(Solstice)
To the Ninth Circle with Vance!
Solstice stalked angrily through the halls of Vance manor. The many corridors and rooms gave the place a maze-like quality, and that was just the area they’d let her go into. Some servants had asked her if there was something she was looking for, but she’d just stared them down until they’d stopped trying to use their stupid words and had gone somewhere else.
She wasn’t lost. She just hadn’t figured out where she needed to be yet.
She turned a corner, and found herself staring down another opulent corridor, resplendent with scarlet carpets, ornate suits of armour, and elaborate, full-wall paintings. She cursed, and the heat of her anger radiated beneath her skin. She fingered the weathered battle-axe on her back. She was tempted to cleave one of those paintings right down their middle, just to see the look on that smug Vance’s face when he saw the damage.
How dare he ask me to kill monsters for him? Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am, that he can just buy me like that? Turn me against my own kind?
Because the truth was, Solstice was a monster too. And Vance knew it.
She didn’t slice the painting. She didn’t actually want to get thrown out. Not before she got what she came for.
She headed down the corridor, then stopped. Footsteps. Solstice ducked behind one of the suits of armour, and listened, letting her senses reach out down the corridor. She didn’t actually want to run into one of the servants again, fun as it was to torment them.
But the footsteps coming down the corridor were a bit too… erratic… for a servant. They clumped, and stumbled, accompanied by the occasional mutter.
“Hey, ho, ‘scuse me there… ha, wait a minute, you’re a wee suit of armour thing, aren’t ya? Haha, what’m I apologisin’ to a suit for? Ho hum, come on now…”
The faintest smell of alcohol rolled down the corridor. Solstice’s nose crinkled slightly. It was the drunkard, O’Faolin. She wasn’t sure exactly what Vance had wanted from an old drunk veteran who was old enough to have been fighting in the War… but then, she wasn’t sure what exactly Bran was yet, either. He looked human. But then, Solstice looked human.
Still, she was minded to let him wander on his way, until a thought occurred to her.
To get to where she was going to, maybe it was better to be two rather than just one. She stepped out from the cover of the suit of armour just as O’Faolain rounded the corner.
“Oh, hey there wee missy!” the gruff veteran said. His words were slightly slurred. “Didnae see ya there.”
Solstice bristled slightly. It was odd hearing someone refer to her as “wee” (which she was pretty sure meant little), or “missy.” She was about as large and just as muscled as he was. Still, she forced the resentment down, and made an attempt at a smile.
“Hey… O’Faolain, isn’t it?”
“Call me Bran!” the man said, beaming happily. He wasn’t fully looking at her, though, seeming eager to move past.
“Well met to you Bran. Call me Solstice. Where are you headed?”
At this, Bran suddenly met her eye, then glanced around the corridor suspiciously. He leaned in conspiratorially. This close, he reeked of bad alcohol. Solstice did her best to ignore it.
“Kitchens,” he whispered. “They cut off mah supply. Ah figured… Ah figured ah’d go and… maybe find some more…”
He looked like he didn’t need any more, but Solstice wasn’t here to be anyone’s mother. Besides, he was probably two decades older than her. Also, she needed him.
“Hmm,” she said, “I’m not sure the servants in the kitchens will let you have any more drink.”
The man clutched his hands to his bald head, and let out a very sad sounding “Oh nooooo...”
Solstice, slightly reluctantly, patted his shoulder consolingly. Most flinched when she touched them, especially if they knew what she was. Bran didn’t seem to notice. “But that’s ok, I think I know another place you can find something to drink.”
He looked up at her, hopefully. “Oh, aye?”
“The basement.”
“The basement? Isn’t that… y’know…” Here, he glanced around again. “They told us not to go in there.”
“I know, but that was probably just to trick us so we couldn’t get to the wine cellar.” Solstice tried to put confidence into her voice and expression. “Places like this always have a well-stocked wine cellar.”
In fairness, that was probably true.
Believing her, Bran frowned. “The devils!”
“Yes, yes, they’re very terrible. Now, I don’t suppose you found any ways downstairs, by chance? We could go together.”
