The Search

by Kyriel

Someone seeks vengeance against the one who seeks vengeance for those who are wronged

            Merryweather came bouncing down the stairs, early, as she always did.  It was kind of a game between her and the servants, especially Riff.  Well, she thought of it as a game.  It was questionable as to whether Riff enjoyed it as much as she did.  The game was to see if she could get up before him.  She had only succeeded a couple of times, the first time totally by accident.  But it had gotten her started on this particular game, because she discovered that being by herself in the morning in the huge house was fun!  With no one to tell her not to go in this room or that room, it was the perfect time to explore. 

            This morning, when she came downstairs, Riff was sitting in a chair near the entryway.  He looked like he was still wearing the same clothes he had been yesterday, not so much because his daily outfits changed a lot, but simply because his clothes looked really really rumpled.  And Riff, being an excellent and proper servant would not appear looking so disheveled, not even this early in the morning.  The only reason Merry could think of for Riff staying up all night, sitting near the door would be if he were still waiting for her brother.  Had Brother not come home last night?

            "Good morning, Riff!  Why are you sitting here?"

            He peered at her owlishly, obviously tired and not exactly sure if Merry should really be up now.  "What time is it?" he asked her, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

            "Morning!  Time for breakfast, I think!  So why are you sitting here? Where's Brother?"

            Riff sighed, internally giving up before he even started.  There was no way to keep this particular secret from the energetic girl.  He couldn't come up with a practical excuse for why he was still up (though he had been trying for an hour now), and he certainly couldn't hide from the girl the fact that her older brother was nowhere in the house. 

            "Master Cain has not come home yet, Miss Merry."  The little girl stared up at him, concerned.  Riff sighed again.  He wished Cain could see this expression on her face.  It might allay some of his doubts about the permanency of his only family.  Riff knew well that one of Cain's greatest fears was of being alone in the world.  His father's final curse, the last of many, still rung in his ears, and in Riff's.

            "Where did he go?  You're still up so… you expected him last night, didn't you, Riff?  But he never came!  Do you think he's all right?  What if something happened to him!?"

            "Well, Miss Merry, I think it might be too early to assume the worst has happened.  Your brother is an intelligent person.  He could have simply gotten… distracted by something.  You know as well as I do how capricious his attention is."  Riff hoped that was all it was, that some bit of information or something like that had caught Cain's attention, and, absorbed, he had lost track of time.  But he doubted that.  Cain had said he would be back before midnight.  He was very late.

            Merry pondered Riff's statement for a moment, her head cocked to one side.  Then she narrowed her big eyes at the servant, a pout coming over her cute young face.  "I don't believe you, Riff.  And you don't believe you either!  Well, so?  Where was Brother going last night?  Isn't that where we should start?  If we're going to find him?"  In a normal household, one would not automatically assume something untoward had happened to the young master of the house if he did not come back all night.  There were many activities someone Cain's age would be expected to participate in.  But both Riff and Merry knew Cain, and his goals for the night before had not involved women… in that way, at least. 

            Taken slightly aback, Riff blinked at Merryweather.  The investigative streak must run in the family, he thought inanely.  Considering now about what she had said, Riff knew it was a good plan for finding his master.  The only problem was… Cain rarely disclosed to anyone, even Riff, where he was going on his little expeditions.  It was an exceptional thing if Riff actually knew where Master Cain was off to, and even more exceptional if he knew why.  The tall man explained this particular fact to Merry, waiting for her reaction.

            "That certainly sounds like something my brother would do.  He's so secretive sometimes.  Well, most of the time.  And sometimes he's just not very smart."  She blew a breath out, upwards, and it fluffed the hair around her face.  "Then, we shall just have to do a little investigation of our own.  Follow me, Riff!"

            Surprised beyond words now, Riff trailed along behind his small mistress, wondering what in the world she was planning on doing.  When she stopped in front of Cain's study, Riff suddenly realized.  "Oh, no, Miss Merry, we can't!  Master Cain will be severely displeased if we look through his things!  I can't do this!"

            The girl looked up at him as if he were dense.  "Do you want to find him or not, Riff?  And can you think of a better way?  Anyway, if something really has happened to him, do you think he'd rather be left in trouble than have someone look through his things?" 

            Riff bit back his first answer, which would have been a definite "yes."  He couldn't stand the thought of breaking trust with Cain, not after all these years of quietly supporting the young man.  Riff had long ago come to the conclusion that his silent assistance was the best thing he could do for his tormented master.  He had, a few times over the years, attempted to talk about Master Cain's past, about the terrible things that had happened to him as a child.  But any time even a hint of that came up in their conversation, Cain would react strongly.  Depending on his mood, sometimes he lashed out, using his vicious tongue to drive Riff away.  Other times he simply retreated into himself, withdrawing and remaining inattentive and unspeaking for hours, and sometimes even days.  Of course, these moods of Cain's happened anyway, even without Riff saying anything.  But Riff would never deliberately add to the burden on his master's heart and mind, so he stayed quiet. 

            Suddenly, he realized Merry was staring up at him, still waiting for an answer to her question.  "Oh… no, of course not.  If he's in some kind of trouble we must… we should help." Nodding as if she had never doubted for a second what Riff's answer would be, the girl went to the desk and picked up one of Cain's notebooks.  "Wait, Miss Merry… perhaps I should look in there.  You… you find out what books he has been reading.  That should give us a clue as to what has been on his mind lately."  Riff rescued the notebook from the girl's hand.  It had occurred to him what was probably written in that book… not only Cain's private thoughts, but also all his notes on various poisons.  Notes on how to summon death.  Riff had been with his master long enough to know that Cain did not want Merry seeing that aspect of his personality. 

            Fanning through the notebook to find the last entry, Riff caught glimpses of delicately drawn plants and flowers, detailed descriptions written around the pictures, all in his master's somewhat hasty, elegant hand.  And then he had passed the used part and had found blank white pages.  He backtracked until he found the last entry, which had been written yesterday.  Still feeling more than slightly guilty for intruding upon his master's private thoughts, he began to read. 

            I have found a most interesting poison, one that supposedly drives a person mad if they take just enough of it.  Too much and it will kill outright, but with the right balance, it causes insanity.  Could prove useful if used in the right manner.  Certainly worth looking into.  I wonder if the ingredients are particularly rare?  I shall have to find out.  This man who wrote me, Erasmus Grove, he has an interesting case.  The symptoms he described, that of a long, protracted sickness, a steady decline in health of the victim, an inability to eat or to drink, and thus a long wasting away, do seem to fit with a gradual poisoning.  But the ability to poison someone so consistently over a long period of time would indicate the criminal is somewhere close to the victim.  It could be Grove himself.  Something to pay attention to for tonight, I suppose.  I must try to find some residue of the poison, so I may examine it. It would be nice to add it to my collection, even if I get nothing else from this particular jaunt.  I wonder if this man has any children?  If so, they are certainly motherless now. 

            Next to that, there was a list of poisons that had similar effects to the ones described by Erasmus Grove in the death of his wife.  And below that, scrawled hastily, was an address.  Riff sighed, relieved.  It was almost too easy, he thought.  If this really was where Cain had gone, and if something really had happened to him, hopefully this Mr. Grove could tell them something. 

