One night, you said you found a solution to the debt we had.
I poured out that emerald poison to make a toast.
The morning after you were gone. A week later, I received my first letter from you, written in your messy handwriting. Three months later, the letters stopped. Four months later, the lads at the pub treated you like you never existed.
Last week, I found the same solution as you. Today I added sugar and water to our last drink. That was how rich folks drank it, according to the men at the pub. You were not like me with an insatiable sweet tooth, but you had dreams of being fancy. That drink was the closest either of us could get to a taste of luxury.
I will find you.
My eyes gazed out that window, searching for anything to stave off this horrid boredom. Alas, all that greeted me was the pitter-patter of the rain as it splattered against the windows. I clutched my coat to my body as the chill managed to leak into the well-insulated carriage. The wet, musty stench of mud and livestock of the moors was enough for a city rat like me to gag. The city, however, was more overbearing; the nauseating scents were of rubbish and smog. I quit working in the factories because living in clouds of smoke was enough. I despised being sick every single day due to that kind of work.
My glare shifted from the window to the equally dreary sight of the coachman. An older bearded male, probably a few years older than myself, and unfortunately already filled with old man-ism. He kept his eyes on those pitch-black horses and the muddy land ahead of him.
"Are we there yet, sausage?" I intentionally whined, and like before, I received no response from the bloke. Probably had gotten sick of me with my constant questions and chatting.
Like they all did, but I was bored.
I tugged on my suspenders that held up my best brown trousers and repositioned in my seat. I would have given this job one thing. Despite being forced into these gas pipes, the coach's seats were much better than that wooden box the public transport forced me to sit upon.
These trousers were my only pair not completely in patches, and the boots did not have a single hole in their soles. So my only other choice was the lady who had a nice place for me to stay and was willing to help me out in exchange for me doing her errands. As much as that harpy of a woman annoyed me, I would have to thank her for the new outfit she helped me get. An odd, cold girl, but I had to admit, tea with her was not that bad. She listened, and I would hear her out in turn during my stay with her.
I would never say any of that to the bint's face; she would receive none of that. However, I was dressed like I was heading back to that bloody factory rather than be a butler to some old rich guy in a disgusting marsh. I saw what the interviewers wore, well-pressed and expensive cotton and linen. Standing in front of them, my hands in my dirt cheap moleskin trouser pockets. I should have sent some letters with a good old "fuck you" to her.
I stared at the vastness of the land, from the once fresh and green rolling hills of flowers of all colours to the flooded brown and dull green of the bogs. The squelching of the wheels and the horses' hooves were the only sounds I heard the further we ventured from the city limits. I found my fidgeting finger tracing the name of my employer on the fogged-up window.
Asbjorn.
Everyone in England knew that name, the deviants at the pub and the Queen alike. Powerful, rich, and had more branches than a corkscrew willow tree. Merchants, owners of various industries—such as their grip in all things metal—and iron factories. You name a prominent position and they had their grubby mitts in it. This branch, all out in the middle of nowhere, was an oddity. As far as I knew, the only one who lived there was a retired old miser.
I let out an annoyed sigh as I thought back to the terms of that flyer: no experience needed, age range should be twenty-nine and older, male, and in decent health.
That tipped me off on what this might actually be and what my friend had gotten himself into. The pay was too good to be true for the qualifications. With pounds like that, any louse could skip town and live lavishly after a year of working.
It was obvious what this position was from the terms—and the pay, a toffer. Rich fellas like that never wanted who they liked to stick their pricks in to be out in the open. Older lubcocks still had ways of keeping their indulgences in one place without the inconvenience of leaving their homes.
I had too much pride to bend over and let those posh bastards have their way with me willingly for a little extra coin. But that money was beyond tempting.
However, I was here not just for the pay; I had a goal and a mission to complete.
In my increasing boredom, my hand passed through my long black hair, getting caught in the more unruly curls. The wildness of the land grew tamer as the wild bushes and trees grew fewer. It was almost as if some beast was gradually killing off all it deemed unfit in its presence. The sounds of hooves traversing mud and water became one of wheels upon a stone path. The fog grew thicker until it was no different from the oppressive smog of the city. A large iron gate held by two pillars came into view, then I finally saw that mansion. The towering lavish building of brick and wood grew in the distance. With every second, it became apparent what kind of man I might deal with. The pay, the extravagance; if I simply sucked it up until I found my friend, it would all be worth it.