“Aye! Oh, aye, you come with me, wee girlie! I’ll lead the way!” Bran moved back down the corridor he’d come from, waving at her to follow him. Solstice just about kept herself from rolling her eyes at “wee girlie”, but followed, straightening the battleaxe on her back and ignoring his occasional pronouncement of “Devils!”
Well, that had been easy. It was apparently simple to lie to a drunk man.
Still, she’d do more than just lie if it meant finding answers.
She’d find out what Vance was hiding in this place, and nothing was going to stop her.
***
The door to the basement appeared to be locked.
“Are you sure this even goes down to the basement?” Solstice hissed at Bran.
“Aye!” he whispered back. “I saw a servant using it! Just need to find a wee way to unlocky.”
Solstice was certain that wasn’t a word. She glanced behind her. The corridor they were in was deserted, this whole section of the manor was quiet as the grave. Most people had settled in for the night. Only the subtle chime of an occasional clock could be heard.
Things were still. Good. That would make this easier.
“Don’t suppose…” mumbled Bran, “you’re one of those sneaky sneaking unlocky types? ‘S.. what’s the word… Rrrrrrr…”
“A rogue?”
“Aye, a rogue!”
“Do I look like a rogue?” She was over six feet tall and broad muscled with it. Although she didn’t rely on heavy armour, her light desert clothing could hardly be mistaken for a night-pad’s outfit.
Bran attempted to look at her.
“…Maybe?” He shook his head, then fumbled for a dagger. “N’vermind, ah’ve got it… ah’ve got it…”
He managed to draw the dagger, and then attempted to pick the lock with it. He scored several deep gashes along the woodwork before he even managed to get it into the right hole.
“Easy peasy!” he said. There was no click of an opening lock to accompany his words.
Solstice rolled her eyes. This is ridiculous.
Then she glanced around the corridor. There was still no-one in sight. No sound of footsteps. Her hand tightened around the battleaxe on her back, pulling it free. If no one is around… maybe there’s a better way to “pick” this lock.
It would be risky. Someone might hear the sound of splintering wood. But the anger was rising in Solstice, and she had had enough of this. This door was defying her, was between her and her objective, and she was not about to let it-
There was someone behind her.
Solstice’s instincts, previously calm, suddenly went into overdrive. She spun around, hefting her weapon.
Less than a metre away, Calliban the butler was standing perfectly poised and immaculate, with a dissatisfied expression on his face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked calmly. And yet, he hadn't been there a moment ago. Solstice’s instincts, honed over years of survival, screamed danger, danger, danger.
She didn’t lower the weapon. He didn’t seem to have any weapons. His white-gloved hands were clasped behind his back. But his eyes…
She had not really looked at Calliban when she’d first been led into the manor. Her mind had been too caught up in the opulence all around her. But now…
His eyes were the eyes of a killer.
“I would remind you,” he quietly drawled, “that the basement is off limits to guests. If you disobey the master’s reasonable requests in this regard, I will have to inform him. And then there will be consequences.” He said it easily, as if he were informing them that dinner was ready to be served. And yet, Solstices instincts continued to scream.
There were two of them, if Bran pulled his weight, they could maybe-
“Oh, my mistake!” Bran said, trying his best to hide the dagger he’d been using. “Ah got lost on the way to the toilet! D’ya mind..?”
The butler carefully looked over them. Then he glanced at the door, with its scored woodwork. His eyes glanced back at them. Danger, danger, danger.
“Certainly,” he said, nodding slightly at Bran, then gesturing down the corridor. “If you would come this way.” He then turned, and led Bran up the corridor. Bran, traitor, followed meekly after him.
After a few steps, Calliban turned back to Solstice. She hadn’t started following. Hadn’t lowered her battleaxe. He said nothing, but simply waited expectantly.
He knew she would follow.
Solstice glanced at Bran, then back at the butler, then cursed quietly. She returned the axe to her back. “Yes. Could you show us where the toilet is?”
In the desert, the when struggling for life, you learned to smell a predator. There were some fights you didn’t pick. Not when there were more options available.
But Solstice swore to herself, before she was done, she would learn the secrets of their "master" Vance. She would figure out what game he was playing. And she would learn how to destroy him.
Ahead, in the corridor, Bran was asking Calliban, “Ah don’t suppose there’s a chance of a little night-time drinkie?”
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