Riddle Of The Owl - YA Fantasy

Chapter Six

"Alleria!" Mam barged into her room looking ready to explode. It was a late winter afternoon, several weeks after they had moved to Callivar.

"That's my name," Alleria mumbled, without lifting her head from her book. Mam grabbed her by both her skinny shoulders to get her attention.

"It was Mr. Malluri on the phone, he's on his way here right now — he wants to talk to you, says it's something exciting."

Alleria blinked at her mother, doing her best to come back to earth. The information took its moment to register, but when that happened, she jumped into action, leaping from her chair in a flurry of papers.

Rummaging through her wardrobe, she searched for the best clothes she could find while she furiously tried to make sense of her hair. In the kitchen Mam and Da were banging about, trying to make everything look presentable and comely for their unexpected guest.

There was a buzz from the door, Alleria hopped out of her room in a green pleated skirt and a jumper and decided that her hair was her hair and that Mr. Malluri must learn to cope with it the way it was. Her parents seemed to grimace in the kitchen, she walked up to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

There was no one there.

"Alleria!" Mam's scolding voice came from the kitchen. "The intercom, dear! God, I sometimes find it hard to believe you're a genius."

It was difficult to remember that they were living in a block of flats. Sheepishly, she pressed the button on the intercom to open up the gate and continued waiting by the door, the cold winter air flowing into their warm home.

And there was Mr. Malluri, looking less grand and majestic than he usually did in his house, but just as tall as always. "Miss Bellencreek," he greeted her, a little bit out of breath from the climb.

"Mr. Malluri," Alleria said in a dry voice, unsure about how to greet him here in her house. It was strange, having worlds collide. "And Willum." she greeted his tall black-haired son. "Er... please come in."

They walked inside, two tall people making the little hallway look tiny. The three of them loitered uncertainly at the entrance to the living room. Mam bustled out of the kitchen, "Oh do come in, Mr. Malluri," she said in the best city accent she could produce. "Is that your son Willum? Oh my, what a handsome boy. Come in, come in!"

Mr. Malluri almost looked embarrassed when he walked into their little living room. It was as tidy as Mam and Da managed to make it. "Mr. Malluri," Da greeted him, shaking his hand.

"Do have a seat," Mam cooed. "Hedry and I will get you some tea. Alleria, you sit as well."

Alleria was surprised to feel a bit shy about their small and messy home. As far as she knew, the Malluri family had always been rich. She doubted they had ever set foot in an attic flat in the west of Callivar. It was a good neighbourhood, but not as good as where Mr. Malluri lived. There were papers scattered on the coffee table, official documents and things that her father had been reviewing. Alleria gathered them into a pile and then looked around herself for a place to put them, but all the available surfaces were occupied by books, ink bottles and pens so she placed the papers in her lap.

"Your home is so..." Mr. Malluri struggled to find something nice to say, which in and of itself was a kind effort. Still, Alleria hoped he wouldn't call their flat 'quaint'. She wasn't sure 'quaint' was a nice way to describe anything. "It is quite bookish," he concluded with some relief. "As expected from a flat owned by two imperial Hands and a future scholar."

Alleria smiled. While self-centred and pompous, Mr. Malluri honestly meant well. She refrained from correcting him about the fact that they merely rented the place and hadn't even owned their little cottage in the countryside. Her smile dimmed when she realised that etiquette dictated that she say something now. She blinked, determined to show Mr. Malluri how much her 'manners' had improved. "Thank you, Mr. Malluri and Willum..." Pause. She needed to say something more. But what? Panic. "It's... nice of you to... call upon us...?" Her voice peaked in the very last syllable as if she were asking a question.