LotS/The Story/Tales of The Void/First Love
Susie Unette stopped in the corridor, beside one of the cabin doors, and looked down at her datapad.
"Maurice Hornung," she said.
"The British guy?" Remmler asked.
"I think he's Novocastrian."
"Whatever. I don't trust men who talk all funny like that one."
Susie tapped a sequence of buttons on the pad. The door's electronic lock recognized the override signal and yielded. A red light blinked green, then the tough metal moved aside -- ensconcing itself within its berth in the bulkhead.
The crewmen entered the small, neat chamber. Remmler Wuln made straight for its other door and disappeared inside the adjoining bathroom. The sound of liquid splashing into liquid made Susie wince.
"Couldn't you have done that in your own cabin?"
"Can't fight nature."
"Hope you're aiming better than you do at the range. Hornung didn't pay his creds to walk in your piss."
"Just look around, like the captain said."
Susie cast her gaze about the room, scanning its meager contents. A paperback novel rested on the table by the bunk. Its pages were yellowed, either by genuine age or by design. Some hardcopy readers printed them that way. The cover depicted a shadowy, indistinct figure creeping out of a window -- leaving a well-dressed corpse stretched out on the carpet behind him. Susie riffled through the volume but found only pages of printed text. She set it back down exactly as she'd found it.
The toilet in the next room flushed. Its churning accompanied Remmler through the doorway.
"Found anything?" he asked.
He reached for the novel. Susie slapped his wrist.
"Wash your hands! He doesn't want his stuff smelling like your prick."
Remmler grunted, but he went back into the bathroom. Water ran from the faucet. When he returned a few moments later, he was rubbing his hands on his thighs -- darkening the khaki.
Susie pulled a black suitcase from under the bunk. It wasn't locked, and opened to disclose a number of garments folded with meticulous care. She removed each item, placing them on the mattress one by one.
"What's that?" Remmler pointed at a disc of black fabric.
"Collapsible top hat," she said.
"La de da. Guess he's one of Frank and Casper's sort."
"Because he knows how to dress nice?"
"Yeah!"
"Did your mother screw any Niflungs before you were born?"
The case contained a few more paperbacks. All old mystery novels, from the lurid covers and titles. But a strange taste in literature didn't prove Maurice Hornung was a saboteur. So Susie repacked the case and pushed it back under the bunk. The two of them scoured the rest of the room, but found nothing suspicious.
"I still don't trust that guy," Remmler said, as they stepped back into the corridor. "Decent folk don't dress all prim and proper like that."
"I might have a story or two up my sleeve, old boy. Anything to liven up this drab gathering of ours."
The drunk continued to drowse under his hat, but everyone else in the mess hall turned to the handsome man in the immaculate attire. Even Ayesha deigned to stare up at him -- albeit with an expression that told of sarcasm waiting to be born. Mrs. Bassingthwaighte looked at him askance.
"I trust it will be suitable for my son to hear?"
"Of course, madam. Perhaps a heartwarming tale of a boy's first love?"
She snorted.
05:36, 9 November 2013 (CST)
"Thomas."
Emma's hair was spun gold. It captured the sunlight from the classroom's lofty window and drew it in, turning each lock into a priceless gleaming treasure.
"Thomas?"
Her skin was ivory, pure and unblemished. A smile began at the corner of her mouth. It promised to bathe the world in its radiance.
"Thomas!"
"Oh..."
Two dozen faces were turned towards him. Emma Wilbraham's sapphire eyes met his, and her lips began to part. Thomas blushed. His gaze snapped to the front of the room, where Miss Kirkham stood with her arms folded.
"You weren't paying attention!"
"I... I was! I..."
"Then answer the question."
"Um... Hubris?"
"Wilfred Owen wrote the poem because of... hubris?" The teacher blinked at him.
"Oh! He... I mean, yes. He was caught up in his own suffering, and thought it was the most important thing in the world. That's hubris."
"I suppose a person could interpret it that way..."
Miss Kirkham's hawk-like gaze and questions swooped on another unsuspecting pupil, leaving Thomas to exhale. When it came to English literature class, 'hubris' tended to work more often than not.
The schoolboy's gaze crept back to the vision of aureate beauty. It lingered there till the bell rang.
"Isn't it marvelous?" Josie Egerton asked.
The holographic image hovered above the gaggle of girls, projected from their leader's phone. They tilted their heads back and cooed as though witnessing a divine revelation inscribed upon the heavens.
"Father says I can wear it at the Michaelmas Ball," she continued.
