Lynda could hardly remember the journey; she seemed to fade in and out of consciousness as the carriage rocked and rolled the waves of the uneven streets, making it feel as a ship at sea; an impression that was not helped by the feelings of nausea and the rain splashing against the windows. Her eye fluttered open as she heard the muffled conversation between the man and his confidant, but a simple blink caused them to have swapped positions as the carriage door opened. Another blink and several dark shapes were in front of her as yells sounded as if they were so indistinct and far away before darkness and silence returned.

Her eyes finally snapped open and stayed open as a burning stab shot through her temple, as if someone jabbed a red-hot needle into the side of her head. Lynda pulled herself away from the pain, pushing on whatever it was she was laying on, and promptly fell backwards off the chaise lounge and into a tumbled heap of giant.

“Ow.” Lynda groaned and looked up, unfolding enough so that she was now lying stretched on the floor, tangled in her own skirts as the wooden heels of her simple leather shoes thudded against the carpet one after another.

The lady from the riot stood over her, holding what looked to be a dark stained cloth that dripped with what seemed to be water. Despite the fact that one eye was pressed shut to try and ward off the pain in her temple Lynda was able to focus on the woman before her in the light of a comfortable seeming room. She was dressed as a maid in an ornate pouffey black and white dress that tapered in at the waist to almost an extreme measure, though her skin was a deep golden yellow with big dark eyes. Two insect antenna rose from her head while little wings shuffled behind her in an almost uncomfortable manner.

“I’m sorry to disturb, I just wished to clean up the wound.” The maid buzzed as she knelt next to the giant and squeezed the water into a basin she held, at the bottom of which still sat large blue salt crystals that slowly suffused the water. “I think I got most of the…your…” The Maid hesitated, looking at the black splotch on the cloth before glancing back into Lynda’s black eyes. “…Anyway, my Lord wanted to discuss a few words with you but it seems your wounds took their toll. If you’re feeling better, I can take you to him.”

“Where am I?” Lynda asked, wanting to make sure her mind had caught up with reality. Consciousness and focus did not equate to comprehension, after all.

“You’re in my Lord’s in-city estate, just off of the upper side of Park grove. Now please get up, our benefactor’s waiting.” The maid took the bowl once more and stood up. Lynda’s lips pressed together at the order, but she said nothing and pulled her aching body upright.

Lynda hissed as she followed the fluttering maid, the limp from the evening prior now in full force as every step caused her to ache. Taking a few deep breaths to gather herself she moved outside the ornately appointed drawing room and into the entrance hall of the grand building she spent the night. Most buildings of a certain stature were designed to show the breadth of their owner’s wealth, however this building gave the impression of being impossibly tall instead. Lynda had not needed to duck through the doors, for a change, and the central room spanned the entire height as twin stairs circled and crossed the entire centre of the building, moving like a helix up and up again. Walls were adorned with paintings and tapestries, heraldry and a number of spears that had caught the giant off guard initially given an unfamiliarity with actual weaponry.

The most curious item, and one that made the room seem far larger and far more expensive, was the tall construction of iron and steel that sat at the heart of the helix staircase with a cage of brass that sat at its base as if there was a pillar of gold under construction, held in place with chains.

The Maid opened the door to the cage that sat on the ground floor and ushered Lynda inside. Though cautious, with an eyebrow raised in incredulity, the giant followed the instruction and coiled herself around the inside of the box. The Maid also stepped in, shutting the door behind her; behind the maid sat a large round insect style abdomen, striped in yellow and black, which caused the box to be a little bit of a squeeze when combined with Lynda’s hunched presence.

The Maid pulled on a lever until it clicked into the fourth position. “You may wish to brace yourself.”

The lurch as the elevator took its first tentative rise caused Lynda’s eyes to go wide. The feeling as it ascended wasn’t too dissimilar to having your stomach trying to escape through the soles of your boots and this did not fill the young woman with anything other than panic. Wishing for this to all stop, and taking something of a literal interpretation to the suggestion made by the maid, Lynda slammed her hands out to brace herself against the sides of the wall.

