Roden, House of Havanila

Chapter 10

Mott was growing beyond annoyed of the sound of scuffling in the walls. It was no secret that some hidden passageways within Drylliad castle hadn't been blocked off, somebody had either gotten lost in them, or Fink was planning on pulling a joke. Probably the latter. Jaron's month of complete seclusion and spontaneous relapse into society had left Fink without his usual playmate. Mott was often on the brunt end of Fink's practical jokes that were hilarious to none but him. Studying a book on plants was something Tobias did, not Mott. His focus was everywhere, and the shuffling in the walls only made reading more difficult.

"Get out of the walls," He snapped glaring at the brick panel adjacent to him. The shuffling stopped for a moment, only to return much more inaudible. Mott was severely unimpressed. He had things to do, malicious plots to uncover. "I said, get out of the walls! I'll find you myself if I have to!"

Once again, the shuffling stopped for a little while longer. Once again, the shuffling returned at an even noiseless and slower pace. Mott rolled his brown eyes with such intensity, they could've gotten stuck. He slammed the book down onto the top of his writing table. "You've made me upset and you're wasting both of our time. Show yourself."

The shuffling continued at its slow, quiet pace. It went around the room, finally stopping beside a wide pillar in the room. A two-note click ricocheted through the stone enclosure. Almost as slow as the reluctant shuffling, the pillar swung open to reveal a doorway. Inside was a skinny young man, his hair was sandy brown, and flopped well over his shoulders. Mott could hear him humming something at the same pitch.

"Who are you?" Mott asked firmly, drawing his sword as he stood without hesitation. The humming continued, stopping for a moment. As Mott narrowed his eyes, he labelled the shaggy boy before him as a misled peasant. A common person had never been stuck inside the castle's secret passages before, but there were firsts at everything and anything.

"Mmmmmmmm," quietly hummed the young man. His hands shot up, clutching at his chest and his face. His humming was interrupted by whimpers.

Mott still held out his sword. He took a brave step forwards towards the castle ghost, cursing the wound he'd received so long ago for crippling him. His mind settled on the explanation that maybe the boy before him was the fictitious castle ghost the staff were so terrified of. "I asked you a question."

"I'm so lonely," the castle ghost whispered, frantically trying to smooth out his wiry brown locks. He continued staring at the floor. "I'm so lonely. So, so lonely."

The castle ghost appeared to be nothing more than a boy who wasn't all right in the head. Mott knew all too well of the way people treated those with similar conditions. He remained quiet, his eyes never leaving the skinny figure of the castle ghost.

The castle ghost looked up, his hair covering much of his face. "I know things you don't," he whispered. The way he suddenly changed subjects was all too eerie. "I know things you don't Mott."

If things hadn't been eerie before, now Mott was completely unnerved. There had to be an explanation for this. "How do you know my name?"

"All alone, just like me. I keep him company," he breathed. The castle ghost clutched his chest again. "In a convent. The convent where they kept me. Do you remember me Mott?"

"Let me see your face," Mott ordered, lowering the point of his sword enough to show that he wasn't exactly poised to attack, but wasn't about to forget preparing to defend himself.

With shaking hands, the castle ghost hesitantly brushed a hand up over his face, pulling his hair back from his eyes. "Remember me?"

Hesitantly, Mott nodded, a knot of unwanted feelings forming in his stomach. He'd seen this boy die. He'd seen this boy carted off to be buried in an unmarked grave, apologetically, he slid the sword back into its sheath. "I remember you.."

The castle ghost smiled, and let his hair flop back into his face. Shuffling backwards, he crept back into the tunnel from where he had emerged. Over and over he muttered the same mantra until he was no longer in sight. "I know where he is, I know where he is.."

Mott realized he'd been looking for information in the wrong places. The castle ghost would be much more helpful than dead ends based off of what had been left over in a goblet. He pushed aside the miscellaneous flora and fauna manuscripts on his desk, pulling free a sheaf of clean parchment. There was a new outlook on the situation at hand. Mott began to scribble down the little information he knew.

The castle ghost returned several minutes later, startling Mott by accidentally breathing on his neck. "Sssssooooorry," The boy hissed. "Papers are delivered, papers. They're delivered."

"What papers?" Mott arched an eyebrow, gesturing to the parchment on his desk. "My papers are still here."

Getting answers out of the young man wouldn't be as easy as that. He'd gotten used to playing games. He liked riddles, "They're daisy papers. Red papers. Noble papers. Foreign papers."

Mott pinched the bridge of his nose, "Can you take me to the papers?"

"They're gone now."

"Gone where?" Mott snapped, turning his attention back to the work before him on his desk.

The castle ghost glided past him, and snatched the quill he'd been writing with. He was drawing a picture, and from the looks of it, the drawing was taking up most of the ghost's concentration. Mott tried to peek at the picture, but the ghost only covered it with his hand. Once finished, the ghost pointed to the image: a crude drawing of a forest. "The papers are here."