This story is documented from the various perspectives of the first-hand victims. The order that these documents appear will make manifest of themselves as the tale progresses. All the events within this story are told in the exact words of whom they concern. Overall, this account relates supernatural occurrences, ancient superstitions, metamorphic curses, social rejection and repulsion, and a romance so depraved and uncultivated that it comes near to the grim fate of all human life—all themes which will explain themselves as the story unfolds.
Please read this strange and unusual account, and then review.
TENEBROSA
By A.G.M. Mendelssohn, 2006
Chapter One
From the documented perspective of Renarde Jacques—
Mahogany— We have recently arrived at the railway station after a lengthy journey through the northern countryside—from there, we are to depart on foot for the northbound estate and meet the client whom I shall be troubled with. Certainly I find northeastern Johto a charming region, the scenery rather refreshing compared to the dense metropolises I have been accustomed to. Perhaps it was the majestic heights and the red horizon that trumpeted both dawn and dusk, or was it the absence of ambitious human commercialism? Either, quite likely. And a marvelous setting to do business! I had always fancied bringing my work to the untamed woodlands—an ideal advancement for my career, naturally, but also nourishment to that particular thirst for adventure. It was an uplifting thing, to experience what has yet to be experienced, to enjoy better sunrises and serene memories, never yielding to what might ensnare me in the unknown.
Of course, my travels are rarely complete without the accompaniment of my beloved wife. Every adventure was hollow without a companion to savor it with, and by my range of clients and the trips involved, it could be a lonesome quality of life, perhaps even a binding one, holding me down like well-crafted chains. Imagine that, married to one's work, to slave and toil all day with lifeless zeal as a cruel master, up until the rise of a deathly sun—nay, dear Vivian prevents my captivity! I remain free, and my work becomes a wholesome pleasure!
Fortunately, she was able to make this passage with me, since she herself is a busy woman. A pretty brightness never quite leaves her hazel eyes, and she seems to be as enthusiastic as I am to meet this new client—and yet a strange contact. Obviously, it was the rumor of a grand estate and lavish mansion that attracted Vivian to visiting with this patron, since any deal with a wealthy aristocrat proved useful to our own personal income. She was glad to help me in any way to set up an association with its owner.
It was not a master who oversaw our destination, but a mistress. I found it quite unusual that she inherited the estate from her family, questioning why she wouldn't at least find room for a man to keep her company in such a manor. After all, it appeared to be an extensive keep, perhaps sporting several dozen servants and staff. Her letter gave no implication of a marriage, but I shouldn't have been so surprised, with the money I foresaw:
To Mr. Renarde Jacques, Vermilion City of Kanto— I have heard good words regarding your excellence in business and law advice. Yes, your reputation reaches as far as rural Mahogany, and I am interested in seeking your counseling and advice on my assets. I very much wish your visitation on my estate, settled in the northern Johto mountains, some 200 acres of trees and cliffs. My home was built long before I can remember, probably several hundred years ago, and I have no doubt that it is worth some value to various financial inspectors. I may need to move from this place someday, but I remain too connected to my family ties to give it up to the government. Heavens forbid Tenebrosa falls into their hands! Surely such an occurrence will be the end of me, as its true masters and mistresses have kept it well for many generations. I don't intend being the one to lose it. Therefore, I hope to form a partnership with you and receive your advice in financial evaluation of the land, my mansion, my servants, and likely my family history. Perhaps we shall be friends in this matter.
Fortunately, we have been given gracious time from the taxation enforcement. Apparently, precious few of their agents seem to make it to our company in one piece. I'm afraid Tenebrosa is situated in treacherous landscape, as our roadway has become overgrown with heath and thick trees, leading up into the mountain landscape, where the weak outcroppings of boulders no doubt poise a threat. I'm also afraid to say my mansion is in a fragile state, the battlements worn and certain ceilings about ready to collapse, not to mention several temperamental servants. Several accounts have been in which they, the agents, tragically fell to their death from the heights, or been mauled by our security system. Yet the government remains persistent, and now they even plan to charge me with domestic endangerment and some twisted degree of manslaughter. No, I'll have none of that. I'll keep my land up to the very day that my years end, and I'll go to any means to protect my assets. Until certain events occur, I'll remain fast-rooted to this place. As you can see, your services are appreciated.
I shall pay you well for your cooperation, of course. Any amount of Pen will most certainly assuage any of your future doubts of finance. I shall even go as far as to enclose your payment for your passage here. Whether you accept or decline this client is your discretion; you may keep the given amount of Pen, nevertheless (8,500 Pen is enough, I assume).
