Rachel Andric and Final Death

Chapter 9: A Visit from The Editor

Rachel woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Alan's words had bolstered her confidence, even if it had been an empty assurance, and she had fallen asleep within minutes of returning to her bedroom. Morning brought back all of her reservations from the previous day, though, and she found it difficult to rise from the bed.

Only Alan's confidence convinced her to get up. He had faith in her, and the thought of failing him again was unthinkable. She got out of bed and slipped into new clothes that she found in the closet of her room. It was a simple blouse and breeches, and the clothes were comfortable and good for whatever was thrown at her—she'd learned how difficult it was fighting in a ball gown.

Someone knocked on her door. She turned, a little alarmed, again wondering if it was Carson but reminding herself he wouldn't knock. "Hello?" she asked.

"It's Alan!" he called blithely. "Ready for breakfast?"

In the past week, he'd always brought it to her. That was why it was surprising when she opened the door and he was empty-handed. "What's going on?" she said suspiciously.

"You're coming down to eat breakfast with the rest of us," he answered. "You can't be a hermit up here forever, you know. Everyone eats meals together. It's quite cozy, really, except for the occasional attempt to murder a past enemy from their Story."

"What if Carson's there?" Rachel retorted, the thought of meeting her brother's murderer again sending chills down her spine.

He grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the room and towing her towards the stairs. "You can't hide from him forever," he said irritably. "Besides, we're not exactly defenseless. You've got two trained knights and a bard to protect you."

She'd had an outlaw, a knight, a bard, a god, a sorcerer and a fiery girl in a red hood to protect her last time, and Ewan had still been killed. She wasn't reassured, but Alan was giving her no chance to protest. He half-dragged her down the stairs behind him, and before she knew it they were standing in front of two massive doors.

Rachel chewed her lip. "Alan," she began.

"Don't worry!" he interrupted, slapping her shoulder enthusiastically. "What could possibly go wrong? We're in a dining hall with hundreds—no, thousands of other members of The Story, so he can't possibly try anything against you with all those people present. It'd be crazy."

"Maybe not," Rachel protested. "Who knows how many of them are on his side? Alan—"

He didn't let her argue anymore. He grabbed her hand and opened the door, slipping inside with her behind him.

Rachel hadn't known what to expect. It certainly wasn't a massive dining hall, housing thousands of people, true to Alan's word. She'd thought he was exaggerating. It was a grim thought when she realized that every one of these people had undergone Final Death. Forgotten by their Stories, most of them had probably also been Guardians.

Alan steered Rachel through the dining hall, somehow picking out Gawain and Lancelot in spite of the massive crowd. He put her beside Gawain and sat beside Lancelot. "I'm positively starved!" Alan exclaimed over the babblings of the crowd. Rachel wanted to shrink back in her seat and disappear. She hated being in the presence of more than a few people. "What's there to eat?"

Lancelot shrugged. "Bacon. And fried eggs. As usual." He stuck one of the pieces of bacon in his mouth and started crunching on it, looking irritable.