As Usual, I Was Silent. --3. Eighteen--
#3 of AUIWS
Chapter 3
My 18th birthday came and went unannounced. I didn't even know there was a custom to celebrate it anymore. But here I was, 18 years old, cleaning and dusting. An adult. Didn't really feel all that special. I'd spent part of my childhood wishing to be an adult but I didn't feel any different now than I had last week. I did, however, feel more curious about the age of this house now that I was bringing my own age into question. Who was this mysterious "owner"? How old was he, in fact how old was this place?
"How'd the owner get this place?"
The caretaker jumped with a gasp and turned around quickly. "Geez, girl, you're quiet! What was the question?"
I just rolled my eyes. "How'd the owner get this place?" I asked again, almost as if playing back a recording.
"Ah..." He turned back to his work, cleaning off a few paintbrushes before turning back to me. "This old mansion used to belong to some political bigheads, though I mean that in a respectful term because they supported the war but also promoted peace, and worked to try to find an end to the conflict. The owner and I lived with them. I did most of the work you do now, while the owner of this place was out and about with his intellect assisting the cause. He was so influential in the underground political network that the politicians granted him free access to this place, which back in the day was a big deal. We were teenagers back then, about your age. He had two kids with his wife when he was 18, but at the same time money problems hit hard and he had to give them up, much like many other families had to. The politicians ended up voted out of office, and they left this place to him. To us, really, but he was named in the documents. He'd always wanted it. But when he finally had it, it was too much space for so few people. He and his wife were heartbroken for years over the loss of their children." He must have seen the question in my eyes, because his face went dark when his eyes searched mine. "His wife is no longer alive...he spends his days locked away because his wife and son both died in that last tragic barrack bombing. She had gone to verify the child and to try and find the other as well."
I almost choked. "...I lost my brother then too..."
He nodded sadly. "You're a good kid...I'm sure your brother was the same. Maybe he and the owner's son were friends. But the owner no longer associates with anyone after that fateful day. Many families were torn apart by that bombing...I guess you and the owner have a bit in common." For some strange reason, I had the feeling he wasn't aiming that last comment just at me. "If you're done with your chores you may walk around outside, I don't usually like others walking on the property but since you live here now, go ahead if you wish."
As usual, I was silent, and just nodded and left the room. Outside it was quiet. A muffled, peaceful kind of quiet, with birds chirping in the forest and the whisper of the wind through the trees. The snow crunched and swiffed under my clawed boots. I hadn't flown in a while, so when I was in a clear area I shoved off with my wings and took to the air.
My. Gosh. Instantly I had another new love: flight. Flights before had been strictly routine, but now that I wasn't bound to chores and arriving on time, it felt absolutely wonderful to truly fly. I flew over the forest, I cruised low over the snowy field kicking up a mist of powder with my wingbeats, i wove through the tree branches and around the perimeter of the old mansion. Pure exhilaration. The wind in my hair and the fur on my tail, the feeling of freedom of motion...it was spectacular. Truth be told, I think I remember laughing. Something I hadn't done ever since my brother was taken from me. That night I was sore, but it was totally worth it as I lay there reading about biology. While stretching my wings I came across a page that surprised me, and scared me. I found out how babies were made, and what scared me was that my brother could have gotten me pregnant with his attempts to comfort me. As I read about the processes though, deep down I began to realize that I kinda wanted to have children someday. It brought back memories of the little kids at the orphanage and the occasional infant that was left there. Somehow, now I wanted to have kids. But again, as usual I remained silent about it, even to myself. Now wasn't the time.
I think the first day of my third month at the house was a big turning point. Why?
I met him.
The caretaker was busy with a painting that day when I came through on my way to tend to the second-floor ballroom. He stopped me with a hand gesture and looked over his shoulder at me. "Young lady, could I get you to take the owner's meal up to his door? I have to work quickly on this or else I'll lose the brush strokes."
Curious but not really caring about the importance of the strokes of a brush on a canvas, I did as asked without a word and took the laden tray up to the door. That door I'd always been so curious about. I stood there for a minute or so wondering what to do, should I just...knock? Or did he come out and get it? Or do I leave it at the door and disappear for a while while he ate? Mustering my courage I knocked gently on the door.
The echo made my heart freeze in apprehension. What had I just done? I'd just disturbed the one guy I was never even supposed to see! Broken the one rule I was given to follow!
The doorknob turned. The door slowly swung into the room with a squeak of hinges. Around the edge came half a face shadowed under a white hood, a single blue eye peering around the corner at me. I froze in panic.