I had nowhere else to go . . .
At least not anymore, and all I wanted was closure for myself. I wanted to know what had happened to him.
I rolled out my charm and blinded the coachman with my signature toothy smile. My previous melancholy would not have a single place upon my face. "So, are we there yet? Also, why are you missing your front teeth? Definitely not in a fight like my missing teeth. You wanna look like a walrus?"
The man groaned louder than before at my questions. I heard him mumble, "Bloody patchwork moo cow in my damn seat," and tipped a bottle into his mouth.
These were my accomplishments—got him to devolve into simple insults and drove him to drink. I had worse insults about my appearance already. He could have thought of something more clever.
My eyes fell on my recently polished black shoes, and I tried not to think too hard about our exchange. It did not upset me; I was used to it, and it was my goal.
It certainly was.
My ride ended, and I had to enter that building, dragging my sparse belongings inside. I was unsure what else to do other than to gawk at the sheer size of it all. Spiral staircases disappeared into ceilings. Chandeliers decorated with red, green, and blue crystals hung above me. Doors upon doors that could have led to anywhere. I needed to figure out where to start in my search for my employer. That concern, however, did not last long. Another annoying man stood before me, and a grimace of annoyance was his response to my presence.
"You should remember to bow and genuflect to your sir. Do I make myself clear?" some redhead instructed.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I hear you loud and clear. Where's the old man?"
I tried not to habitually wipe my boots on the expensive rug of the hallway. I got yelled at about this once, and I would rather not get another earful within the same hour. It was just a habit, anyway. Why were these buggers uptight with me? It was always the same thing. Stand up straight, do nothing, stare at the wall, and listen to them clink their traps.
That was impossible.
I found it strange that other than the coachman and this overpaid greeter, I saw no other servant in this vast, empty place. Even then, this man was a temporary staff member. He was there to deliver messages and documents to the owner.
The walls muffled the sounds of bleating sheep from the pastures, which filled the mansion with an eerie, empty silence. I stared at the many paintings and even a few photos hanging on the walls behind the man to distract from my boredom at this ginger's babbling.
Most paintings were of a once brisk man at various periods of his life, sometimes holding his assorted hunting game in his hands. In a few of them was a woman who looked similar to him, and I assumed her to be his relative or maybe his wife . . . Or both if I was being honest.
If there was a wife still present, this entire job would be the death of me.
My previous words about taking this job seriously did not convince the pug-nosed redhead. I would not take this nonsense seriously, but he could not have read my mind.
He opened his mouth to give me another nagging but was cut off by heavy footsteps that stopped him in his vocal tracks. He and I swiftly turned to the spiral staircase towards the source of said sound.
"Oh, my lord, I'm truly sorry for the delay. I was relaying the rules to this gentleman of what you expect from him."
"I—okay. Dismissed t-today. Night." The voice was so soft that I barely heard the flittering words that escaped from his lush lips.
The man bowed before the boy, scrambling away through the front door, and allowed me to have a good look at my current employer.
"Um, sorry about that. I'm—I didn't tell them. They . . . This is not formal."
He was a tall, slender young thing, most likely barely in his twenties. He wore his buttoned-up striped shirt under a deep crimson frock coat and long black trousers. A head covered in dark, limp, orange hair almost formed a curtain over his eyes, nearly eclipsed by his heavy lids. I almost mistook their ruby hue for his overgrowth of bangs. It must have been one of those effects of "keeping it in the family" that gave him those bloody peepers. The poor chap had to squint even with the flickering candlelight in the room.
Maybe I was not presumptuous enough about the close relations of this family. If I looked at his pursed lips long enough, I swore I saw teeth in even worse shape than mine. Why did they look so sharp?
He was not the older gentleman I expected.
A simple young lad.
"Ahi, you could have said that earlier," I abruptly said. I never was one to shut my mouth, and I did not plan to start now.
"S-sorry," the young boy muttered, tugging at the neck of his vest. I peeped thin and faded scars that coiled his fingers—odd for a guy who never spent a day in menial labour.
"Yeah, anyway. Enough on this. Where's your dad? I'm supposed to be working for him."
The boy's crimson eyes held a distinct look of confusion before he covered his mouth and said, "O-oh, um, you mean Uncle? He—white death t-two years ago. I'm h-hiring, mister. Sorry."
