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The boy did as he was told. “What do I wear?”
Mara nodded at the pile of clothes he’d thrown on the floor. “Wear them if you like. They stink though, probably best stay like that.”
The boy crossed his arms over his undergarments.
“You’ve still got them on. You ain’t gonna freeze.” Mara picked up the candle.
“I have to wait in the dark?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Not long.”
The boy blew out hard through his nose. “Do hurry. I have chores.”
I hate posh talkers. Mara wanted to punch him in the face. The guard would probably hear him crying. Mara smirked.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The door led to a set of stone steps. Mara shut the door behind him and slid the metal pin across to lock it. He couldn’t let the boy get nervous and run off to tell someone.
Up the steps, he passed through another door into a wooden floored corridor with a high ceiling. Candles burned in metal holders along the walls. Left, end of the corridor and right, up the stairs. He winced at the clacks the boy’s shoes made. Stupid shoes, why would someone wear something that makes so much noise?
The next corridor had a long carpet that ran its entire length, light green with yellow patterns. He crouched and felt it. So soft, I bet it would feel nice on my feet. Paintings of old men and women in posh clothes lined the walls, none of them smiling. Why do they look so miserable? They’ve got everything they could ever want.
He climbed the next set of stairs and passed along another corridor – also carpeted and filled with paintings – and finally came to the door with a jug of red roses next to it. He paused and took a deep breath. Through here, and he’s in the next room.
He opened the door and pulled back from the red smoke that puffed toward him. The high-class smoke it too? He pushed the door forward with an outstretched leg. A thick cloud of the Red Mist hung in the air. Faint giggling came from inside. A pair of long naked legs walked across the room, bare ass cheeks the last thing clear beneath the smoke. There is so much of it. What if it makes me sleepy like it made Peter?
A door slammed from somewhere behind him, and he darted forward into the room and shut the door behind him. He kept low. Naked women, at least ten of them, all different sizes and races, were sprawled on beds to either side, several blowing more smoke into the cloud. One of them looked into Mara’s eyes, smiled, giggled, and then went back to smoking. They don’t care I’m in here. I bet they don’t care about anything. His eyes stung. I have to get out of here.
He passed a low table with an enormous block of Red Mist on it – the size of both fists put together – along with papers and matches. He couldn’t imagine how much a block that size would cost. Just one small piece used to cost Peter a silver. He unlocked the last door, leaving the key behind.
The huge, smokeless, round room had many strange paintings on the walls. Mara had no idea what they were supposed to be. Some looked like they could be people. Others were just lots of different colours and didn’t really look like anything. There were ornaments on small tables dotted around the room. They might have been animals, but he’d never seen anything like them before and didn’t want to.
He took a deep breath, happy to be away from the Mist. In the middle of the room, the bed was surrounded by a white, almost see-through curtain. It moved gently in the cool breeze that blew through the two biggest windows Mara had ever seen. A pair of bare feet moved beneath the curtain, the outline of whoever’s they were above.
He is supposed to be in bed alone. No witnesses. But there have already been so many. The women in the Mist room, the boy, the guard. Do I have to kill them all? Mara felt a little dopey. Also warm and comfortable. Maybe I can ask them not to tell anyone.
He moved forward, a strange whooshing sound started. It stopped when he did and started again as soon as he took a step. Weird. His hands looked different like they glowed a little. Is this how it feels? How Peter used to feel when he smoked it? This isn’t so bad. It feels nice.
He reached the curtain and held it between his fingertips. So silky. He rubbed it on his lips. So soft. When he let it go, it swished away in the wind. So gentle. He walked around, looking for a gap. The cool breeze felt wonderful. He wanted to be naked, to feel the air on his hot skin.
The gap in the curtain gently parted, and he saw the bed; dark red and gold sheets, with the lump of what had to be the lord beneath them. A woman stood next to it, naked. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The best tits he’d ever seen. I can’t kill her, she’s too pretty. Maybe she’ll be my girlfriend. Mara smiled and passed through the curtain.
He stared at the woman’s long blonde hair, her perfect lips and nose. I love her. Starting at her shoulder, he looked down her arm, to her elbow, wrist, then hand. Then stopped breathing. The sound disappeared from the room as he stared at what she touched.
White, wrinkled, leathery skin. No. Mara followed the rolls of baggy skin to its head. Long, white, wispy hair spread out across the pillow. As he watched, the sound of its wheezing crept back into his ears. Mother, the lord is just like her.
A hand gently guided Mara’s gaze away from the lord. The naked woman stood next to him – he
r eyes dull and bloodshot – and stroked his cheek. “Pretty eyes,” she whispered, deep and slow.
Mother named me. She knew me. Silas made me kill her. Mara frowned and lowered the woman’s hand. He looked back to Lord Mansell. The Master said there was a lot to be learned from Mother. What about him? What can he teach me? He brushed past the naked woman and made his way to Lord Mansell’s side.