There was a somewhat problematic metal crunch and a horrific squeal.

A little while later the Maid knocked on a large oaken door on the fourth floor of the building before straightening what she could of her uniform. The door opened to reveal the man from the riot, freshly bandaged across his eye and in a loose silk shirt.

“Bella? What took you so long?” He asked, looking up from his book to the Maid. She simply curtsied.

“There was a slight problem with the elevator car, Master.” Bella said, looking up with a frustrated gaze that was almost hidden by her servant’s demeanour. Lynda’s dark blush crossed her cheeks as she rubbed the palms of her hands to regain some life in to them.

Turning back to her master the Maid bowed slightly. “I shall contact a repairman forthwith but for now I fear you may have to use the stairs.” She turned on her heels and bobbed her way down the corridor, hips swaying and wings buzzing.

“Sorry.” Lynda muttered to the man before her.

“It’s of no consequence; besides such devices aren’t common so I wouldn’t expect those to go in one for the first time not to find someone distressed. You should have seen the Earl of North Stienham; he was in quite a state I can tell you.” He offered Lynda a broad smiled as the significance of the name drop seemed to pass over his head, which only caused Lynda to try and swallow her nerves. “Allow me to introduce myself properly, my gargantuan friend; I am Lord Alfonse Merry-weather.”

“A pleasure, I’m Lynda…Lynda Marker…My lord.” Lynda stumbled through her words and promptly fell to silence. Awkwardly, perhaps a beat or two too late for propriety the giant gave a rather poor showing of a curtsey as her aching body rebelled against such delicate movement.

“The pleasure is all mine after what you managed to do for me earlier tonight, or rather last night by now. You have my gratitude indeed. Please, my friend, come in and make yourself at home.” The gentleman swung the door open and led the way inside.

Lord Merry-weather’s private study that was less a humble place to read and more of an opulent library; with shelves of books rising into the air under a domed glass roof that showed the autumn morning’s sky. Lynda’s breath was taken away as her eyes moved from the sheer volume of expensive books, across several antiques in glass cases that seemed to be dusted in history and to a tree.

Lynda couldn’t help but blink a few times, as four stories up in the middle of a city, behind a luxurious desk and chair towered a tree as it stretched up to the glass with every limb it could. It was a little stunted but the tree looked ancient with burnt copper and black bark covering it, spreading its autumnal leaves to suck up as much light as it could. Around the trunk sat coils of a faded cloth which spread from branch to branch. Words were scrawled across the cloth in ink that had almost disappeared to time, though a few words could still be made out.

As Lynda’s eyes traced the marvel before her, the bandaged man sat down at the desk and smiled broadly. “Quite impressive isn’t it?”

“Beautiful.” She replied, failing to hide the awe in her voice. “I’ve not seen anything like it.” She took a step around the table a little to get a closer look at the markings on the scrolls. Her hand lifted and traced down the cloth; to her fingers it felt like a silk that was old and fragile. Her hand almost snapped back when she realised just how old it might be, but still leant in for a closer look. “So delicate…And the words are so clear despite its age.”

“Words?” Merry-weather rose from his chair briefly to follow her to the tree. His eyes traced the cloth. “Ah, yes, the…words. They are something quite remarkable are they not?” He offered a saccharine grin. “My eyesight was never that good to start with and age hasn’t helped; I would appreciate a younger person to help me. What words do you see?”

Lynda’s mind threw up the fact he couldn’t be much older than his late thirties or early forties, though that might have been good luck and he was in fact a youthful looking fifty year old. Still, she dared not look to check just in case she lost her place on the ancient cloth; her hand lifted up to the first clear word as she began.

“Life…held still…bound to this tree…foresight is their prize…Life slumbers…let Life sleep wrapped in blankets of peace.” She said, as Merry-weather slipped a pencil from his desk and started to check his notes.

