It seemed whimsical then, the host and the guests chasing after a small black cat on some unknown venture. Unwontedly, the Loredan would-be heiress rushed with her skirt lifted above ankles, while Thea and I followed after. The cat was apparently running with a clear course in mind, possessed by a desperate and very desirable purpose. For not once did he pause in wonder of what direction to take next, but upon reaching a stone flight of stairs plunged straight down into darkness. As the creature disappeared into the darkness of the basement, Wisteria made a house servant fetch us a lamp. Even as we waited, the frantic scratching down below urged us on.
And once a lamp was obtained, we found Luna assailing a long trapdoor on the basement floor. The servant rummaged for the key to the wine cellar, for that was the function of the chamber to which the cat sought to enter. And no sooner than the door had flung upward did the cat bolted away again, resuming our game of chase.
The lamp illuminated a more primitive structure, wide arches lined the ceiling of the long chamber, and no more tapestries to mask the desolate walls behind enormous casks. Yet again the scene from before played out, so that at the very dark end of the place another wide trapdoor was found victim to the cat’s excited mood.
Evidently, not even the would-be owner of the house knew of a surety what else there were under, for she turned to the servant, a man of advanced years and stolid countenance. I suspected this man had seen enough of his past masters’ whims to think of this as aught more than the latest of the younger folks’ temporal fad. So as he carefully picked out one piece of metal on his crowded keychain, the man answered with a tone as flat as could, “Trinkets, furniture out of style and other items best hidden from view. Miss, it is not very well attended down there, and the cleaner as per custom only comes down once a week.”
“Already I am dirtied by sweat, should I mind some dust and cobwebs now? Open it, Pastore, posthaste.”
So he did, and once again the cat disappeared beyond the lamp glow. ‘Twas a high ceiling floor, austere in design as the ones above. Much less it seemed a part of the esteemed estate above, but more a cavern whose rough dirt walls and ancient beams gave glimpses to something unsavory, even as a crime hastily hidden. No scones furnished these walls, but what we brought was the sole light source.
All in all, it was not as untidy as the elderly servant had warned, being quite empty. The sole object of interest was in fact flushed with the wall quite neatly.
A door.
Ancient it seemed, as ancient as the corridors I had passed under the Sanctuary. And it was exceedingly tall, so that our light could not quite reach the more secluded crooks in the arch aloft. Perching upon two large columns which flanked the doors, stone gargoyles and chimeras regarded us with condemnation. And it was betwixt these columns of grotesque visages that we found Luna for the first time in doubt. He sat on the floor, looking back and forth, paying no heed to the pursuers.
Presently, Wisteria gave her servant a look. “Naught of this place is written in the history of our house, I am certain. This floor should not exist, or it has been built only recently. What’s behind the door?”
“As reported, Miss, furniture. And old memories,” Pastore the servant answered evenly, “things best left to the past.”
“Never have I heard of such things down here. At any rate, ‘tisn’t like you to be sentimental. Open it!”
Even as the cat, there was a moment of doubt in the old servant before the door. And there was such tremble to his key-holding fingers that he seemed near to tears, if not for the stone-etched features of his. “Miss, is this related to your allegations?”
Wisteria frowned, “Does it matter? But I have my suspicions, further bolstered now by your hesitation. Is my father hiding something from me? If he would see me dead by some accursed device then I should bear witness to it, by force if must! Quit your delay, Pastore!”
“Miss,” he said, whose voice had grown quiet to match the dark place, “the servants and the workers love you, if the master and young mistresses do not. We do not wish to see you harm. Is it not possible to leave this matter until after the ritual?”
At our feet, Luna had begun to pace restlessly again, and in a moment of thought, his mistress picked him up, before turning to Pastore with narrowed eyes. “What the Under is wrong with you today, Pastore? Merely open it! I care not if a winged beast or worse resides within, I shall have it seen, now that it seems a secret is hidden in my own house!”
With a sigh, the man relented, “If you so wish, but it is nothing you are not already wise to.”
And true to his words, there was nothing remarkable that we could see within – ancient and dusty though the interior appeared. Covers hung over all the shapeless things within, all veiled like a morgue, silent like forgotten tombstones.
Forcefully Wisteria pulled down one of the slipcovers, revealing an old couch that seemed to have once been under frequent usage many years ago; then a vanity table of utmost quality, shining even then a mahogany luster under our lamp light. And then a canopy bed in the middle of the room, where at last a damning recognition sparkled in Wisteria's eyes.