Gasps and simpers joined the coos. Some of the girls seemed on the verge of swooning. Thomas found them ridiculous, but even his eye was drawn to the floating treasure. It was a pendant -- a magnificent work of gold, platinum, and precious gemstones. Diamonds, rubies, and sapphires contrived to form the image of a phoenix, the bird on the Egerton family crest. By all rights anything fashioned from so many stones should have seemed garish. A gaudy monstrosity better suited to nouveau riche gangsters or celebrities whose creds far outstripped any semblance of taste or propriety. Yet the work was exquisite. The extended wings, the proud head and noble beak... All those jewels celebrated and enhanced these things rather than overwhelming them.
The phoenix rotated, preening itself before the awestruck audience. Each slow, elegant spin brought fresh moans of delight from Josie's flock. But Thomas was looking beyond them now. Emma stood beneath one of the oaks that lined the school playing fields, her golden hair a rich fire that seemed to inflame the autumn leaves. They bore tales and echoes of her loveliness through the branches -- scattering them far and wide as they performed their deciduous duty.
His breath caught in his throat. But her blue eyes were fastened on the pendant's simulacrum, gazing and yearning. That gave him courage. He could understand desire, understand it and share.
Thomas went to her side.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he said.
He waited for her to brush him off with a curt, dismissive word. But instead she spoke in a soft, dreamy voice.
"I'd treasure it..."
Thomas' mind reeled, searching for a way to capitalize on this unexpected opening, to harness the sudden sincerity.
"I could get it for you," he said. His tongue spoke the words before his brain comprehended their stupidity. "I... I mean..."
Emma's beautiful sapphires transfixed him. He expected to read mockery there, but saw only eagerness.
"You'd do that? For me?"
"But... You'd never be able to wear it! Everyone would know!"
"I don't care. I'd still have it. It'd be mine. Even if I could only put it on... in private."
Her mouth shaped the final word with such immaculate care that it became a promise and captured Thomas in its inescapable web. His own promise followed, folly made nobility by two soft blue gems.
"Show me again," Thomas said.
Simmons, the butler, favored him with an indulgent smile.
"Once more," he said. "Then I have to bring your mother her tea. I used to show you this one when you were a boy. Do you remember?"
"Which-" Thomas began.
The schoolboy blinked. His eyes widened. The tie which had been fastened around his neck now dangled from the butler's hand.
"But that's..."
"Impossible? Very little is, if you're fast and confident, and understand the way people see and think. Now if you'll excuse me, Thomas..."
He set the tie on the table, lifted the tray of fine china and cream-filled scones on his fingertips, and glided from the room. Thomas stared at the snaking fabric for some minutes. Thoughts both frightening and enticing danced in his mind.
At first he'd imagined breaking into the Egerton mansion, of circumventing its security measures, cracking the safe, and absconding with his treasure. But even in his wildest fantasies -- those that began with nocturnal prowling and ended with golden waves, blue eyes, and ruby lips -- he knew how foolish it was. The mansion's defenses would thwart a professional burglar. And he was nothing of the sort. Then another inkling had teased his besotted mind. Simmons, the family butler, had once been a master stage magician. The majordomo's trickery had often delighted Thomas during his younger years.
"...fast and confident, and understand the way people see and think."
He had until the Michaelmas Ball to learn.
Thomas watched. He'd always been good at watching, and the magnitude of his intent now sharpened that skill. His gloved fingers twitched. Perhaps they yearned to bring all those hours of practice to fruition. Or maybe they wanted to plunge into the pockets of his dress trousers and play no part in this insanity. He didn't know, and wouldn't until the moment came.
Darkness shrouded him. He was safe and hidden within its depths. But he couldn't nestle in that soft, secure embrace forever. Speed and sureness would have to serve instead. If cowardice didn't intervene first, didn't drive him off into the night amidst the shame of failure.
Josie and her coterie basked in the soft illumination behind the hall. The boys were black sentinels, their dinner jackets all but indistinguishable from one another. Moths around the glorious colored flames of the girls' gowns. A gentle breeze shimmered over sumptuous material, through lavish tresses. It was cooling and soothing after the warmth of the ballroom. But that wasn't why they'd withdrawn. Glowing cigarettes hung from the mouths of boys and girls alike, incongruous adornments. The delivery systems of the designer drugs their parents and teachers railed against. Hipflasks marked with coats of arms passed from hand to hand, lip to lip -- bearing expensive scotch and brandy to drown the lingering traces of sobriety.
The heiress of the Egerton family was in the midst of it all, the brightest star in the firmament. A blue cigarette rose to her lips. Cyan smoke puffed from its end. After the second breath it turned orange, and her eyes twitched at the release of new sensations. The pendant glittered on the perfect tanned flesh of her neck. A priceless treasure nestled amidst drifting smoke and drunken chatter.
