Rhian

We made it back to Amalia in three pieces, but with business of his own to take care of someplace else, Gus left me and Strauss at the Drop to travel back to Oskari together. We’d barely spoken since we did the deed in Delphia, so the carriage ride to Oskari was not as dark but it was still awkward.

It might have been against Partisan law for us to copulate, but it’s not like what we did wasn’t a grand old time. We just didn’t know what to do with it.

When we got back to the village, Strauss scurried off to catch up on things at the Church. I scurried off to catch up with Michael.

I found him sitting at the bar at the Widow’s Peak, chatting with Ivana.

Neither of them seemed thrilled.

“Is it my hair?” he asked.

“I don’t care about your hair.”

“Is it my irrepressible cheer?”

“I don’t love it, but no.”

It seemed like an interesting conversation, so I hopped up on the stool next to Michael.

“Is it because I say to-mah-to instead of to-may-to? Because if it is, you can blame this one for that.” Michael thumbed over in my direction.

Ivana rolled her eyes at Michael, and then she smiled at me.

“Good to have you back, Rhian.”

I wasn’t sure it was good to be back, but it was nice of her to say.

“That’s nice of you to say,” I said.

It wasn’t long before I was sipping from a mug of free cider.

“How was Delphia?” Michael asked.

And that’s when I told Michael most things. I told him what we learned from Vincent Delestade, but I kept it simple for Ivana’s sake.

Looking back, a lot of it sounded completely mental. I’d catch him up in private later.

The bottom line: the missing persons case in Oskari was most likely related to the missing persons case in Jaska, and there was a high likelihood that case was never actually solved. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but we did have one clue.

After she finished topping up my mug, I asked Ivana about it.

“What do you know about an abandoned building somewhere to the north of here?”

“You’re talking about the old schoolhouse?” Ivana shrugged. “I really don’t know much. It hasn’t been used in decades, but I think it’s even older than that—some say even pre-Divide. Seems far-fetched if you ask me, but what do I know? I’m not that old.”

“Old? You don’t look a day over twenty,” Michael said.

I’d have said thirty. He was being generous on account of he was desperate.

Ivana carried on. “Anyway, the old place has been re-purposed a few times throughout the years. I think at one point, it was even a tavern—a rest-stop between Oskari and Jaska.”

The whole thing seemed strange, but seeing as strange was basically normal in those days, I didn’t think too hard about it. Either way, we all agreed it was a good place for keeping people and Oskari was still missing some.

It was time to investigate, so we thanked Ivana, packed some snacks, and hit the road.

For the record, Michael will eventually find out why Ivana didn’t like him.

It’s probably not whatever you’re thinking.

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Before heading out, Michael and I stopped by the church and invited Strauss along to investigate the schoolhouse-slash-tavern. He said he was busy, but I wasn’t buying it. I was sure he was avoiding me. There was no other reason he’d miss out on something old and boring. But it was fair enough. I was also avoiding me at the moment, and it had been a while since I’d spent quality time with Michael. He helped quiet the chatter in my head. I reckon that’s what we did for each other when it came down to it. Quieted the goddess-be-damned chatter.

On the way to the old building, Michael filled me in on what we missed in Oskari while we were away. (It wasn’t much.) And we spent the rest of the trip going over all the loose Delphia details.

All except for one detail, obviously.

Toward the end of the trip, the conversation took a turn.

“Our parents used to tell us bedtime stories about the Vonsinfonie Brothers. They were always my sister Marta’s favourite.”

“And these brothers ran a tavern?”

“No, I have no idea who ran the tavern. The Vonsinfonie Brothers were composers, but they ran a music school for children.”

“And you think this is it?”

Michael shrugged. “There aren’t too many pre-Divide buildings still standing, and according to the legends, the brothers had a special relationship with Amalia. She may have gone out of her way to keep the place safe, like She did with Leberecht.”

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Personally, I reckoned Leberecht just got lucky—none of that divine intervention horseshite. But I wasn’t about to piss all over the man’s childhood dreams. The state of the place was about to do that for me.

When we arrived, the schoolhouse-slash-tavern was lopsided, most of the stone bricks were in a pile on the ground, and the air smelled like literal death.

I took a moment to consider the building, and then Michael, and then the building again. “Is it everything you’ve ever imagined?”

“Well, I imagined it would be bigger.”

What was left of the door wasn’t locked—surprise. And in other news, Michael might have been on to something. The walls were lined with shredded up tapestries, but you could still see some of the pictures, and some of them showed distorted people doing faded musical things. If there’d been books on the shelf once, I couldn’t have read them anyhow.

“This is incredible," Michael said.

“I know I’ve never been a prize-winning student, but I’m not sure you know the definition of the word. What’s incredible, Michael, is how those curtains are still standing.”

The curtains were an off, purplish-grey colour. They might have been pretty once.

We weaved our way through busted old desks, and wandered between several rows of rusted metal poking out of the floor. I reckoned they could have held books as well, but they looked like old music stands. I know on account of I’ve spent a lot of time in Delphia, the only territory where music wasn't outlawed.