"Come in," he whispered very quietly, as if his voice hadn't been used in months. In the quiet of the house though, and with the spike of my adrenaline, I thought he was hissing or yelling at me. As usual I was silent and simply did as he bid. The door closed behind me with a foreboding click. The room around me, however, nullified that dread.
Color. Color EVERYWHERE. Paintings, diagrams, crystals, parts of old technology, old strings of liquid neon lighting, even transmium drive coils with their iridescent sheen. Desks of rich cherrywood covered and stacked with rolls and rolls of paper, upon which were scribbled masses of text in all colors of ink. There were equations and calculations and diagrams on the white walls, the colored walls bearing the aforementioned paintings. It was as if I had walked from a drab reality right into the study of an alchemy master from those fantasy books.
"Quite the sight I'll bet, for eyes that have only perceived the rest of this droll establishment," he croaked as he slowly, very silently swept by me to what I assumed was the desk my knock had summoned him from. "Fear not, child...my brother's warnings are in vain, you're welcome here. Just don't ever let him know you've met me."
It was so much at once that his words struck me dumb and I almost dropped the tray, so lost was I in shock. He took the tray from me carefully and took it over to his desk, pulling his hood back to eat. Now that I saw him, I could understand why I at first presumed him to be the caretaker. They were almost exactly the same, except this guy seemed...I don't quite know how to put it but he seemed softer. And I'm not talking about the peach-fuzz mustache and beard on his draconic muzzle.
"Do you speak, child? I've yet to hear your voice in these halls even after two months."
I just shook my head.
"Then speak. Talk to me in the precious moments you have before I finish my lunch."
Many times before in my life have I wanted to talk. Now of all times, I could not. My throat seized up. "Who are you exactly?" I finally whispered.
"I'm me, isn't that obvious?" he asked with a sly grin and a humorous gaze. I felt a smile in return tug at my lips.
"Well...um....I don't..."
"It's okay. I see a lot of pain and anguish in you...loneliness. We have a lot in common you know."
I simply nodded again, though I guess my eyes betrayed my confusion about that.
"I hear you're from the orphanage, that you're a diligent worker and love to read and learn. I too was devoid of parents, but was a good study and I'm still learning much. If you desire, I could tutor you, but it would have to be under the radar."
"Why?" I squeaked. I blushed. My voice didn't usually squeak like that.
"My brother is a little...well, I'm sure you've seen him. A tad suspicious. Because of life's hardships I've become frail even though we're twins...I'm less than a shadow of my old self now, and I waste away because I can't exercise the way I used to." He turned to me with an apple in his hand, chewing on it thoughtfully. "Tell me a little about yourself, whom am I employing for the past two months?"
I froze up again, suddenly very nervous both at the subject change and at the fact that he was asking me to talk again. "I...the...the orphanage steward called me Anne. I...don't know my real name." All he did was nod and look at me for a continuation, which I was hesitant to give. "I um...I clean houses...or well, this house now...but I-I guess that's obvious..."
"Did you have any siblings?"
I paused, not out of fear this time, but from memories. His eyes softened a bit.
"I see. Well, Anne, I welcome you to my house. About how old are you by the way? You look awful young to be cleaning houses."
"Ei-eighteen sir..."
His eyes lit up a bit, then he looked away with a sad gaze at his desk. "The same as she would have been..." He turned back to his tray and ate the rest of his meal in silence. I felt terrible now... I had somehow or other dragged up some horrible memory for him just by being here. Presently he turned to me again and handed me the tray. "Thanks for delivering this. I hope to see you again soon, Anne." I took the tray from him. "Oh, and Anne," he said just before I reached the door, "you have an absolutely beautiful voice, a gift. Your gift is welcome in my house."
I had to duck outside the door quickly so he wouldn't see me blushing. As I stood there leaning against the wall and reflecting on what had just happened, my rational mind began to piece things together. I had just met the owner of this huge place, and he's called the caretaker his brother...his twin, no less...but why was he so frail? He looked like he was still in good condition. Unless maybe his emotional trauma of losing his children and wife had weakened his heart...there was no way of telling that so soon, but it left me wondering why his brother kept him holed up if he was that sociable. Unless maybe I was a rare occasion of him opening up to others. Was this what that old fox meant when she told me the owner here could use some youth in his life? Shaking my head and gathering myself again I took the tray downstairs to the kitchen as if nothing had happened, the caretaker sitting there still carefully plugging away at his painting. As usual, I was silent.