. The man who held it went from squinting to fully closing his eyes, and Ambrose thought he caught tears falling from them.
“Hey,” Ambrose said, “What’s that you have found?”
“Damn it! Fuck off Sebastian!” The man who held the diamond said, his face ridiculous as he looked pained by the brightness, shifting his head rapidly to try and find a better angle away from the light.
“Woah now, that is no way to talk to your captain, soldier!” Ambrose replied.
“Yeah well, if you plan on taking this diamond from us then you can shove off!” It was another soldier who spoke this time, “Took us hours to rip it from its pedestal, nearly lost our minds!”
“This is our spoil, you hear captain!” The man who held the diamond said, “Plenty of other shiny things lying about, but this one was earned through hard work! Was’t it boys!”
The men around him echoed the claim. Ambrose could see now that the entire group was slickened and had sleeves rolled up to their elbows, and one man had his hands bandaged. It seemed well worth it, as the diamond the angry man held looked to be between the size of a skull and a ripe watermelon. The monetary value had to be unparalleled in all the land if the item was real, and this group seemed to be very assured the diamond was as grand as it seemed.
With his blade still out, one of the soldiers took a cautious step forward, drawing his own blade to face him. The men around him groaned and told him to stop, but the soldier appeared to be determined with his action. Ambrose nearly broke character, seeing the short blade of the soldiers pointing in his direction compared to the blade he held. The man might as well have had a steak knife, as the handle of Sebastian’s greatsword was nearly half the length of the soldier's sword, let alone the massive blade that may have been as tall as the man that stood in front of him. Ambrose wondered if Sebastian found these moments humorous too.
“We mean it, Captain. Just let us have this, and we’ll all be on our way.” The older man said, his voice lacking conviction.
“Alright, alright! You can keep it, you hear? Quit your worrying.” Ambrose said, his words a welcome relief to the party in front of him. The soldier in front of him breathed a heavy sigh of relief, but before he could form a smile Ambrose continued, “One condition, however! Let me hold it for a moment, just a moment.”
The soldiers collectively shifted nervously, aside from the man that held the diamond. Still blinded, the pain of the brightness that had obviously been stirring him seemed to reach a boiling point. Agonizing, the man spoke for the wary group.
“Fuck! Fine, but only a moment Captain! We need to cover this damn rock with that sheet in the room, I’m not willing to go blind to get rich! Take it now before I change my mind Sebastian!”
The soldier nearly threw the diamond into Ambrose’s hands, yet Ambrose would not get to see the man’s relief in being able to turn away from the light. Nor did Ambrose watch as the men around him moved closer and behind him, cutting off any chance for escape as they watched him with tense suspicion. As soon as Ambrose touched the diamond, everything around him ceased to be present. It felt as if he had been coerced into sleep, and immediately plunged into a dream. The first sensation he could grasp was an incredible chill present at his feet, a draft from what must have been a violent wind. But looking down, he did not find his legs, nor any part of his body. What he did find were people; a woman lying in bed, another by her side, a hooded figure pacing nearby, and a withered figure shrouded in hair sitting cross-legged, buried in one of the books that must have come from the stacks that surrounded him.
All of his attention was directed to the last person. He watched, from somewhere overhead in the small room, as this person flipped vigorously through pages searching for something. There was nothing about the person specifically that drew Ambrose’s full attention, rather the oddity of the situation captivated him. For Ambrose saw the other man pacing but did not hear bare feet hit the ground. The woman in bed did not stir, but the woman by her side had been mouthing something inaudible. Everything was muted, except for the person sitting and reading. It sounded as if he was under water, so muffled and drowned out, but Ambrose heard each turn of the page, and was searching for another sound that emanated from him.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ambrose saw it then. A slight movement around the person's thigh, the hand not holding the book in his lap. He was tapping his thigh with a finger, and could have competed with a metronome with the consistent rate he was going at.
As soon as he realized the sound, it stopped. The person slowly turned their head up, not just to face the ceiling overhead, but to stare directly at Ambrose. The two made direct eye contact, and although Ambrose could not see himself, he knew this person could see him. As drowned as the sound was, Ambrose could still clearly make out what the person had to say.
“Aren’t you coming, Nola?”