“Rhian,” Michael said.

“Michael,” I said.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Usually,” I answered.

The stage at the back of the room hadn’t collapsed yet. If there’d been any stairs, we’d have used them. But there weren’t, so we climbed instead. No better place for a picnic. Bread, sausage, and boiled eggs courtesy of Ivana.

We chatted casually as we ate, and then the conversation turned serious.

“I haven’t forgotten about what you learned from Delestade, Rhian, but are you sure that man you don’t remember killing wasn’t our culprit? Nothing even remotely out of the ordinary has happened in Oskari since he turned up dead.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, and what if that’s what someone wants us to think? What if the drunk man was a set-up? Suddenly us Partisans arrive, and we’re on the trail, right? What if this old kidnapper-slash-killer-and-or-cannibal made nice with an obvious suspect, and then somehow tricked him into assaulting me? I kill him, get caught, things go back to normal for a while, we leave, and he’s free to start all over again.”

“Okay, I see what you're saying. But let’s say our culprit really is some old man—how’s he luring people from the village? What’s he saying to them?”

“’Help, I’ve fallen and it hurts and whatnot?’” I shrugged. “I've no idea, Michael. This old man is clearly some sort of genius. Or he’s got allies. Or both. Either way, there’s something not right about any of this.”

“Do you remember anything else from that night?”

“Nope.”

“If you do, you know you can talk to me about it and I won’t judge, right?”

“Do you think I’m lying?”

“No, I don’t think you’re lying, but like you said, something isn’t right. If it was just you who lost your memory, or if it was just Finlay, I’d be comfortable chalking it up to a bump on the head. But both of you? It’s really strange.”

“It sure is.”

We ate fast on account of most Partisans did, so I gathered my things and hopped off the stage. Michael needed a minute to strap his sword Intrepi-what-the-bloody-ever on his back.

“You know, Michael, spending all that time with Delestade did get me thinking—what if there’s a Palisade defect behind this? What if it’s a Delphi, running around, wiping memories and controlling minds and whatnot? They could be using an old man decoy.”

I’d already started exploring the rest of the room when Michael jumped down after me.

“Yeah, I’m following, but—”

There was a loud crack, followed by a crash and a whole lot of crumbling. And when I looked over my shoulder, Michael wasn’t following at all.

Turned out, he was too busy falling through the floor.

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When I joined Michael through the hole in the floor, we learned two things right quick. One, the schoolhouse was once a tavern—just like Ivana said. Two, there was a man tending the bar who reckoned it still was. The poor bastard had on a nice suit and everything, and there were dozens of dusty bottles scattered around crooked shelves.

It was a bit sad and a lot peculiar.

“Patrons! Welcome!” he said. “Please, have a seat.”

Never mind I wasn’t about to take orders from a madman, there wasn’t actually anywhere to sit. The tavern was full up on patrons that day. Dead ones. Polished bones, sitting around the tables with their fancy clothes, and candles, and whatnot. Look, life got creepy fast and that’s just the way of things.

Michael curled his fingers around the hilt of Intrepi-what-the-bloody-ever. “I don’t see an immediate reason for violence—”

I saw about a dozen reasons.

“—but if you resist, consider this my only warning.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Creepy Barman said. “Do you see that couple there?” He pointed. I couldn’t be bothered looking. “Or that one? Or those three? They were all such perfect guests, and they all had such beautiful eyes. Just like—”

Thunk. My knife hit the man exactly where I aimed—smack in the special neck vein. It was about a second before he started sputtering. It was about another second before he reached for the blade, yanked it out, and chucked it back at me.

I dodged, and Michael charged the bar.

“Get out!” he shouted.

I should have listened sooner, because the Creepy Barman had other ideas.

Bottles flew, bottles broke. Alcohol spilled. As far as I was concerned, it was a goddess-be-damned waste. About the same time as the first candle hit the floor, I took Michael’s advice. The fire spread through the basement, creating a flaming wall between us. The last thing I saw was Michael climbing the bar before the heat chased my freckled arse straight up through the hole in the floor.

But Michael was still trapped. Even if he took his chances running through the flame-wall, he wouldn’t be able to get up through the hole so easily—not like I could, being a springy Strachan and all.

Back in the schoolhouse area, I raced across the room and yanked one of the music stands out of the floor. Well, I tried. And then I tried. And again, and again, until I found one with corroded bolts.

I listened.

Thud.

And I listened some more.

Thud, thud, thud.

I ran toward the sound and beat the piss out of the floor with my piece-of-shite metal rod. All I needed was a crack. Across the room, the fire was creeping up the stage. Meanwhile, Michael was coughing and still banging on the ceiling.

“This is fucking insane! What are you?”

My feet were getting hot, and there wasn’t much time. The piece-of-shite metal rod bent in half just as Michael's fist bust through the second board.

And then, lo and behold, I went flying through the air sideways and straight across the room into a bookshelf. Before it came crashing down on my head, I saw enough of the person who stormed into the room and tossed me aside like a rag doll to know he looked Barren.

He had brown eyes, and a nice jacket.