Volume V: The Tragic End of Treason

Chapter 9. Empire of Dust

            I trudged up the stairs in the early hours of a new day. I knew that things were changed, that something was ending. I knew that something else was beginning as I thought these things. I kept going up the stairs anyway. Hoping, praying for a better end to the nightmare. But I knew it wouldn’t work out well. I knew this had to be messy.

            And I knew there was more laudanum in the bottle than just a syringe-ful.

            I passed my own doorway, continuing on to Baroque’s apartment. The building was quiet, nobody knew of what had happened. None of the servants knew that their king was dead. This was the quiet calm, the uneasy feeling that comes before everything falls apart. I recognized it from ages ago. It stayed with me everywhere I went.

            I stood and stared at Baroque’s door for awhile. There was a shadow overhanging it, as if this one door sealed my damnation. I could feel the cold, I don’t know why. The heat seemed to give out in the entire building, I could see my breath materialize in the air. But it was gone in a fleeting moment, as I knew it would be. But there’s always hope, there’s that distant idea that things so simple and so...irrelevant might continue on. Then again, I might be insane.

            I stood and considered knocking. But is this the time for proper courtesy? Is any time proper? Is anything truly courteous?

            I went in without another thought. This was my place. I belonged here and here I’d stay. They took me in, they gave me another chance. I owed them something. I’m not sure what, but it was worth something. Or maybe it wasn’t. I couldn’t be too sure anymore. Can anybody be sure about anything?

            I went in and walked around in the open for a bit. There was no sound; perhaps she wasn’t home. Or maybe she’s sleeping. I considered how it would look - me barging in so suddenly. All worked up and worried, and for what? Did I have anything to worry about?

            She just killed my brother. Of course I had things to worry about.

            Then again, it’s a little late for all that.

            I sat down to think what I should do, but I got up almost as soon as I sat. I couldn’t seem to sit still in this place. I could feel Urban’s eyes burning into me, watching my every step. But Urban’s dead. Ghosts aren’t real. And yet, I can feel his haunting gaze following me. I moved toward Baroque’s bedroom.

            I stood in the doorway, hidden in darkness, peering into the room quietly. She was lying on her side, her face nestled away from my view. She was like an angel, resting perfectly in the night. She wasn’t the murderer that the streets would search for. Far from it. I settled myself in a chair and watched her sleep, my own mind giving way to slumber. The nightmare was over, there would be no more tragedy, this would be the end of it. I settled myself in and tried to align my breathing with hers, finding as I drifted off, that I couldn’t hear her breathe.

            The sunlight woke me up the next day, shining in through the window. I rubbed my eyes open, listening to the distant footsteps. The stopped, settled. Vagrant was sitting on the edge of the bed. Baroque was still sleeping soundly behind him. He was staring at a distant point on the floor. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, I hated to disturb him.

            “Good morning,” he whispered. I nodded my reply, stretching in the chair, trying to get my muscles back to their previously functional state. He watched me quietly.

            “You stayed the night?”

            “Yeah. Wanted to make sure everything was alright.”