“But he can’t be dead! He simply cannot!”
Crawford’s voice boomed across the chasm between himself and the serving man like a bass drum, as though shouting it loud enough for the Gods to hear might prompt them to change their minds and shove my father’s soul back into his cadaverous body for the sake of their eardrums.
The sun had crawled above the horizon, balancing on the edge of the world like a golden coin teetering upon a parchment’s edge. Like my fate at that point in time, it was unclear which way it would fall. All I knew was that, either way, the sun tumbling out of the sky could never be a good thing and neither could any end to the predicament I was currently confronted with.
My father was dead. It was possibly- even probably- my fault (though I try not to jump to conclusions, and I certainly wasn’t going to shout my wrongdoing to the world in my woe lest I find myself innocently blamed and short of a head). Truly, I was struggling to see any ‘good’ outcome here; only that self-sufficiency and an arse-load of guilt was significantly better than the other, which was slowly winding its way about my neck with chaffing insistency. I could already feel the noose tightening, and despite feeling thoroughly shitty at the news I had received, I wasn’t quite that desperate to see my devoted father once more.
I needed to play it cool. Keep calm. Find another cask of wine or two and drink them dry. I wobbled a little, conscious that I was still classified as stylishly drunk, and tried on my best ‘my dad just died’ face. It wasn’t my first time using it, but I felt like knowing that my father really was dead lent it some extra sense of sincerity.
It was now a good quarter of an hour or so since the revelation had been made, and a group had gathered in the Great Hall that consisted of half the Crawford household, his son, daughter, the two she-devils that were my sisters, Sir Crawford and, of course, myself- though I would much rather have been a hundred miles in any direction rather than in that room at that time. Lilianna was still a little dishevelled from last night’s romp but had neatened herself up a tad so as to seem mildly presentable, yet despite my attempts she would not once meet my eye. I bristled and gave in with a scowl, glaring at the tiled floor. How rude.
“I had a look myself, mi’lord,” The mousey little man quailed against the force of his lordship’s fiery astonishment, yet he had the sense to stand his ground and quavered only slightly as he carried duly on, “and I’m not sure any man could survive the number of times he was stabbed. His insides was turned half to mince, guts and gore all over the bedsheets- the maids say it shall take weeks to-“
“Alright, that’s quite enough! There are women present, you horrid whelp, and McClintock’s own daughters at that!” The Lord’s disapprobation stole the morbid magnetism from the lad’s tongue- I don’t know about the girls, but the picture he painted was certainly giving me indigestion- and he bowed his head submissively before adding tentatively a few uncomfortable moments later.
“This was found beneath the bedside mantle, mi’lord,” Something pointed but shrouded in torn grey cloth was slipped from beneath the man’s sagging sleeve, and in a timid movement he began to unwrap the covering to reveal something which winked dangerously in the coloured light, “A dagger- looks to be the one what did the deed.”
There was no doubt about that. Although I could but see a slither of metal, there was no mistaking the coagulating vermilion which coated the slick surface.
“Let me see that.” The blade had barely been unrobed when a streak of blonde hair darted across the small space, a freckled hand reaching out to snatch the torture instrument from the serving man’s limp hands. That got my interest, and I spent the next few silent seconds craning my neck to see what the little gnat could possibly have realised that was so astonishing; for some horrible reason I could not fathom, Lula’s actions had me consumed by dread, and I hovered in tense anticipation until she finally faced the rest of the room with an unholy glint in her sky-blue eyes, “This is Corliss’ dagger!”
“What?” I couldn’t help but exclaim my utter disbelief, and now I was bodily shoving the girl aside to grab the weapon from her dainty fingers. A weapon which was undoubtedly my mother’s obsidian dagger, the one which I had handed not so long ago to a certain knobbly hermit. I cursed despite myself and continued to ogle the bloody blade as my heart struggled back into my chest after dropping to my toes. He had used my own dagger to commit the crime, and even had the audacity to leave it in plain sight! Why, that slimy bastard!
Suddenly aware that all eyes were on me, including Lilianna’s (nice of her to finally pay attention), I tore my colourless gaze away from the incriminating evidence. Bloody hell. How in the worlds was I going to talk my way out of that one? I swallowed the sharp dryness in my throat and croaked the first thing which came to mind, which also happened to be the worst thing one could ever claim when under accusation of a crime.
“It wasn’t me!” I cried, dropping the dagger with a resounding clatter as I stepped away and raised my palms in the air, going by the classic logic that whoever was closest was the culprit, as though doing so would automatically declare me innocent of any misdeeds, “I-I swear it! Anyway, w-what kind of idiot uses his own dagger to commit a murder?”