            "Brother certainly has odd taste in reading material.  I'm not surprised."  Merry was peering at the spines of the books stacked on Cain's desk.  "This one's on rare and exotic herbs, this one's an encyclopedia of plants, this one… just has a skull and crossbones on it. How can he read these things?  Oh! Have you found something, Riff?"

            "Yes, Miss Merry, I believe I have."  He finished copying the address from Cain's notebook onto a scrap of paper then tucked it into his vest pocket.  "I believe I have the address of where Master Cain was going last night.  Would you like to go see if we can track him down?"

            Merry smiled happily, obviously cheered by the idea.

            "But first," Riff leaned down close to her, placing a hand on her head, "You eat breakfast.  If I don't keep you fed, Master Cain would be displeased with me.  And we're probably in enough trouble as it is!"  Riff ruffled her long fair hair and shooed her out of the study, sending her to the dining room.  He looked long at the notebook, now lying closed once again on the desk, tempted to peer through it, to see more of Cain's mind, the inner workings of himself that he rarely shared.  But he did not look, turning away, knowing first that he would never betray his master's trust in him like that, and also confident that he really didn't want to know any more about Cain's odd fascination with the deadly arts. 

            Riff and Merryweather met back up, Riff having changed out of his clothes from yesterday, attempting to present a more civilized image, and Merry had dressed in clothes more suitable for visiting.  Before this, Riff had been desperately trying to come up with a reason for Merry to stay behind, one that would influence the fierce girl more than "it's dangerous" or "your brother will have my head."  He failed.  He couldn't decide if it was lack of sleep, or that even well rested he would still be unable to find a way to dissuade the child.  He rather guessed it was the latter.  So, not even bothering to try, Riff called for a carriage and the pair set off in search of their wayward count.

            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         

            Pain… that was the first thing he knew.  Such a familiar sensation, waking up to pain in his body.  He had lived with this since he was a child, for as long as he could remember.  His youth was tainted by the ever-present pain, usually centered on his back, burning with the fire of the weals left by his father's whip.  This was a different pain, though.  His head ached with a ferocity that made it difficult to think.  And his arm throbbed intensely, a deep, constant ache.  Broken bone?  He didn't want to think about it.  

            But… where was he?  He wasn't in his own room; he could tell… what was he lying on?  It felt like… stone.  He was lying on stone.  No wonder his entire body ached.  It was cold; too, he could feel that now.  The cold only augmented the pain, as did thinking. 

            He opened his eyes, slowly, barely keeping them apart.  His body hurt so… he was so tired… if he could just slip away again, back down in the black where not even the nightmares could get him… But he needed to know. 

            Forcing his mind into some coherence, he cast back in his memory trying to remember what had happened.  It was no good.  It felt like someone had wrapped his brain in white fluff, soft, yet obscuring the things he knew he should know.  He curled his body, trying to conserve heat, and gently cradling his pained arm.  Yes, broken, he was fairly sure now.  So tired, though… and the black called to him, welcoming him home. 

            He let his eyes close again, let his mind sink back.  He was very nearly gone again when a sharp, new pain invaded.  Someone had slapped him, hard enough to cause the side of his head to rebound off the stone floor.  "Oh no you don't.  You stay right here.  Come on, wake up, boy."  He opened his eyes again, and this time someone was standing over him, glaring down with angry eyes. 

            "Who…?"  It was all that would come out, a whispered syllable bounded in his pain. 

             "Who??  Oh, that's rich, brat.  Though I wouldn't expect you to remember, you being such a busy young nobleman.  Always in other people's business, aren't you?  Always interfering in what's best left alone."  The figure slapped him again, the sharp pain doing nothing to help clear his muddled mind. 

            "What… do you… want?"  The words were forced, harshly spoken in a faded, strained voice. 

            "What do I want.  Hmm.  Well, I would like my brother back.  That is what I would like first and foremost.  But you can't give that to me, now can you?  Because you were the one that killed him!  He's dead because of you!  So I guess in place of that, I'll just take my revenge.  Does that answer your question, Count?"

            Cain didn't try to answer this time, just let his eyes close again; he couldn't keep them up anymore.  What this man said didn't really make sense to him. He couldn't seem to understand. Nothing made sense right now; the only thing he was sure of was the pain that surrounded him and drug down on his body and mind.  He waited there for the next slap, but nothing came.  Then there was another voice, a second one.

            "He's too far gone.  You'll have to wait."

            "But he's not going to die?"

            "No, of course not.  He won't die until I let him.  I think the arm is broken, and I'd say his trouble staying awake is from a concussion.  He was hit fairly hard, and he doesn't look that strong to begin with."

            There was harsh laughter.  "You're right, he is a pretty little thing, isn't he.  Really just a fragile boy, once you look at him closely.  It's those eyes of his that make him seem dangerous.  Strangest color I've ever seen."

            Then the voices faded out, footsteps carrying them away, and Cain let himself sink back into the comforting darkness, the black calling him home.  The black was home.

            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         

            The house that belonged to the address Riff had found in Cain's notebook was a nice but non-descript place, nothing too special, but nothing too poor either.  Just average.  Riff knew it would be considered impolite for him to simply appear on the doorstep, a little girl in tow, but he didn't see how he had a choice.  His master was missing, and Riff, knowing what Cain did when he went off by himself, was worried.  More worried than he dared let on to Merry.  Cain, with Riff's compliance, had always tried to distance Merry from Cain's favorite pastime.  Investigating deaths was not really the kind of activity a cultured young lady should participate in.  But this investigation was too close to Merryweather's heart for Riff to keep her away in good conscience.  He would simply have to apologize to Master Cain later for allowing Merry to accompany him. 

            And so the odd pair, tall, silver-haired servant and small, blond-headed girl approached the door of the place.  And knocked.  And waited.  After a few moments, the door was opened by a servant, similarly dressed to Riff (though Riff's clothing was of higher quality).

            "Yes?  Can I help you?"

            Riff cleared his throat nervously, not quite sure what to say or how to say it.  But Merry spared him actually having to come up with something.  She spoke brightly, in her light, piping voice.  "My name is Merryweather Hargreaves.  I am looking for my brother, the Count Hargreaves.  We have reason to believe he was here.  Can you tell me, please?"  She looked up with her best little girl begging face, pleading silently with the servant to take pity on this pert, pretty child and answer her worried queries.  Riff thought briefly to himself that he was glad she'd never yet used that look on him.  He wouldn't be able to argue with her with that expression…

            The servant pursed his lips, obviously trying to fight Merry's charms.  He said they had had a visitor the previous night, but he wasn't sure who he was, and that he had left before 10 the previous night.  But he agreed to go and fetch his master, so they could ask him if he knew more.  Merry's begging look was very effective.  Riff decided if he ever needed to get Cain to do something he didn't want to, he was going to send in Merry to ask him.  When she truly wanted something, the girl could not be denied.  It must run in the family, he mused. 

            They had been shown inside and told to wait in the drawing room.  Merry was flitting about the room, searching dedicatedly for any sign her elder brother had been in the room.  Riff stood silently to one side, trying to unobtrusively do exactly as Merry was doing.  Then there was a brief knock, and the door opened, and the servant who had answered the door admitted another man in. 

            "My name is Erasmus Grove.  My servant tells me you wish to speak to me about the Count?  What can I do for you?"