Thomas didn't belong in such company. His place in the social hierarchy had long since been established. But other insignificant boys and girls had begun to flit out from the hall's rear doors, keen to linger at the periphery of Josie's empire and feed on whatever scraps of delight drifted out to them. He could join those hangers-on without drawing attention.
His body froze. If he left the shadows and moved amongst them, he'd be one step closer to that dreaded point of no return.
Gold, sapphires, rubies. Promises.
Thomas' brain swam and allowed his legs to lead him onward.
He exchanged words with the other minnows. He even managed to laugh and banter, as though his heart wasn't hammering against his ribs. Confidence. Or at least its facade. This was important. But all the while his eyes were on Josie Egerton and her neck. That was safe enough. Lustful boys and envious girls were doing the same on all sides.
So many people... It was insane. How could he possibly...
"You slut! You... you slut!"
The shout tore through the chatter, silencing it. All heads turned towards the tall, muscular boy who staggered in from the gloom. His dinner jacket was disheveled. His bowtie hung from his neck, loose and crumpled. The knuckles of his right hand were red.
"Slut!" he repeated.
Charles Mordsley... Josie's boyfriend. Thomas cursed himself for not noticing his absence. On a night when so much depended on observation and caution, that shouldn't have escaped his attention. But even as he cursed, he scented the opportunity fate had sent his way. All eyes were on Charles. All of them...
"Charlie?" Josie said. "What-"
"Ludwig! I know!" Mordsley brandished his bruised and bloody knuckles. "I know!"
"I don't know what-"
He stormed towards Josie Egerton. One of the boys tried to interpose himself between them, but a shove sent him tottering away. The others took a single look at Charles' face and moved aside.
"Slut!"
Thomas slipped through the crowd, moving closer and closer. Anticipation burned in his brain.
"Charles!" Josie tossed her cigarette aside and stamped her foot. "I-"
His bruised hand seized her throat. Josie squealed as the strong, angry fingers dug into her flesh. Gasps gave way to shouts. At last the others moved. Some of the boys and girls grabbed hold of Charles and tried to pull him off. He thrashed and struggled, battering them back with his skull and elbows.
It was like a rugby scrum in formal dress. Half the crowd was around Mordsley now, trying to secure a handhold. The others watched, breathless. Except for Thomas. His eyes were on Josie.
"Get off me! Get-"
They yanked Charles away, and his hand left the girl's reddened throat. An immense grappling match ensued. It existed at the very edge of Thomas' perception, known but ignored. Josie's hand was rising to her injured neck. He glided behind her and moved faster.
He'd practiced it so many times. First on a dummy, then with Simmons.
Josie's fingers touched her abused flesh. They rubbed and caressed. It was several seconds before she screamed.
"My pendant! He snatched my pendant!"
Her accusing finger jabbed at Charles, half-obscured amidst the other overdressed wrestlers. Meanwhile Thomas walked back into the shadows.
Emma opened the door before he rang the bell. Her blue eyes were vast lakes, their gleaming waters both troubled and excited. She put her finger to her lips and pulled him inside.
They went down the hall and up the staircase in silence. Her bedroom door closed behind them, and locks slotted into place -- shielding them from the world. At last she spoke. Her voice was almost breathless.
"Rach called me. She said... The pendant. It's missing!"
Thomas opened his hand. Precious jewels and metals shimmered in her gaze. She reached for it with slow, hesitant fingers. As though it would vanish or disintegrate the moment she touched it.
When it was around her neck, she stood in front of her full-length mirror for perhaps a full minute. She kept it on while they made love. Emma pinned it against her skin with hot fingertips, arresting the magical bird's flight.
That night Thomas dreamed. But not about golden hair and ivory flesh. Not even about precious stones or vast riches. He dreamed of that single thrilling moment when the pendant left Josie's neck and slipped into his hand. One day, perhaps soon, Emma would leave him. He knew that. But the magnificent sensation would always be there, as long as he had the courage and confidence to invoke it.
05:36, 9 November 2013 (CST)
For some seconds no one spoke. The story hung over the group like mist, settling into their minds by degrees. When a voice penetrated the quietness it made all of them flinch.
"Fornication, Mr. Hornung?" Mrs. Bassingthwaighte said. "Fornication!?!"
"No thank you, madam. I fear it would be wholly inappropriate under these circumstances."
The lady's mouth opened, ready to fire but for the moment empty of ammunition. Ayesha grinned. Salim smirked. Casper began to giggle, though he masked it with a cough. Astrid's gaze drifted to young Josh. To her surprise and disquiet, the young boy was trying to suppress laughter.
"Your story was... was... inappropriate!" Mrs. Bassingthwaighte said, when she'd reloaded her outrage.
"Well, I dinna ken about that," Casper said. "But maybe someone else has a story that'll be a wee bit more to your liking."