Sunset on the Orchards

Morris' Request

The conspirators gathered in Morris' study early the next morning, ready to discuss what had transpired the prior day. They gazed with glee on the quicksilver as Gerald told them of it's true nature, surprise at learning of the inclusion of Irvin, and all expressed concern over the strange absence of Opal from the meeting. Now Morris took imperative to check on her in the quarters of the servants, before making his way to the Earl with a silver-filled vial. Morris opened the door of the rough-hewn, leaning servant's quarters with stealthy grace. No servants were inside, having been sent at sunrise to their various duties around the palace and orchards. Morris glanced about, finding it hard to see in the dark gloom of the quarters. The many cots were packed together exceptionally close, each less than three inches apart. There were no decorations, no places to store items, and no promise of privacy within the dwelling. On a cot to the left of the middle make-shift pathway, a still shape huddled. Morris walked carefully towards it, identifying the form as Opal. He reached her side and called out softly "Opal. Wake from you rest, for grand this day shall soon be! Wake, Gerald and the rest worry of where you are and for the safety of you! Wake!" Opal did not stir, and sat silent in the cot. Morris shook her and, receiving no response, checked for breath coming from he lips. He felt none. He flipped the cold body over, revealing her face. He gasped in shock. Her eyes, once vibrant and overflowing with life were now dull, dried tears of red falling from her eyes and ears, staining her face and neck with trails of dulled crimson. Small black flies flitted over the corpse, buzzing incessantly and landing here and there, disrespectful and mocking in their sheer indifference. Morris stared with true sorrow at his dead ally. "What sad day is this! The loyal Opal laid low by killer naught to be found near here! What did slay thee, oh fair Opal? Jewel of the servant's quarters? Who did hew this gem so roughly? What sad jeweler did see fit to carve you to fit a ring? Where is the man, his life will be drained by my own dagger! But before your killer is slain or found, fair Opal, I seek to kill first the Earl. He has jested and taunted from beyond my blade's reach for too long. For you, I slay him. Want it you did, and now it shall be. Fare thee well, mine friend. My gem." Morris said, his face full of sorrow, hatred, and a thirst for the spilling of blood. He departed the quarters, gripping the vial yet tighter in hand. His resolve had strengthened and his hatred for Opal's killer, in absence of he, was redirected towards the Earl. Morris walked through the dust servant's trails, on the cold stone paths, and up the grand carved steps up to the main palace door. The guards didn't even look at him as he entered.  The Earl's head turned up at the sound of his entrance, slowly, anciently, without any trace of grace. Morris sauntered towards him, ignoring the barely touched feast placed on the table before the ancient Earl. Morris bowed, low and subservient. Then he spoke, holding the vial before the Earl "Oh Earl Wylmot, ruler of The Thriviland Archipelago, he who reigns forever more, your highness. I bring now to you, in these troublesome times, a thing after which you have long lusted. Your reign is to be extended, by simple way of ingestion of this liquid which I do now possess. Quicksilver I present, and in abundance! Enough to last you weeks at the least and month in the extreme! A long reign, now longer yet still! Agree you this is now a most happy day? Take you this gift from mine hand? Reign you longer and more glorious than ever before?" The Earl eyed the vial, greed slowly dawning in his face. "Give it here! Here, to me! Long have I needed this! Long have I pestered Sir... the alchemist to grant me a sample! My brother is kind as he ages, gifts given to me paid for from the reserves of he! Give the silver and leave my sight, back to the orchards with you! And watch you the servants, whisper they of strange music in the orchard the night last passed, find you the source! Go, my will be done and my reign be long! Life to me on such happy day!" The Earl proclaimed, taking the vial and downing it in one swift motion. He coughed, small silver droplets scattering across the floor before him. Morris turned, heading out to follow the will of the waning Earl. Before leaving he turned back and spoke parting words "This night, your elegance, another vial will be brought. And if that be not enough, another. Any quantity to keep you satisfied and secure in you reign. But now I do depart, to watch the orchards and the servants at work. Reign you long, dearest brother." With this, Morris left. The Earl was satisfied with the silver for an hour or so but, before long, sent for more. And more. And with each vial of false-life drank, he slipped closer to the endlessly hungering jaws of death. Morris walked the path to the orchards, mixed emotions playing across his face. Joy at the Earl's impending fall, sorrow at the death of Opal, and hatred for the unknown one who killed her. He took to his usual spot, leaning against the trunk of one of the many apple trees stretched in neat rows across the immense orchard. He sighed deeply, drinking in the scent of freshly picked fruits, the salty scent of the sea air, and the sight of the bright sun and sky of blue. He watched the workers toil and contemplated the years leading to this day. His first day returning to his brother's side, shunned and beaten, the days after spent in a cold dungeon, only a sadist of an alchemist, rats, and other unfortunates for company. The months after that, a slave to the will of the Earl -- barely able to take a breath without asking approval from him. The years that followed, nothing of his own but one tower atop a palace, still technically held in his brother's name. And love? That was right out as well. The very moment Morris began to take a liking to someone that person was either sent away, imprisoned, killed, or told of one of Morris' misdeeds, fabricated by the Earl. Morris had suffered, but would now have revenge. He smiled imagining how the Earl would choke, and cough, and die. Morris sat idle, watching the small black flies moving between the trees. He drew in a deep breath, admiring the land that was soon to be his. Earl Morris Wyvern Wylmot. That sounded lovely indeed. All that was left to do was wait, and wait he did. As the servant's finished and the sun went down, he ascended back to his study, where he would wait for morning. He would complete his routine, fully servile, until the Earl met his end. And meet his end he would.