            Merry bounded up, stopping directly in front of him and curtseying.  She was a proper little lady when she wanted to be… and a holy terror other times.  "My name is Merryweather Hargreaves, Mr. Grove.  My brother never came home last night, and Riff and I are quite concerned.  We were wondering if there was anything you could tell us."  Groves was a tall man, slightly taller than the lanky Riff, and had brown hair, going grey around the edges.  Not a fit man, but not sloppy either.  An average, neat man wearing average, neat clothes.  Riff realized suddenly how unused he was to anything average. 

            "The Count came here to speak with me on a matter regarding the manner in which my wife died.  I was suspicious that someone in our house had poisoned her, and had heard that Count Hargreaves was an expert in the matter of poisons.  I invited him here, and he listened to my story, and spoke to the servants.  He left approximately 9:30 with some of my wife's items in hand, for analysis, he said.  He also said he would know better who to suspect when he had determined the nature of the poison that had killed her."

            Riff looked at the man intensely, trying to find any pretense or lie there.  There was something about this man that struck him as… off.  "Did the count say anything about going somewhere else after he left you?"

            Grove shook his head, "no, sorry, he didn't say anything to me about what he was doing next. In fact, he didn't say much of anything, just listened to what I said and asked a few questions here and there."

            "You must have seen how he left!  Did he take a carriage, or was he on foot?"  Merry stared at him, doing her best imitation of her elder brother's piercing golden gaze.

            "He walked, as far as I could see.  Seemed quite content to do so."  Riff sighed.  That eliminated the chance of finding him by asking the carriage drivers around here.  Cain usually made an impression where he went, with his bizarre green-gold eyes.  But maybe some of the neighbors had seen something… Riff was tempted to run out of the house then and there and search the nearby alleys.  Cain may have been brilliant with poisons, but in a physical fight, the slight, thin young man wouldn't stand much of a chance.  Riff mentally cursed himself for never demanding that Cain bring him along on his investigations, or that he at least take more precautions with himself.  But Cain cared very little about himself.  He was the most self-destructive person Riff had ever met, but there was no way he could blame his master for that.  He had been taught since he was little that a child, cursed such as he was, wasn't worth anything.  After so many years of training, by the people who should have loved him the most, there was hardly a chance for Riff to change that.  But that never stopped him from trying…

            Merry was peering up at him.  "Riff?  Are you alright?"

            "Yes, Miss Merry, I'm fine.  I'm just worried about him."

            She nodded, a serious look on her face. "I am too."  She turned back to Mr. Grove, who was standing in front of them, looking vaguely uncomfortable.  "Thank you for your help, Mr. Grove.  If you remember anything, something he said, or anything, please contact us."  She curtseyed again.  "If you'll excuse us.  Thank you for the hospitality."  And Merry led me out the front door, a self-possessed young girl who knew exactly what she was doing.  Her odd upbringing had unintentional side effects, then.  She had grown up quite independent, and it had certainly carried over to her higher-class life. But once they were outside, Merry turned and wrapped her arms around Riff's waist, burying her face in his side. 

            "I have a terrible feeling, Riff!  A terrible feeling!! I know something bad has happened to Brother, and he's somewhere we can't find him, and he's in pain… I know it, Riff!!!  But what can we do? How are we supposed to find him now??"  She looked up at me then, silent tears staining her cheeks.  I crouched down in front of her, putting my hands on her shoulders and looking at her steadily. 

            "We'll keep looking, Miss Merryweather.  We'll keep looking until we've found him.  First, we can ask around here.  There must have been people out last night, and you know Master Cain can't ever keep a low profile.  Someone will have noticed a young man with the devil's eyes." 

            Merry nodded, wiping her face with her hands.  I pulled my handkerchief out of my pocket and gave it to her.  She finished drying her face, then handed it back to me.  I smiled at her then took her hand, and we walked down the street.

            We spent the rest of the day asking around on the street if anyone had been out last night and had seen a young man, fairly small, with black hair and greenish gold eyes, walking alone.  No one had.  Not even a drunk who seemed to be living in an alley on the path from Grove's house to the Hargreaves'. 

            Throughout their fruitless search, Riff kept going over in his mind their conversation with Grove, wondering what it was about the man that bothered him.  He couldn't come up with anything specific, just a distinct impression that Grove had been lying to them.  But not wholly.  Only parts of what he had said seemed false.  Then Riff remembered something else.  At one point, as he had been speaking about Master Cain investigating, his eyes had changed.  He had seemed pleasantly urbane for most of the conversation, but for one flashing second, Riff had caught pure hatred.  But then the rest of the conversation had been so normal… it had slipped his mind.  Why would a man like that show such emotions in a simple conversation with a servant and a young girl? 

            "Merry, I have an idea!  How would you feel about dressing down for tomorrow?"

            The girl looked up at him, puzzled.  "What do you mean, Riff?  Dressing down?"

            "Yes!  I think if we appeared around the back of his house, and spoke to the servants… not dressed as a servant and a young lady, but… as commoners.  I think they will be more willing to speak to us!  It will take a bit more planning, of course, but…"

            She accepted the idea, rather liking it, and so she and Riff had retreated back to the Hargreave house for dinner.  The other servants had still heard nothing from or about Master Cain. 

            Merry decided to eat her supper in the kitchen, a much more casual atmosphere than the formal dining room, and asked Riff to join her.  So the two sat around a small table in the warm, comfortable room and discussed the day's events.  The more he thought about it, the more Riff was sure Grove had something to do with Cain's disappearance.  He just didn't like the man.  Merry heartily agreed with his assessment of the man's character, and so their plans for the next day solidified.  Merry, dressed in plain, simple clothing, and with her incredibly long hair tied up, would go around the back of the house and speak with the servants; in whatever manner she could conceive.  She was an intelligent girl, and very persuasive when she wanted to be.  And Riff could honestly think of nothing else. 

            He went to bed that night, thinking that he would never be able to sleep.  He was incredibly worried about Master Cain.  Cain had always had trouble trusting others, somewhere in his mind perpetually remembering his father's final curse that he would die alone and unloved.  Riff worried that Cain, where ever he was, would not have enough faith in those he left behind to truly believe that they would look for him.  And could something like that, could losing the only people that Cain cared about, could that… push the scarred young man over some edge he had never approached before?  Suicide was not a new thought to Riff, not his own, but his master's.  He had often been surprised that Cain did not seem inclined to go down that path.  Well, not directly.  One could certainly attribute his fascination with incredibly dangerous poisons, and his perpetual risk-taking as almost… passive suicide attempts.  As if he was daring death to come take him.  No, that wasn't right.  A dare indicated a challenge.  He wasn't challenging death because he believed he could defeat it.  He was… inviting it, the way you invite an old friend for dinner.  Cain did not fear death, but Riff certainly did.  And more than that, he feared for his master.  The wounds on the young man's soul were too many and too deep for Riff or even Merry to ever truly heal them.  He wasn't sure Cain would ever really be able to trust someone, would ever really be able to believe in anyone or anything, or would ever even be able to trust himself.  He would never be comfortable in his own skin, always trailed by the belief that he was tainted, wrong, and not quite human.  And how do you live with yourself if you can't believe that you deserve to live?  Riff certainly didn't know, and neither did Cain.  And therein laid the problem. 

            Somewhere in the course of this analysis, one that he had repeated many, many times in his mind, Riff drifted off to sleep.