“These are my mother’s belongings,” she said with a strangled voice. “Then that yonder should be…” She approached the wall now, and swiftly parted a curtain, revealing two young girls of very much familiar features. One I recognized by the same braided locks, the strong features made angelic by a very young age, and the overall slender, almost fragile figure. The other wore her hair high, a lively smile on the dirt-blemished face, and a toga likewise in need of some heavy scrubbing. But upon the latter I could not place a name, nor aught feelings came attached with the faint recognition but a small, yet perceptible dread in the pit of my stomach.
Wisteria grimaced at the painting she had uncovered. It depicted these girls standing together in a sunlit garden, one was the unnamed little girl, the other Wisteria of the same age. In the dusty darkness of the storage, our light could not quite reach the summer sky in the upper part of the painting, nor could it do justice to the vibrant colors, but instead flattened them, causing things to blend together. All this, and the solemnity of the wyverness and her servant lent the cheery painting an eerie feeling. Several others lined up along the wall and, without being told, I knew the rest but featured the same subject matter.
It took a while for Wisteria to search for the needful words. “These I thought my father had burnt,” she said.
I wondered at what wild thoughts were stirring in her mind, for with such intense hatred in her eyes, be it for the painter, the subjects, or the supposed destroyers, she could not look away, but held as though entranced by the piece.
“He did not know of these, for ere your mother passed away, she commanded me to move her belongings herein. That one day you would have needs of them, but only when the time is opportune,” Pastore said. “I thought it would be proper to wait till after the ritual.”
“Is it time now,” she said quietly. “Well and so—” abruptly, she turned to Thea and I, “thus we arrived at the answer to your puzzle.”
“How so?” I said foolishly, “These are but paintings.”
“And Acis spoke of one, did she not? And Luna led us here, for aught but to solve the matter of a crime?”
“It is not an answer in full, then,” I said, “unless you already know, then tell, for I could not guess should you give me days to think.”
“The girl from inside the painting, is it not?” Thea interjected, “Who’s that yond girl, that one beside you there?”
“That was Venier.”
“A Venier?”
“Their house’s only daughter, Hyacinche, as she was called.”
“Then that’s Acis when she was a child,” I said, “she does not look very much like what she is now.”
To this Wisteria simply shrugged. I gave it no more thought, and I perhaps would never have marked the strangeness in her reaction, if not for another sudden interjection from Thea.
“I would that you dodge it no longer, ma’am,” Thea said, “Why is it that you deliberately evade the heart of the matter? That glaring gap in this story until now?”
“Because,” the wyverness said quietly, “it is not a pleasant thing.” Not even then had she taken her eyes from the painting.
I eyed each of them askance. “Would aught of you care to divulge what the under you are about?”
“Well,” Thea said, “I wonder if the girl in that picture is Acis.”
“But only now she said it was…” it dawned on me, “But you said the Venier had only one daughter…”
“Why should I lie?” Wisteria Loredan’s voice rose abruptly to a high pitch, and there came a wrath fiercer than aught Litzia could ever inspire. “There was but one daughter born to the Veniers! And she they murdered! Hear you what I say? She is dead as I am alive! For I was there when her life was taken! She who I left for my selfish obligations! She whose family’s murder I played a part in! There is but one—one and only under these skies: Hyacinth Venier! But that thing… that accursed thing you speak of, that thing you name Acis, that thing which calls Hyachinthe’s mother its—I know not! For it is that witch’s creation, blasphemously constructed – her instrument that she yesterday sent to eliminate me, all in answer to a plea for peace! For I am the only threat to her obsession with that fake thing! Know you now who’s the culprit? She comes from the painting, eh? What a farce! ‘Twas the aberration the White End sent to ensure my downfall, lest I enter her ala and disrupt her abhorrent love nest! She planted these suggestions in that puppet’s head so she might wander and frame me with murder, see? Why else do you think she so easily allowed that puppet to meet me alone, knowing full well it can not keep together for long without the fuel of her sorcery? But this last deed of hers is the vilest of all – Fie, ah fie! - she made you deliver the clue to this house of memory, to recall well and fresh in me the facts of my young self’s past sins, of what I have lost, and of what she means to say shall be my undoing!
“There’s your answer, and away with you now!”