“Yes, that’s what I got as well.” He said, though quickly taking down a few notes for his own consumption. “Thank-you, for enduring my little pet hobby; I’m somewhat of a folklorist; I collect rare and beautiful things and then do my best to learn the history behind them.” His hand traced the room, from glass box to glass box; inside of which sat various odd looking objects that had a little plaque in front. “Artefacts from different times and places, all the way back to the start of recorded history.”

“When was that?” Lynda asked, moving over to a glass case and seeing inside what looked to be an ornate puzzle box, though part of it had broken and the paper thin gears of the mechanism inside was there for all to see; the stage magician coming out from behind a curtain.

“The start of recorded history? Not as far back as you’d think.” Merry-weather grumbled. “Recording history has only been a comparatively new idea; the oldest document ever found was Script of Antithesis. It was thought to be written over one thousand and six hundred years ago and it’s what we derive the year of the modern calendar from.”

“I’ve not heard of it.” Lynda said, looking back towards the Lord.

“Well that’s unsurprising; the Church of the Messenger don’t particularly ascribe to the idea so they’ve used what clout they’ve seized to suppress it. It’s the birth of the idea of mankind’s self-determination in the face of the Gods; literally saying that they have outgrown the need for these frankly insane deities and thus they should tear down what shrines and oaths were had in order to find their own path. It’s the origin point of Atheism in modern society.”

“But the Church of the Messenger isn’t about gods but, well, Messengers.” Lynda stood back upright, using one hand on the small of her back to eke out any twinges that came from the stopping she took.

“Quite so, but it still follows an observed religious precedent. Common academic belief from Osthiem is that the document is allegorical; it is humanity moving away from a need for a collection of strictly theocratic hunter-gatherers with the shamanistic priests at the top into a more democratic or feudal society based on merit rather than connection to a God.” After taking a few more notes, he closed the page on the pencil and shrugged. “After all, the Messengers are divine beings that helped to write the world into existence; if we bought into the idea of the Script of Antithesis then we shouldn’t have them, or at least no longer have the need for them.”

“You don’t sound convinced.” Lynda commented, lifting an eyebrow. “And how do you know so much about this script?”

“I’m not. And as for how I know, I saw a copy. When I travelled a decade or so ago I met a young man who owned the only surviving copy; it was quite a sight to behold as it was written in an ancient language near indecipherable but he had somehow done it.” The man bragged. “Oddly enough, it was held almost in reverence as if it were itself a holy relic.” The gentleman chuckled and Lynda, unable to shake his mirth and enthusiasm, joined him for a few brief chortles of her own.

“As fun as this is, sir, I would like to know why I was brought here.”

“I’m sure you have lots of questions.” He said, extending a hand to her for her to sit in the large chair opposite his desk. He had on one finger a ring that was the size of her knuckle, and emblazoned with a heraldic seal; one that looked familiar.

“You were in the carriage the other day, when I was stopped.” Lynda took glance at the ring and then back to the Lord, but Merry-weather just gave her an incomprehensible look in return.

“That was you, was it?” He asked, almost oblivious to everything outside of his study. “I did note a large woman getting searched, yes. I’m sorry that there wasn’t much I could do at the time; we were rushing to a meeting about…well, the Assassination and by the time I registered it we had already moved on a considerable distance.”

Lynda couldn’t help the grumble escape her lips as he wandered back to his desk, book in hand, and sat himself behind it. If he had noticed the discontent on the giant’s part he certainly didn’t let on.

Placing in a silken bookmark in the first book he was reading he closed the leather tome and looked up to her. “Now, I hear you want a job.”

“What?” The non sequitur threw the giant, but after a shake of the head she continued. “Yes, I was looking for one but it seems I’m having a hard time finding a role that would suit.”

“Have you considered something more physical, such as construction or soldiery?” He pulled a small glass orb the size of an egg towards himself, though it was a semi-translucent purple and perfectly round and played with it while he waited for an answer.

“Not…really; I’m a fan of books and was hoping to get a job where I would be writing, like a clerk for a store or a bank or something.” Lynda admitted, fighting the feeling that it would never happen.

“Well, why don’t you work for me?” Merry-weather asked as he got a little more comfortable in his seat.