            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         

            Erasmus Grove, whose name wasn't really Erasmus Grove, proceeded down the secret stairs hidden away in a side panel in his bedroom.  He was almost positive none of the servants knew about these stairs, which lead down to a passageway, connected to a long-unused series of underground rooms, once dedicated to one of the secretive organizations that often flourished in London.  He had spent a long time researching the old tunnels and complexes under the city til he had found a house just right for him.  Then he had appropriated the house for his own uses.  With the help of an old friend of his, who had long ago become a doctor, he had planned long for this.  He reached the heavy door that blocked off one small side room, opened a small hatch at eye level, and peered in. 

            His captive was still in the middle of the floor, curled up, his knees almost to his chin, and the arm that Grove's friend said was broken cradled against his chest, even in unconsciousness.  And he was still unconscious as far as Grove could tell, actually facing the door, his eyes shut and his face pale, with a trail of blood down one cheek from a cut on his head.  Between the blood and his coal-black hair, he seemed even paler to Grove.  And especially with the little lines the pain drew in his face.  Grove especially enjoyed those.

            Grove smiled viciously to himself, so happy to finally see his vengeance taking shape.  He swung the door open, expecting to see some kind of response from the figure on the floor, but the young nobleman didn't even twitch.  Maybe he was as fragile as he appeared.  But how could someone so fragile, someone so slight and insignificant have driven his brother to death?  How could this boy have killed Mill? 

            The boy was shivering in his sleep, his body shaking slightly with every breath, looking almost like he had a palsy.  It was hard to keep hating someone who looked so defenseless, Grove realized.  But then he replayed his encounter with Cain Hargreaves, and remembered what he had to fear.  He may appear slight and powerless, but his strange golden eyes could pierce the thickest deception, the most well practiced lie.  His gaze alone could stop your heart and see your deepest secrets.  But it was no good if he died.  Grove took the blanket he had carried down with him and spread it over him.  He made sure the bucket in the corner had water in it, and that the small lamp place high up, out of reach, had oil enough to last the night. 

            "Sleep well, your lordship.  You and I will have our little talk tomorrow, we will."  Grove turned on his heel and strode out, satisfied with himself for the first time in a long time.  He would have his vengeance.  He would.

            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         

            Cain awoke again, still to the pain.  But this time, his head didn't feel quite so muddled.  He remembered that he was lying on a stone floor somewhere, and someone had stood over him and said he wanted… what was it?  Revenge… someone wanted revenge.  His head ached fiercely, and his entire body hurt with a kind of slow, deliberate pain.  But it was his arm that was the worst, a sharp, insistent, demanding pain that hurt almost more than he could stand.  He realized he was curled up under a blanket this time, and warmer, though still cold to his bones.  He uncurled and sat up slowly, cradling his damaged arm as gently as he could.  He peered around in the dim light cast from an oil lamp high above. 

            The room was small, square, and made entirely of stone.  Except for the door, which was small, but had the look of a thick, heavy door.  His eye caught on a bucket in the corner.  Water! He thought desperately.  Moving slowly and carefully, coaxing his aching body along, he made his way to the bucket, which, thankfully, was partially filled with water.  Cain drank greedily from a small metal cup that had been hanging from the side of the bucket until he felt the dryness in his throat recede.  Lacking the energy or the desire to go anywhere else in the small bare cell, he leaned against the wall next to the bucket, and thought.

            He could think now, the clouds had cleared from his mind.  He remembered receiving the letter from someone named Erasmus Grove, who had sent with his letter a reference from another nobleman that Cain had had dealings with in the past.  So he had accepted the invitation, and had gone to Grove's house to see if he could answer the man's questions… he thought someone had poisoned his wife.  When he came, they talked for a while, and the whole time Cain had an odd feeling that what Grove was telling him was in many ways false.  Cain had only been there for about a half an hour when he realized someone was behind him.  He began to turn and caught the falling blow on the side of his head.

            Cain reached a hand up and felt the bruise on the side of his head, a large bump raised along his temple, ending near his eye and partially swelling it closed.  That would explain why he had had so much trouble opening his eyes. 

            The blow on his head had sent the world spinning and fading in and out, but he had reacted on some instinctive level and raised his arm to block another attack.  Whatever his attacker was using to hit him landed squarely on his lifted forearm, and Cain had heard and felt the bone snap.  He had cried out and curled around his mangled arm, leaving his back and head exposed.  He felt the next few blows, before another one landed squarely on the back of his head and sent him crashing into the darkness. 

            Curled in the corner, trying his best not to let any very sore parts rest against the wall, Cain waited.  And waited. He drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares, ones in which he saw his step-mother trying to kill him, again and again, each time coming closer to succeeding before the poison his father had given her overcame her.  Then his father, again and again, the whip falling on his bare back, the pain flashing through him, his father's satisfied half-smile, contentedly smoking his pipe and staring at the picture of his sister, Cain's mother.  Aunt Augusta, Mother, screaming as he approached, cursing him, and throwing herself out the window, only to smash apart when she hit the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces and starting the dream all over again.  A mixture of dream and reality, one that haunted him almost every night.  Then came the worst one, the dream that scared him the most.  It was a simple dream.  Just Riff walking away, Merry's hand in his, leading her away.  Neither turned and looked back.  Cain cried out to them, calling out to his precious sister, but she made no notice.  He screamed at Riff's back, reminding him of the promise he had made so long ago, but the silver haired man didn't turn back. And then, in a haunting, repetitive chorus, he heard his father's voice.  You will die alone.  You will die unloved.  Cain! The first man to kill a relative. 

            "NO!" he woke himself, his own cry still echoing in his ears, the picture of Merry and Riff walking away, not once looking back, still in his mind.  He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, almost crying out again when he jarred his broken arm.  Then he simply sat, waiting again, his body shaking with cold and reaction and fear.  And he waited. 

            Finally, they came.  First, the small window in the door opened.  Cain just saw a splash of stronger light on the plain stone floor.  The water bucket had been placed next to the door, so his position was in the corner to the left of the entrance to the room.  He wondered idly if whoever was on the other side of the door could see him.  The heavy door swung open then, moving ponderously, its back opening towards Cain, blocking his view of whoever was entering the room.  The door closed again, and Erasmus Grove stood above Cain, glaring down at him with hate-filled eyes.  Cain had spent years looking at such gazes, and was no longer intimidated by people who hated him.  No one could have hated him more than his own parents, more than he hated himself. 

            "Well, well, my lord, you're awake now.  Glad to see it.  How are you feeling?"  The vindictive light came into his eyes, and he grinned down at his captive.  Cain did not deign to answer him. 

            Instead he asked his own question.  "What do you want from me?" 

            "I want you to suffer.  Suffer as I have done since my brother's death.  Suffer as my brother did before his death, when he knew you were chasing him.  That's all I need, is to see you suffer."

            If it hadn't hurt so much, Cain might have laughed.  Suffering was one of his oldest friends.  Instead, he gave the best approximation he could of his scornful look.  The effect was diminished by the fact that his left eye was swollen partially shut, but it was still somewhat successful. 

            "I am not afraid of you.  There is nothing you can do to me that has not already been done.  Do what you wish."

            "You truly believe that?  Ohh, maybe you still have hope that someone will come looking for you!  If you can get out of here, if you can be found, then you truly have nothing to fear, right?  But who would come looking for a little brat like you, Count Hargreaves?  Truly!  Who would come for you?  I'm curious to know!"

