Skeletons and caramel

Need for sustenance

If it hadn't been for this girl, Frankenstein would have begun to lose track of the days.

She showed up two weeks after he'd been butlered. She opened the front door, slipped into the dark hallway. And gasped - as she bumped into a tall figure. Frankenstein recoiled silently, despite the pain in his still wounded side, intercepting his ridiculous mop like a staff...

- Are you that butler of Cadis Etrama di Raziel?

He made out a startled face, half-covered by strands of whitish hair. Not just a noble, judging by the clothes. Frankenstein dodged the question just in case:

- Are you a visitor? How shall I report you?

- Oh, no, no! No need to inform... We mustn't disturb him, must we? I haven't got an invitation...

The girl kept glancing in the direction of the drawing-room, stretching her neck. Faded eyelashes, faded gaze. Some skeletons do come out of the wardrobe to torment their owner.

- I think I'll be going now...

Frankenstein didn't want to miss his one chance to communicate with the outside world. Besides, the sugar was running out by the hour.

- Madam, my master has certain requests.

Three days later a small cart was brought to the back door. The kitchen was coming to life. Certainly not the same as mixing the finest powders, measuring out preparations with a pipette as thick as a filament. It was reassuring, though, as if Frankenstein was here in his proper place.

A laboratory...

He could find no research facilities in the mansion. Yet. Even the books that filled the shelves in abundance touched on any subject but the mystery of living beings and their powers. Hunger, that's what Frankenstein would feel upon that. Though he should have been glad there were no obsessives with forbidden knowledge.

Sometimes he would take a lamp, climb into one of the towers and try to read the books of the nobles - drawn out, endless, like the very life of these unthinkable creatures.

He would read by the oil lamp until deep into the night, exhausting himself from dreaming. Before retiring to his next bedroom for the night, he would look out the narrow window. A tower overhung the side of the building, offering a view on it. A faint light burned in the only window on the ground floor, where the curtains were open.

At the end of the following week, Frankenstein finally noticed that there was one more staircase on the ground floor than on the second.

The stairs were around the corner of the far corridor, transverse to the main hallway. There seemed to be a wall upstairs at this point...

A plan was born as he went along: "I won't be showing any hurry. I'll bring him his tea around five o'clock in the evening, as usual. And then... He's used to me staying silent by nightfall, until it's another tea time. Ha! The daily regime, such a wonderful thing, it rules over the very perception of time... - now, Frankenstein's joy waned. - Time perception, errrrm. Who knows how these nearly immortal beings develop habits?"

The question intrigued him. A danger could be hiding here, or it could be an advantage. Rinsing the teapot with boiling water, the fugitive explorer let his thoughts run free. Like hunting dogs, they would lead him on a trail of new possibilities.

"Sometimes it seems that he hasn't even had time to realize my presence yet - he's leading his one-piece life as if I don't exist,"  - he thought as he opened the box of sugar. - And if I break some unspoken rule at home, maybe he will decide that it is time to wipe me off the face of the earth without regret. Like a fly. Was there and isn't there anymore. Ha... Isn't that how all the nobles see us?"

Anger and excitement mingled in a dance that made Frankenstein's hand tremble.

"Damnations!"

He recoiled from the table.

A speck of spilled sugar on the immaculate surface.

"I just haven't recovered from my wounds yet," the researcher explained to himself, brushing the disgusting nuisance into his palm, but he himself was well aware of what had happened.

Everyone has skeletons in their wardrobe, a sneaky source of pain. Just now he had inadvertently touched his own. Forever a single fear in the recesses of his subconscious: that a force beyond comprehension and taming would trample him, a frail man... No, the entire human race!

Fear of helplessness - mental, energetic, whatever. No matter how many changes Frankenstein introduced into himself, that fear remained in his subconscious, forcing him into risky stories, headlong. And so, the Doctor laughed in the face of danger, taunted the nobles, took away Union's toys - anything to drown out the bone-chilling sound of his own terror before the most ancient force of those uncharted forces.

Alas, even one's own thoughts cannot always be trusted to choose one's direction. Only an impeccable will, that leash on the stray hunting dogs of thought, allows the daring one to venture into the darkest mysteries of existence and survive.

Only an effort of will allows one to remain human, not some clay in the hands of others... countless hands reaching out from the darkness, leaving bloody imprints on one's skin...

"What's the matter with me!"

Frankenstein carried the tea into the living room, while he himself dreamed of one thing: to get off duty as soon as possible and inspect the stairs. He was ready. He was in control again. The familiar movement of serving the cup, bending down in a bow. Just don't flinch again. The master would not notice anything.

- Thank you...

It's the same as always. Now the young man glances over Frankenstein with a look that shows no trace of human emotion: neither contempt, nor envy, nor greed. He takes a sip of his hot drink and turns away to the window.

The butler straightens, ready to leave.

- Frankenstein, - sir Raisel muttered.

"He noticed!"

- Yes, Master. - Answer given without a hitch, as if nothing had happened. But how did he know? Did he smell the rapid pulse? Saw the slightly dilated pupils? Got to fix it, got to fib the way out of here...

- Tea is a very fragrant drink, Frankenstein.

The butler raised his head.

- I beg your pardon?!

"A taunt? A pretext for some sort of order?" - options floundered. The noble was silent, looking at his servant.

- I am grateful to you for introducing tea to me, - he said at last.

- My pleasure that it was to your liking, sir Cadiz Etrama di Razel, -  Frankenstein finally said. The young man nodded, squeezing his eyelids, a sign of approval.

It felt ridiculous. Surely Frankenstein would have been glad to please the nobleman on whom his life and freedom now depended! But the words sounded... As if Frankenstein had really put himself in the skin of a faithful, caring servant, always ready to amuse his young master. Well, he was a good liar, always has been.

The baffled explorer was still trying to figure out what he had seen in di Razel's face today as he left the living room.

Must've been some delirium! Nonsense, really!

But really, Frankenstein just saw how a young noble, to whom the Lord sends his clan leaders as messengers, being... Bashful maybe?

He soon dismissed the thought. He was approaching that coveted turn in the corridors. Now, the place was occupying Frankenstein's entire mind. He walked with the lamp in his hand, biting his lip with anticipation.

It had been a long time since he had encountered a mystery that would be so enticing to a researcher - even if he had no idea what he would find.

And the staircase did not disappoint him.