Not wasting any more time, I approached the nervous lad and gave him a little nudge on the shoulder. "I'm not gonna bite or something. So drop the 'mister' bullshit. Hide."
White death? Wait, does he mean consumption? The last time I heard anyone call it that was some 50-year-old drunken idiot. Well, that was unexpected, even though it was not like I was excited about sucking off an old man.
The boy held a distinct blush at the sudden contact and recoiled back slightly. "What did y-you just—"
I grinned and said, "I mean, no one's around. I'd rather not go, 'Sir, I'm ready to serve you on my knees,' haha."
I could never hold down a job because of my mouth, but instead of holding a countenance of anger, the boy held this pure wonderment, and his cheeks deepened in red.
"Th-that's . . ."
"That's what, sugar cane?"
"It—um, L-loukas."
"Loulou, got it."
A whimper crawled from the young man, and I could not help but laugh at how easy he was.
Strange fella.
Loukas took a deep breath to regain his already poor composure and said, "Um, we have clothing that's more suitable for the job. You would be washing, assisting with my m-meals, and . . . helping me. Yes, that's what you will be doing."
I had to wear some posh rubbish. I raised my hands to the back of my head and said, "Fine, sure. Just no long trousers, alright? Those nasty things make my legs itch. I would rather have a maid's frock. At least it can match my eyes."
I heard what I thought was a cough from the man, only to realise it was . . . a snicker?
"Oh, no. It will be short. I get that. Certain clothes make me upset, too. Especially ones that reveal too much skin," he said. "But maid's clothes are black and white, y-your eyes are um . . .grey."
I cocked my head aside. "Ah, at least you get it, smart lad. Eh, black and white make grey, anyway. So, still matches."
Loukas blinked his red eyes with surprise, folded his arms, and looked away. "Smart? No, I'm barely able to think. Not one good thought. It's . . ." He trailed off before refocusing on me again. "Your room, correct? You will begin t-tomorrow."
Despite the vast size of the manor, my assigned quarters were only a short distance from the mahogany-carved front door.
The lad didn't seem too bad, a little odd and jittery, but I should not let my guard down. I came here for a reason—to take the money, find out what happened to him, and leave. So whether Loukas was decent was not my priority.
"Lost, little sheep?" a melodic called out to me.
I turned to the source and saw a smiling, almost angelic man standing in the halls. He was without a coat, but he wore a white long-sleeve cuffed at his wrists and newly polished shoes. Black gloves covered his hands, and his face held a friendly, warm smile. I gave the man a once over, his blond hair tied in a shoulder-length ponytail. Skin remarkably tawny, no chance from outdoor work with those tailored knickers. It was unusual to the point I wondered where he came from. Especially with that accent he had. Another servant or something similar to that? That would make sense, but he seemed so carefree in how he held himself. As if he had no task to do for the mansion's owner. He had the impression of a simple, jovial man, but I had met my share of men with such faces. This one, those bright green eyes, held an unsettling feeling that I could not place my finger on.
It was so fake.
"Quiet all of a sudden? Rather strange from how you were earlier, especially that scratchy voice of yours. Do you need a lozenge?"
He bent at his waist and held out a sweet to me. I scoffed at the man and swatted away the treat. "I don't need your pity."
"Touchy topic?" The man did not seem too perturbed by my shoving as he retrieved a handkerchief and wiped his gloved hands.
So my mere touch disgusted him even with his damn gloves?
Figures.
"Shut up. Let me guess, another whore?" I asked.
The man raised a brow before he burst out into laughter. "Ah, a perceptive little thing, but no. I'm more of a . . . companion of the puppy who owns this estate now. Known him for a few years. Alexander."
"Yeah, companion, sure. I don't care what you rich fucks do. I'm just here to get my money and leave, alright?"
"Believe what you want, but he is a fascinating boy. Very slow, too. I'll just say enjoy your time here."
Something about how this man talked about Loukas felt off. It just felt so . . . off.
I shook my head. No, this was not my concern. It was none of my business. "Whatever, I'll probably get fired within a month like those other guys."
I turned tail and walked away from the man.
My ears, unfortunately, heard Alexander's goodbye, "Maybe even earlier for a man like you. So rough and vulgar, Puppy would not want you for long. But, I bet you'll help him out nicely."
There was a cold shudder that crawled up my spine. What happened to my friend? My real reason for being here . . . Makhi, what happened to you? I had to know.
No matter what.
_______________
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