            Cain's reaction gave him away.  For the first time, fear came into his eyes, widening them, making them appear almost luminous in the half-light of the cell.  "He will come, he will look for me.  He will.  He promised me that he wouldn't leave me alone.  He promised me.  And she… she loves… she needs… she wouldn't…"  His breathing changed, rasping in and out of his chest. 

            Grove realized that his captive was no longer paying any attention to him.  He was caught in his own personal contemplations, unpleasant ones to judge by the look on his face.  The boy looked terrified, his entire body shaking again. 

            Cain saw, again and again, the image of Riff leading Merry away, leaving him behind, all alone, to fulfill his father's curse.  He laughed bitterly at himself through his agony.  Did he ever really believe that he, the cursed child, the one whom death adored, would be able to escape a curse laid upon him by his own father?  His father's death-wish for his son.

            Grove slapped him again, the sound of Cain's skull cracking off the stones behind his head echoing around the tiny cube.  "Here you will stay, boy, until I am finished with you.  Then maybe, instead of killing you, I'll let you out.  I'll let you go back into the world that has abandoned you.  Yes, maybe that's what I'll do.  Think about that, why don't you!"

            Cain looked up at him.  "Who are you?  I don't understand… what did I do to you?"

            The taller man's eyes flashed angrily, his face freezing in a frightening rictus.  "You!! You killed my brother, drove him to his death.  Why couldn't you just leave him alone?" Seeing Cain still staring at him, confused, he decided to tell.  "My brother was Maximillian Artilus.  You hunted him, accusing him of killing a friend of his, and of yours.  You drove him to kill himself, with your pestering and your evidence, and your threats.  No, he didn't really kill himself.  You killed him.  His death is on your hands!! And for that, I will make you suffer, child."

            Now Cain did laugh, a thin, pained, haunted laugh.  "You think one more death on my hands will change anything??  You know nothing!  I am Cain, one who would kill his own kin!  And you think one more death because of me will truly change anything?"  Cain laughed again, hugging his arms tightly around his body, his broken one pressed carefully against his chest.  He lowered his head to his upraised knees, now laughing silently to himself, his shoulders shaking with painful mirth and the constant shivering that was still affecting him. 

            He flung his head back up, green-gold eyes raised to meet Grove's…no, Artilus'.  His cursed eyes, a strange color that haunted those who looked into them, the devil's mark upon Cain's tormented head, were full of mockery and misery.  Artilus could do nothing in the face of such eyes.  He turned quickly and left, meeting his doctor friend in the hall, where he had been listening.  The pair left quickly, Cain's mocking laughter following them down the hall and up the stairs. 

            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         

            Riff was waiting slightly down and across the street from the back of the Grove house, waiting patiently for Merryweather to return from her mission.  He was terrified that something would happen to the young girl, and he would have lost both his master and his precious sister in one fell swoop.  But, he kept reminding himself, there was no real danger.  Merry looked completely different in her plain, common clothes with her long, long hair braided and tied up, pulled off her face.  They had even smudged a bit of dirt on her face and on her clothes to make them truly authentic.  Merry had lived poor long enough to know how to look like it. 

            Soon enough, Merry came bounding back, the excitement plain on her face.  "They know!! They told me!! I was good, and didn't ask directly, and they told me!!"  Riff would wonder for the rest of his life how Merry had gotten the information out of the servants without making them suspicious, but however she had done it, it had worked.

            They had seen Master Cain, the Count as they called him.  He had come, and stayed for a bit, talking.  But it hadn't been just Cain and their master in the house.  Another man, one they knew either as "the doctor" or Darien.  Darien had entered the room with Grove and Cain, and then the servants had heard a struggle, and crashing, and someone crying out.  And then it had been silent.  Now, these were professionals, and any good student knows better than to intrude on their master's affairs.  So the servants had stayed out of the way, and didn't know what had become of the Count after that.  All they knew was that he hadn't left out the front door, and he certainly hadn't left under his own power.  Riff had been afraid that it was something like this.  Now Merry's belief that Cain was somewhere in pain seemed more accurate.  He should have known.  Merry's skill with the Tarot was uncanny; who's to say her premonatory abilities didn't extend beyond the cards? 

            "So… Brother is still somewhere inside that house?  I don't know, what do you think, Riff? The servants were curious, so they've been keeping an eye out for him.  Ohh!! Wait! I remember something one of them said.  That sometimes… Mr. Grove will disappear inside his room, and one time, a servant went up to ask him if he wanted tea just shortly after he went in… and he wasn't there!  He had disappeared from his room.  They knew he hadn't gone back out and left some other way, he couldn't have! Also, sometimes the doctor, he goes up there with Mr. Grove.  And then they both disappear!"

            Riff cupped his chin in one hand, thinking.  "So there's a passage out of the house through the bedroom?  Interesting."  He looked back down at Merry.  "We'd have trouble finding it by ourselves, wouldn't we, Miss Merry…" He paused.  "I have a plan."

            Merry smiled up at him.  "I knew you would!  You're very good at this! Maybe after this, Brother will let you help him more often!"

            Riff smiled wryly at the little girl.  "I seriously doubt that, Miss Merry.  Your brother will do what he wants to do, no more, no less.  No matter how much we may wish to change that, we can't."

            Riff's plan was slightly more elaborate than he would have hoped, seeing as Riff preferred simplicity, seeing less room for error there.  Probably some belief left over from his medical training.  He sent a letter to Mr. Grove, requesting his presence at a quiet club that nobler gentlemen often frequented, including Cain, on occasion.  Before that, he had gone to quite a bit of trouble to figure out where to find Grove's doctor friend.  As the letter was being sent, Riff and Merry made their way to the doctor's offices. 

            Sure enough, the doctor was in.  Riff requested to see him, claiming he just needed to speak to him for a moment about a mutual friend.  That was almost the truth…  The secretary led Riff alone (he had made Merry stay outside for this part) to the doctor. 

            Grove's doctor friend, one Dr. Darien Morris, inspected Riff curiously, trying to remember if they had met before.  Once the secretary had closed the door behind her and was suitably far away, Riff took action.  He had found the gun that Cain owned in one of his master's desk drawers, and had appropriated the weapon for this escapade. 

            "Dr. Morris, I apologize for this.  But I am looking for Count Cain Hargreaves, and I believe you know where he is.  If you would be so kind as to take me to him…"

            The doctor's mouth opened and closed a few times, appearing oddly like a landed fish, trying to find the water again.  "I… I… I can't!!  It's... in… in my… my friend's house and I… if he's there… you'll be…"

            "Don't worry, doctor, I've already seen to it.  Mr. Grove will not be home for quite some time.  You will take me to the count.  Now." 

            Morris, staring wide-eyed at the barrel of the gun, led Riff out.  Riff hid the gun by placing a coat over his arm as he escorted the doctor out of his own offices, tapping him slightly with the barrel, as Morris took too long to explain to the secretary that he was stepping out.  Riff was scared himself, that someone would notice the gun in his hand.  He had never really held a gun before, and certainly never used it to kidnap someone. 