I felt rather smug with myself for that one- finally, a decent line of defence- but upon meeting Ada and Lula’s joint gaze, which pinned me with questioning judgement, I dropped my hands and scoffed in offence, “I am not an idiot! And I did not kill my own father!”
Fortunately, before anyone could hope to give evidence to undermine my claims of sagacity, a second servant bumbled through the droning doors.
“A raven just arrived, lord Crawford.” The man announced; a tall fellow but hunched and crippled with age and the hundreds of parchments which he must have carried over his disgustingly long lifetime, clothed in cloth of grey and brown which was spattered here and there by white bird droppings like dustings of snow.
“Not now!” The Lord snapped, eyeing the old codger with strained impatience, but the resolute air of the latter was enough to give him pause and he allowed the man to approach.
“It is urgent, my lord. I really think you must see it…” A cream piece of coiled parchment, of which I was horrified to ascertain from a long look contained my House’s seal, was pressed furtively into Crawford’s calloused grasp. There was a drawn out period of expectation as the seal was broken and the paper crackled open, followed by a stretch of complete stillness. I realised that I had been holding my breath and was no more than five more seconds from passing out, so I sucked in a restricted gasp of oxygen before forgetting to breathe once again.
“…By the Gods…” Damn, that didn’t sound too good, “Lord McClintock of Delrow and all his sons… they were found dead the morn of five days past. Slaughtered, every one…”
Now, you’re probably all wondering why in the worlds I hadn’t made a hasty exit already. Truth is, at this point, I was asking myself that same question. Unfortunately, there is only so much shock and mental trauma that a body can take before it decides to shut down and pretend all its problems don’t exist. I liked to think that’s how I lived my life in general, but it turns out it can happen in a much more literal sense. Currently, I was finding that out first hand, as my brain had stopped processing information five minutes ago and my body was effectively nothing more than a blonde vegetable in some back-to-front breeches.
To everyone’s relief, I’m sure, the state of shock is not a lifelong predicament- although, considering my existence recently, I might be prepared to argue against that- and after a minute or two more of staring into the void I finally jerked back to consciousness. As soon as I did, I found that I wanted to drop straight back off the face of the earth.
“Well-“ I gasped, my overwhelming environment somehow reversing the effects of sexual maturity as my voice gained twelve octaves in the space of two seconds, “-you c-can’t bloody accuse me of murdering them, too! I-I’ve been here the entire time!”
However, in spite of my snag of sound logic, it was clear that nothing I said was going to get past my sisters. I listened in flinching awe as Ada took up the baton from her sneaky sister, and I stood by in a miserable mess as she continued to flog me with it.
“Without our father, grandfather or our uncles left alive, Corliss inherits everything. He’s always badgering on about inheriting grandfather’s title, lands, money…”
“That doesn’t mean I would kill them to get it!” I wailed, feeling genuine tears of panic burn at my eyes as my ribcage constricted about my vital organs like a vice; why do the opposition always have to make such good points? “I would never! Anyway, that doesn’t explain the fact that I can’t be in two places at once, let alone five! Delrow is several days ride away, and our uncles live a couple of days apart as well.”
That unadulterated reasoning relieved me of my stress somewhat, as it was completely true and also served to suggest that the hermit hadn’t been involved either. After all, there was basic physics at play, and no amount of eye-makeup could possibly give the man the ability to jump across time.
“He could have hired assassins.” This from Lula, quickly backed up by Ada’s supporting simper.
“And he went on that suspiciously long horse ride a fortnight ago and refused to tell us to where it was he travelled.”
Dammit! Foiled again!
“I told you, I was out… visiting the locals…” I hoped that by mumbling the second part it would not seem quite so ludicrous. It didn’t work, so I hastily carried on, “And anyway, where would I have gotten the money from? I’m broke, you all know that!” I thought I was finally starting to get somewhere- another hour or two of desperate reasoning and I might have talked myself into a fortune- but my plans were drawn to an unnecessary halt.
“Now, now, there’s no need for everyone to jump to conclusions,” The Lord had drawn the room to a lull, chatter dissipating as quickly as my hopes, “I’m sure Corliss can provide us with a perfectly valid explanation which can prove his innocence,” He didn’t look like he believed it, and I felt myself pinned under the almighty weight of his scrutiny as he turned his head ponderously to interrogate me directly, “Where were you last night? I met you in the wine cellar early this morning, but it seems your father’s death happened some time beforehand, and I must comment on your dishevelled appearance…”
I let him think I was merely allowing the words to sink in, when I was actually running around inside my head like a madman looking for an exit that wasn’t there. I cleared my throat, beads of perspiration speckling my brow like spittle.
“I… I was…” Fucking your daughter in the wine cellar.
“Shit.” I ran.
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