Night had crept its way into the streets by the time he arrived. Young boys dressed in dark clothing moved amongst the shadows, climbing ladders to light the lamps lining the cobbled streets. In the distance, beyond the roofs of the grim covered houses, the sounds of laughter and merriment could be heard from the Noble Quarter. The Mid Year Festival was in full swing.
However, for the peasants of Dalery Street, there was no joy to be had. As he strode down the path, eyes looked out at him from the alleys. Desperate faces, hollow with hunger and exhaustion. They retracted as he grew close, then slithered out as soon as he had gone by. A few even called out to him, their voices hoarse as they begged for alms. From beneath the hooded cloak he wore came no reply.
He was bound for one house in particular. There, nested in between what remained of a butcher shop and a tenement, sat a manor house worn down by time and neglect. Its once proud façade now crumbled, paint peeling from the walls, shattered glass allowing a view into the shadowy interior, devoid of life or sound. He pushed open the rusted iron gate, its hinges screeching in protest. He mounted the old stone steps to the front door, stopping on the top step to look back over his shoulder. In the distance, the first of the fireworks rose into the sky, a streak of bright red light through the night.
As it rose higher and higher, his hand clasped the old knocker. Then, as it exploded with a loud crackling, sending luminescent sparks of red shooting across the horizon, he hammered on the door. From within the house, over the sound of more fireworks, came a thud. Then slow, heavy footsteps. A latch was undone, and the door slid open to reveal a deeply lined face. The old man’s face was wrinkled, the skin peeling back with age, his eyes as grey as the few wisps of hair that clung desperately to his head. In his eyes, the fireworks were reflected as he looked upon the man standing upon the doorstep.
“A fine evening for a stroll, ” the man said in a croaking voice. “All the finer to see the fireworks,” came the man’s reply, his voice deep and smooth. The old man bowed his head, the passcode accepted as the door swung wide to admit him. He stepped into the dimly lit interior, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. The hallway was wide, corridors leading off to the other sides of the home, a grand set of stairs situated in the centre. Above them, an old chandelier hung askew, its candles long burnt out, the crystals cracked and dirtied through time.
For a long moment, there was silence. He stood just behind her, watching, waiting. Then she turned, intense blue eyes focusing on the shadowy face beneath the hood.
Behind him, the door swung shut again, the old man stepping forward with a slight limp to his left leg. “Her ladyship will see you now, Sir Magician,” the servant said evenly, leading the way up the stairs with surprising speed. The two walked around the landing and entered a room through a set of double doors that barely managed to cling to their frames.
Inside the room was dark, like the rest of the house, the only light entering from outside through a shattered window that looked out on the street. The room itself seemed to have been a study of some kind, with bookshelves lining the walls, the volumes resting upon them dusty and moth-eaten. Standing there, framed by the light of the moon and the dancing fireworks, stood a woman in a dark dress. Her air was that of a funeral-goer, brown hair done up in a bun, hands clasped against her stomach, head bowed slightly.
For a long moment, there was silence. He stood just behind her, watching, waiting. Then she turned, intense blue eyes focusing on the shadowy face beneath the hood. “They tell me that you are capable,” she said after a long pause. “Are my sources correct?” He bowed his head, saying smoothly: “For your purposes, I am the best you can find.” She stared at him coolly, then, inclined her head. She waved for him to stand by her in the window, which he did slowly.
“They have had their reign for too long. They have grown fat, lazy,” the woman said calmly, her eyes staring out at the fireworks. A light breeze blew through the shattered window, stirring her hair and sending a shiver down her spine. “I want you to destroy it. Destroy them, rather. Tear it all apart so that I may reform it.” The man’s head turned to look at her, his eyes gleaming beneath the hood. “That will take funding, discretion and time,” he said evenly, to which she responded with an impatient snap of her fingers, the sound echoing around the old room. “I have the funds and the discretion, if meeting you here is not a great enough sign of that. For time, however, we have little. If he is crowned Emperor, then I fear my chance shall be lost”.
“You fear that he will satisfy the people and thus ruin your chance for rebellion?” He asked rhetorically. She could practically feel the smile from beneath his hood. “I have no need of back talk. Can you help me?” She asked, turning to fully face him, one hand resting delicately on the windowsill. He remained silent for a few seconds, then slowly nodded, eventually saying, “I believe I can, yes”. She gave him a small, icy smile. “Good. Then be gone. Contact me through Albert here, should you need further assistance.” She waved to the old butler, standing by the doors.“Now, I want you to begin with Lord–”
“I shall begin where I see fit, your ladyship,” he interjected, cutting her off. She looked as though she was about to protest, but then, she sighed, saying briskly “Very well. They said that you Magicians were fickle creatures, uninclined to follow the order of your betters”. He turned to leave, then stopped for a moment, considering something. “When you can bend the very laws of nature to your will, Lady Waytonan, there is no one ‘better’ than you,” he said without looking back at her. She started upon hearing her name, a hand flying up to her chest. “How did you-?!”
“Goodnight, your Ladyship. You should look forward to the newsletter tomorrow. I am certain they shall report something of interest to you. A small accident during the festivities, I’m sure,” he said calmly, cutting her off once more.
With that, the Magician walked out through the double doors, the butler Albert following him out. The sound of their footsteps came on the stairs, then the front door opening once more. The noblewoman remained framed in the window, watching the hooded figure cross the street before disappearing into the shadows, bound towards the light and sound of the Noble Quarter. Behind her, the old man entered once more. “Your Ladyship…?” He asked tentatively. Her hand still pressed against her chest; her cheeks flushed. “Yes. Let us retire,” she said after a few moments.
Then, a smile creased her features. “Oh, and please send one of the servants out to fetch tomorrow’s edition of the Sedrillian Times. I should like to browse the headlines,” she said darkly, as the fireworks continued to crackle and explode in the distance.