            He trailed the doctor to the carriage that Merry had kept waiting for them.  He knew Cain was going to be unhappy with Riff allowing Merryweather's involvement in this rather unpleasant business, but… Riff was going to be unhappy with his master for causing her so much fear and worry.  As long as they got Cain back, though, Riff had a feeling it would all work out. If this worked.  It had taken most of the day to arrange and plan and execute this… and the longer Cain was caught, the more Riff feared for him.  Please let this work…

            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         

            Cain had been waiting again, by himself, curled in his corner.  The shaking in his body was getting worse, interspersed with periods where he felt unbearably hot.  Fever… he knew the signs well enough.  He tried to stay awake as much as he could, knowing that, perhaps, one of these times he would slip into dreams and not be able to wake from them.  He wanted to stay awake, just in case… But there was no way.  No one would be coming for him.  There was no one who cared enough to come for him.  His family would be thrilled if he died, their strange black sheep finally eliminated, and his money dispersed between them.  And maybe that wouldn't be so bad… Merry would inherit quite a bit, he had made sure to change his will as soon as he was sure she was staying with him.  Riff would be well off, too.  He would provide for the one who had served him so faithfully over the years.  But Riff must be aching for his freedom after so long serving his half-mad master.  He could go back to medical school and finish finally, after how many years of interruptions? 

            He hated this feeling… he was hot and cold all at once, shivering, but with every shake of his body, it jarred his broken arm, sending shocks of pain through him.  He could slip away now, back into the black again… but he wanted to wait.  He was still waiting for Riff.  Riff would come, wouldn't he?  He had promised, Cain had heard him, he said it out loud.  That he would never leave him.  But Cain had done the leaving in this case, hadn't he?  Did Riff's promise mean he would never deliberately leave?  Or did it mean he would never abandon Cain no matter where he was?  Cain shook his head at himself.  No sane person would go out of their way for one so tainted and torn as he.  Not even the ever-present Riff.  Not even the cheerful and loving Merry.  Father… Father had been right, he would die alone… Mother had been right to try to kill him, to call him cursed… they had all been right.  Nothing for him, just pain and a curse, and a tormented life.  The black was calling him again, calling him home.  He would answer this time.

            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         

            Dr. Morris knocked on his friend's door.  Close behind him and nervously clasping at the gun hidden under his folded coat, Riff watched the doctor's every move.  Merry stood behind Riff, out of the way as much as possible.  The girl didn't like guns, even if it was to save her brother.  A surprised servant admitted Morris and his entourage.  Making up an excuse about leaving something behind last time he had been in the house, and claiming Grove had simply told him to collect it from his room, Morris got himself, Riff, and Merry upstairs. 

            Riff, more than a little scared now, still held the gun to the doctor's back.  Once in the bedroom, Morris went directly to a side wall, running his hand down the molding.  And suddenly, part of the paneling sprung open revealing a passage behind it.  Riff motioned with the gun, instructing Morris to precede them down. 

            "Miss Merryweather, please stay here.  Please."

            "No, Riff!! What if he comes back while you're down there?  It will be safer if I'm with you."  The servant sighed.  He hated how she was always wiser than he in some matters. 

            "Just stay close, and don't wander off, alright?"

            "Don't worry about me, Riff.  I just want Brother back."

            Morris, watching his captor, realized something.  Something that Grove hadn't realized, really.  That the young man they held down under the house was a human being, just like them, not some kind of bizarre demon with his uncanny green-gold eyes.  He was lonely and frightened right now, and in pain.  And then Morris knew what he had to do.  He would help this pair to rescue their young man, and get them out of here with the minimum of fuss.  He would do his best, after they were gone, to dissuade Grove from pursuing Count Hargreaves any farther than this.  That was all he could do.

            He led them down the stairs, beneath the house, and to the small locked side room.  Riff took a deep breath and, rapidly undoing the lock, shoved the door open.  His heart almost stopped when he saw Cain, sitting crumpled and vulnerable in the corner by the door.  His eyes were half open, one swollen partially shut, fever-bright beneath the lowered lashes.  His hair was slicked down on his face with sweat, hectic red spots standing out against his pale skin.  Riff gasped, remembering to breathe. 

            "What did you do to him?!?"  Riff cried out, his comment directed at the doctor behind him.  He glanced back, to find Morris standing, looking horrified and ashamed, in the hall. 

            "I'm sorry… he wasn't like this when we left him this morning… I didn't know…" Merry raced in, her light steps barely making any sound, even in the echoy room. 

            "Brother!!" She ran to him, wrapping her arms desperately around his neck.  Cain moaned at her touch, his shaking body flinching away where her body had pressed against his broken arm.  Merry leapt back as if stung, fear in her eyes as she looked up at Riff for help. 

            Riff crouched down beside him, gently taking Cain's chin and bringing his dazed eyes around.  "Master Cain?  Sir?  Can you hear me?"

            "Riff?  Here?  You came?… You came… I thought … you wouldn't... I saw… walking away…you… Merry… walking… leaving me…" His voice was weak and hoarse, shaking as he was. 

            Placing a gentle hand on his head and speaking softly and calmingly, Riff said the only thing he could think to say.  "I promised you, sir.  I will not break my promise, not ever.  Don't forget that.  I will never leave you alone."

            Cain's lips curved ever so slightly in a tired replica of his rare, happy smile.  "You… promised me…" Riff thought it better not to point out at the moment that Merry was there too.  There would be enough time later for an explanation.  "Kept… Riff…" And his partially open eyes slid shut, and his tightly clenched muscles relaxed, his body going limp except for the fever-induced shakes that still wracked his thin frame. 

            As gently as he could, Riff wrapped the blanket around Cain, using it to gather him up into a carry-able bundle.  He noticed the arm that seemed oddly bent and swollen… broken and left unset.  No wonder he was in such pain.  Riff picked Cain up, one arm under his legs, one supporting his shoulders, resting the young man's head on his chest.  He carried him as gently as he could, out the door and back up the stairs, and out of the house.  Merry hurried behind him, almost running to keep up with Riff's long, smooth stride.  Morris, forgotten, reentered the house to deal with the horrified servants and to await his friend's return. 

            The carriage driver was, suffices to say, puzzled by the addition to his passengers.  But he was being paid well, and knew better than to question the ways of the upper class.  Anyway, the kid they brought back just looked sick.  He hoped whatever he had wasn't contagious. 

            Riff sat in the back, still holding Cain in his lap, but now using his free hand to check him for more injuries.  There was the most visible bruise on his head, the one along his left temple, and Riff found another nasty bump on the back of his head, and a few more minor ones elsewhere.  Concussion, he guessed, but nothing seemed cracked.  The only way to assess for permanent damage would be to wait.  Cain's left forearm was broken, a clean break though, so it would probably heal fine once Riff got it set. 

            Merry sat quietly next to Riff, silent in her fear for her brother.  Seeing this, he spoke to her.  "He should be fine, Miss Merry.  He just needs rest, and some decent care, and he'll be fine. I swear to you.  Would I lie about such things?"  She shook her head emphatically, then rearranged herself so she could grasp her brother's right hand.  She held on tight for the rest of the ride home. 

            The arrival of the master of the house in such a state caused quite an uproar in the normally placid household (since most of Cain's activities were hidden from the remainder of the household).  There was no chance of keeping this latest escapade from becoming common knowledge, no way to sneak Cain in so badly injured. 

            Riff carried Cain in himself, sending the maids scurrying to collect water, both hot and cold, and bring it to Cain's bedroom. Before he and Merry had left, Riff had set out his medical kit, sharing Merry's suspicions that he was going to need it once they found the younger man.  It didn't take Riff long to do all he could, because the only serious injury that he could really treat was the broken arm.  Once it was realigned and splinted, he did what he could to try to bring down Cain's fever.  But after that, it was just waiting.  Interminable waiting. 

