Mind Your Manors

Part 1 - The Troupe

"Who, then, are the actors when players pull the puppets' strings?"

Chapter One

The Management of Change

As night cedes to day, and sinister shadows creep deeper into recesses of darkness, texture and nuance emerge. Together, like children at play, they draw back twilight's cloak of obscurity in a dramatic dance of form and color. Finally a landscape is defined. Aroused, birds begin to preen and call. A rooster crows. Over hilltops to the east, a warm glow, and soon, sunlight spills into the valley, lifting ghostly veils to reveal a dewy meadow—glistening. In still, darkened hollows, marshlands, yet undisturbed, slumber beneath blankets of mist. Stands of maple, elm, and oak, hold silent communion, not a whisper of wind to stir their lofty heights. The cock crows yet another raucous squawk to herald in the new day, though now with waning enthusiasm.

Central to the valley, perched on a rise, stands a grand old manor, presiding over a vast estate. To anyone's recollection, the property has never known a time whereby a properly-titled lord and master held rein over these lands. Misery has taken up residence in the manor. Neglect has settled the land. Once-magnificent gardens are now tortured by gangs of evil weeds; choked orchards gasp, claw, and struggle for life; fields fumble over yields of botched vegetables; fallen fences and fetid dung-heaps scatter the farmyard; and even the pride of the estate—a line of champion purebred horses—is now reduced to a dud stud and a pair of ragged flea-bitten nags. Yes, disarray and decay holds sway over all that once made this a distinguished property. It could be said, even the grand old manor inclines to ruin.

In one of the dilapidated barns, a black mongrel stirs as a ray of sunshine creeps over the threshold of his dreams. He wakes, pulls himself to his feet, and shakes the sleep from his shaggy head. He stretches and yawns before wandering to the entrance where he sniffs at a weathered panel of wood. Positioning himself, he raises a hind leg to refresh the scent. Straw dust, floating on golden shafts of sunlight, causes his muzzle to twitch. A spastic sneeze erupts giving rise to a flurry of commotion. In the aftermath, the dog casts a furtive glance over a shoulder to be certain his gracelessness went unnoticed. Once recomposed, he cocks his head to the side, listening.

The rooster crows.

And the dog growls, disdainful of the repugnant refrain.

Pointing his nose beyond the barn door, he tests the air. Satisfied all is as it should be, the mongrel trots out into the farmyard, a yard filled with a plethora of smells on shifting currents—a veritable doggy delight.

* * *

Nero made for the fence nearest the cedars. Once out of the enclosure, the beast picked up the pace, trotting with the lively rhythm of purpose and destination. He climbed through the pines, distancing himself from the slumbering inhabitants of the farm, manor, and grounds. The dog was on the scent of the illusive one, known only as Yuno. Nero knew where Yuno would be, but canine pride and the challenge of tracking proved stronger than the urge to simply take the most direct route.

Under the canopy of the forest, the air sat still and cool. Isolated beams of sunlight penetrated the gloom. The black mongrel moved carefully now, picking his way over a padding of pine needles. Sometimes he would stop, or backtrack, to examine the scent more closely when it mingled or became overpowered by pungent combinations of moist earth and rotting vegetation. Cryptic messages decoded in his cranium, causing his tail to quiver with excitement. The scent was fresh and getting stronger. Nero closed on his quarry.

* * *

A wiry old man sat cross-legged, silent, still, his eyes closed and his weathered face turned to the sun. His breathing was slow and measured, as if he were meditating. Faded denim covered his slight frame, and a long white mane of hair lay across his back. Beaded deerskin moccasins adorned his feet. In each hand, resting comfortably on his bony knees, he held a feather. The faintest of smiles flickered across his peaceful visage. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared into the blinding light.