            Merry came back later that evening, dressed in her nightclothes.  She looked up at Riff, her eyes wide and worried.  "Can I stay with you for a while?"

            Smiling, Riff nodded at her.  She climbed onto Cain's bed as carefully as she could and arranged herself next to him.  She gently slid her own small hand into her brother's lax one, resting her head on his shoulder.  Again, Riff wished Cain could see this.  The girl cared immensely for her brother.  He was her only family, both children alone and parentless, but with drastically different upbringings. 

            She fell asleep like that, next to her brother, holding his hand.  Riff didn't really have the heart to move her, thinking to himself that as much as she needed to be near her brother, he probably needed someone near him too.  From what he had said when they had found him, Riff thought that his darkest fears had haunted him, alone in the stone room.  He had been genuinely surprised, shocked even, to see that Riff had come looking for him.  And now he didn't really want to leave Cain alone.  He might be feverish and sleeping, but… Riff realized that Cain seemed to be doing better now.  His sleep had been fitful before this, his dreams breaking through and causing him to move restlessly on the bed, muttering to himself, and sometimes crying out.  But with Merry at his side, he had quieted. 

            He kept watch all night over the siblings.  By morning, Cain was doing better.  His fever had gone down, though it was not gone entirely.  Some of the color had come back into his face, and he looked less and less like death had its hand on his head.  Though it took some convincing, Riff talked Merry into going back to her lessons, to appease the tutor who was frustrated by her pupil's lack of attendance.  The girl was reluctant to leave her brother, still worrying about his health, and never fully believing Riff's assertions that he would be fine, given a little more time to rest.  And so, the household went back to normal.  It wasn't like the servants were used to taking their orders from Cain anyway, Riff took care of most everything in the house, since his master had little interest in mundane details.  In fact, he rather thought the others were relieved not to have the moody, strange count underfoot all day.  And with Riff staying with Cain almost all the time, and Merry spending much of her free time watching over her brother with Riff, the place was actually unusually quiet… quieter than it had been since Merry first took up residence. 

            Merry too did some convincing, finally almost forcing Riff out of her brother's room and into his own to get some sleep.  "If what you say is true, and he's in no danger now, then why do you insist on staying with him?  I can watch him sleep just as well as you can, Riff!  And, what would happen if you got sick too?  Brother would be quite unhappy with you, wouldn't he?"  Riff decided he hated little girls who could use logical arguments so well.  It was absurd to think that someone so young and innocent looking could outsmart him.  Someone who was, in fact, almost as cunning as her elder brother.  So Riff gave in, unable to deny anything Merryweather had said, and had retreated to his own room for the rest of the day.  He had fallen across his bed without even bothering to take his shoes off, and was asleep immediately. 

            It was long after dinner that night when one of the maids finally came to get Riff up.  The maids weren't quite sure what to do about Merry or about Cain.  She knocked tentatively on the door, but got no answer.  The maid, Teresa, scratched lightly at her head, an unladylike gesture, she knew, but an old habit from her childhood.  She knocked again, louder, but still got no response from inside.  She called through the door, first softly, then louder.  Finally, having received no indication of anyone even being inside the room, she pushed the door open.  She giggled at what she saw, covering her mouth with her hands to stifle the noise.  The tall man was sound asleep on his bed, still dressed, a blanket twisted about him partially. It looked like a dreadfully uncomfortable position to be in.  She had laughed because, in this bizarre household, with such a strange, eccentric master, Riff was the one all the servants looked to.  He was the one who ran the house.  He was usually so calm and collected, the only one who would willingly approach the master.  The rest of the servants were terrified of Cain, with his erratic moods and unpleasant habits.  But seeing the patient man in such a compromising position… it was worth invading his room.

            Teresa leaned over Riff, shaking his shoulder gently and calling his name.  He reacted slowly at first, peering up at her, puzzled.  Then, he seemed to remember what was going on, and he shot out of bed, standing unsteadily in front of her, the blanket still partially wrapped around him.  Teresa yelped when he moved, startled.

            "Sorry… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to scare you.  What time is it?"

            "About nine o'clock.  We weren't quite sure what to do about Miss Merry, she refuses to leave her brother alone, and we didn't know if we should do anything for Master Cain, either.  I'm sorry for having to wake you."

            Riff ran an impatient hand through his hair.  "I didn't mean to sleep this long.  All right, I'll go talk to Miss Merry.  You don't have to worry about it." He moved past Teresa and out the door, scrubbing at his face with his hands.  Teresa stood for a moment in the middle of Riff's room, then she picked up the blanket from where it had fallen, and proceeded to make the bed. 

            The house finally settled back into its long-accustomed pattern over the next couple days, the maids doing their job with a minimum of fuss, Merry and her tutor working steadily on a variety of things appropriate for a young lady of a noble house to learn, and Riff watching over Cain, still waiting.  His fever continued to abate, though it would still come back with strongly occasionally, and then recede again.  But he had yet to wake, and the nightmares that had haunted him for as long as Riff had known him still came in the dark.  Not that he hadn't seen enough in his life to cause nightmares…

            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *         

            He woke slowly this time, the pain that had been a constant companion for the last few days now more of a background hum in his mind.  His head didn't ache, and his arm, though it hurt, felt significantly better.  He was warm, too, he realized, and no longer lying on solid stone.  A significant improvement. 

            "Master Cain?  Sir?"  Riff's voice, calm and steady as always, the same measured, indifferent tone he always used when Cain was injured.  The tone that indicated he was worried.  Cain opened his eyes, turning his head slightly towards the voice.

            Riff was sitting in a chair next to the bed, leaning forward.  "How are you feeling, sir?"

            There was a bounce on the bed, surprising Cain.  Riff looked up and over him, speaking to someone else.  "Miss Merryweather!  Please don't do that."

            Merry…Cain turned the other way, searching for his little sister.  Sure enough, she was perched near the foot of the bed, a book open in her hands, smiling.  She set the book aside and, disregarding her proper dress, crawled across the broad bed to her brother's side.  Cain twitched his head back when Riff placed a hand on his forehead.

            "You had a very serious fever for a few days, but you should be fine now.  You need rest.  But first, you should eat.  If you'll excuse me, sir."

            Riff slid out of the room, leaving Merry and Cain alone.  "Are you feeling better now, Brother?  You certainly look better!" 

            Not quite sure how to take that statement, he simply nodded.  "Yes, Merry, I'm feeling much better now.  I do believe I will be fine."

            "Good!!  Because you really scared me, what with disappearing like that, and then when we finally find you, being so sick!  You were asleep for four days!!  If you do anything like that again, I'm going to be very angry with you!!  You always leave me out of all the interesting things; I'm always getting left in the dark! It's not fair!"  Still kneeling beside him, Merry placed her hands on her hips and glared down at Cain.  "Do you hear me, Brother?"

            Cain, his eyes wide, and a slightly scared, slightly confused expression on his face, nodded rapidly again.  "I'll certainly try not to do anything like this again. I didn't enjoy it either." 

            She folded her arms across her chest with an air of finality.  "Serves you right then.  That's what you get for always being so secretive and going out and doing such dangerous things.  It was bound to catch up with you eventually, you know!"

            He smiled, hooding his eyes slightly, gold glittering out from under his eyelashes in an odd look.  "But some things are worth risk, aren't they, Merry?  If not for my dangerous activities, would I ever have found you?"

            She cocked her head to one side, thinking about that one.  "I suppose not.  But that doesn't change my point!  You must be more careful!"

            Riff saved Cain from having to endure any more Merry-lectures by arriving bearing a tray with soup and tea.  Both Riff and Merry watched him closely as he ate, making him slightly uncomfortable with their insistent gazes.  Finally convinced that her brother was going to be alright, Merry allowed herself to be shooed away by Riff after Cain had finished all of the soup.  The servant helped Cain out of bed, steadying his slightly unstable stance, and helping him change carefully into fresh clothes.  He led him to a chair, so he could change the sheets on the bed while Cain was elsewhere.  Cain sat quietly in the chair, a blanket around his shoulders, and a cup of tea in his good hand.  He had watched Riff add a few extra ingredients that would help him sleep, understanding that his servant had his health in mind.  So he accepted the tea, and drank it, though the thought of Riff or anyone adding anything extra to his tea still made him uncomfortable.  He allowed his servant to put him back to bed, and sent him to fetch a few books that Cain was still reading. 

            "How did you find me?"  Cain asked, when Riff arrived with the books.

            He explained as simply as he could what had happened.  Cain couldn't help but laugh at Riff all the times his good intentions were overridden by Merryweather's stubborn determination not to be left out this time.  The image of Merry, glaring up at the much taller servant with that stubborn, impetuous look on her face pleased Cain.  At least it was turned on Riff alone this time, and not him.  He had been on the receiving end often enough. 

            Riff considered briefly speaking to Cain about perhaps changing his habits, about dropping his investigative bent, about no longer pursuing criminals in his spare time.  But Riff, after so long with Cain, understood that the young man wouldn't stop, not even at the request of the two people closest to him.  There were some fights that were not worth fighting, not when the outcome was so long decided, and the cost of fighting too high.  So Riff didn't chastise his master, didn't criticize him for risking his life so much, didn't even try to dissuade him from continuing his long-standing obsession with poisons.  He held his silence, as he had done for as long as he had known Cain, determined at least to be of as much assistance as possible.  That was all he could do. 

            Cain said nothing after Riff finished his recounting of the search, simply staring down at the blankets on his bed.  Then, softly, still looking down, he said, "I dreamed while I was there… in the dream I saw my mother.  She was still trying to kill me, but she kept getting closer and closer before Father's poison took her, closer each time I saw it.  And Father… And one of you and Merry.  You were leading Merry away, both of you walking away.  You never turned back, no matter how much I called."  He finally looked up, his expression strained and tired, such hurt in his green-gold eyes.  "But you came, in the end.  Just like you promised.  You didn't leave me alone, even when I was the one who left." He laughed, mockingly, at himself.  "They would be quite happy if I disappeared, wouldn't they.  My relatives… They would finally be rid of me, and they could get their hands on my money and on this place.  But you came for me."

            "Yes, sir.  I promised you, a very long time ago, that I wouldn't leave you alone.  And I'm not planning on breaking that promise.  You don't have to worry about that."  He paused, thinking, then spoke again.  "But… you might want to think about what to do about Miss Merry.  She seems to show quite a flair for investigating.  I was quite impressed with her acting ability when I sent her to speak with the servants.  She's most useful for getting information out of people.  I'm afraid, sir, that she might have gotten a taste for investigation, though, and might try to pursue it further.  She is your sister, after all.  Very like her brother, Miss Merry."

            "Hmm, yes, we shall have to do something about that, won't we, Riff?  You're the one who allowed her to come with you.  I shall hold you accountable if she develops any strange habits."

            "But I am not the one who gave her a reason to go searching, am I, sir?  I will not accept the blame for this by myself.  Also, you've tried to argue with her.  Do you truly think I stood a chance?  She is your sister in more ways than one, Master Cain."

            Cain pondered this for a moment, his chin cupped in his right hand.  "Perhaps you and I shall go shopping again to appease her once more.  If she does not attempt to continue with any investigations we will buy her… whatever she asks for."

            "Within reason, of course, sir.  Tell a girl her age she can have anything, and you never know what you might have to buy."

            Chuckling, Cain waved a hand at Riff, dismissing him to take care of his own duties, leaning back in bed and opening one of the books he had been brought on his lap. 

            Riff did his duties about the house that night with a light heart for the first time in many days.  When he was finished, he checked briefly on Merry, who was sound asleep in her own bed.  He pushed Cain's door open softly to find the young man slouched down in bed, still partially propped up by the pillows, the book he had been reading laying open on his lap, one of his hands still resting on the pages, holding it open.  Sleeping sitting up.  Riff sighed.  Nothing new there, though he usually fell asleep reading in the chair in his study.  Moving as quietly as he could, Riff slid the book out from under Cain's hand, marking the page it was on, and laying it on the table.  He couldn't do much about the younger man's chosen sleeping position without disturbing him, so he left him there, hoping he wouldn't end up with a crick in his neck.  Riff privately thought he would. 

            It wasn't until two days later that this particular episode in their lives truly came to an end.  A little over a week after Cain had first disappeared, the doctor that Riff had held at gunpoint came to the house, asking to see Count Hargreaves.  Riff went in to see Morris himself, not wanting Cain to have to deal with this.  He could protect his master this much, at least. 

            Morris came to apologize.  He had hoped to see the Count himself, and apologize in person for what had happened the week before, but he had never really believed he would.  Instead, he spoke his words to the young man who had forced him to help, Riff; the little girl had called him. 

            "I also wanted to tell you that the count no longer has anything to fear from either myself or Artilus, er… Grove.  He and I have come to an understanding, and he will be spending some time… out of the country.  I think perhaps he will go to Italy, or maybe to Spain.  But, I give you my word that he shall no longer pursue vengeance against the count." 

            It was in that moment that the door swung open and Cain, one arm in a sling, entered.  "Riff, wherever did you hide your old medical books? I have something I need to look up, and I can't find them anywhere!  Oh!"  He stopped as he saw the other man.  But Cain had never actually seen Dr. Morris, who had stayed mostly in the hall, and so, he didn't recognize him.  "I'm sorry, I didn't realize we had company.  Riff?"

            "Sir, please, leave.  This… you need not concern yourself with this," Riff said in his flattest voice.  

But Morris ruined Riff's plan to spare his master, speaking up himself.  "Count Hargreaves, sir… I… came to apologize…"

Cain shuddered, the motion running through his entire body violently.  "You…" He backed up rapidly, his back thumping into the wall, eyes wide and afraid.  Riff stepped in between his master and the guest, motioning with one hand for Morris to leave.

"I believe it would be best if you excused yourself, sir.  Your apology is appreciated, as are your efforts to spare us more retribution from your friend.  But please.  As you can see, Master Cain is not yet fully recovered from the experience.  Please."  He put all the force he had into the last syllable, determined that he would leave.  And he did, casting a nervous glance over Riff's shoulder to Cain behind him, still pressed into the wall.  But as he looked at Cain that last time, Morris himself felt a tremble of fear in his gut. 

The eyes staring back at him were not truly the eyes of a human.  The golden-green glow seemed to pierce through him, promising a vengeance of their own.  It was the deadliest, deadest gaze Morris had ever had the misfortune of meeting.  The doctor turned away from that soul-stripping look and fled.