Please write a response to this letter—and don't worry about it getting lost on the way here. My mail is set in the highest authority with the postal service. I look forward to hearing from you. —Your future client, Ms. Celia Willow.
She had anticipated correctly. Eighty-five hundred Pen to be part of my clientele, as well as the promise for more, was undeniably a generous offer. I had no idea that my services were so popular, even extending into the Johto region. Generally, most of my business stayed in Kanto, and perhaps the closest I had ever gotten to doing business in Johto was when I was summoned to Indigo Plateau as a transaction witness. A tournament was under way at that time, and the staff and coordinators needed to transfer several ten thousands of Pen from one account to another after a scuffle with a rogue trainer who decided to file a lawsuit.
My wife read the same letter and spurred an equal, if not more, excitement to visit this Ms. Willow's estate. I checked the given currency and to my surprise found sufficient funds to carry both Vivian and me. This would no doubt become a rewarding experience, and better yet, Vivian's sister lived in nearby Blackthorn, some fifty miles east of Mahogany. Perhaps a visit would be in order once my business had been completed. I eagerly scribbled out an acceptance letter of service to Ms. Celia Willow, of Tenebrosa. Sure, I thought as I postmarked the letter, it would likely be a perilous trek, with the dangers Ms. Willow foretold, but such a wealthy adventure was something neither Vivian nor I could refuse.
So, on a speedy vessel we soon were from Vermilion's port, entering Olivine, where we then hailed a nonstop train ride to Mahogany, a relatively small city compared to what I am used to, I have heard. Vivian spent most of the ride asleep, which I found reasonable, since this hitherto had been a fairly long trip. But came the first hints of the sunset in the west and she was immediately awakened, admiring the brilliant redness streaked across the sky, as I was.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" I commented. "Almost like the sunrises we get in Vermilion…"
"I suppose the sunrises here are just as nice," she replied, gazing dreamily at the silhouetted mountains and tree lines. "This landscape is simply breathtaking, and I must say, this is quite an ideal place to live, so peaceful…"
Unfortunately, as I was soon to find out, northern Johto was not very well known for its sunrises, with the tall mountain range cropping up on the eastern horizon. Instead, this place was known for heavy torrents of rain and a constant mistiness in the morning hours, a weather pattern that continued most throughout the year. A most curious climate given its earthly hemisphere, I concluded, but a pretty object to stare upon all the same, sunrise or sunset.
I had realized upon boarding the train that we had by accident purchased a ticket that included several stops. Delays were constant, and I soon grew suspicious of the train's durability. It almost detached itself from the track when bumping over a segment of rail while climbing into the escarpments. The meal cart was late as well, and I was most displeased when the conductor made a personal apology to each of us after making a dangerously rickety turn over a high crag of rock, in which several people screamed. It was against my nature to complain, as I generally kept quiet over trivial matters, but I had been fed up with this inadequate passage, already in a bad mood for meandering through nearly every city in Johto. I gave the conductor some well-selected words before returning to my seat, and I hope I inspired him enough to get this train replaced, or at least fixed for future journeys. Especially important, as this would likely be our method of travel on our return trip.
It was the later part of twilight by the time the train had pulled up to the Mahogany station. Vivian and I, pushing through a large crowd of people, pulled our baggage from various compartments before disembarking, the conductor determinedly avoiding my face.
"I you'll feel better after your business is complete," Vivian took kindly to mention. "It's distressing to see you in such a mood."
"Likewise," I muttered, while struggling with a large case filled with documents, billing notices, and law textbooks. "An important step in my career, but I intend to enjoy our time together here as much as possible. Trains are not my favorite means of travel…"
Indeed, I had always preferred a carriage or even a journey by walking. Reintroducing technology, for me, was not a happy thought in such a world—as if it were already loud enough!
We made our way through the bustling amounts of people, eventually reaching the streets, where drawn carriages clicked up and down the ways. I must say, it was quite an odd appearance for a city—it was more like an extended marketplace. Most of the buildings were no more than four-stories-high, and they were structured out of masterfully carved wood, probably the same to this town's namesake. Every window had shudders, the doors were fitted well to their entryways, and rounded wood poles propped every level of the houses, preventing them from collapsing. The streets themselves were made out of connected stones, and sidewalks lined the entire length of travel space. Upon these sidewalks, an abundance of people gathered from one stand to another, selling the wares they had to offer. I recognized several kinds of Apricorn, fruits, and various spices—peppercorns, cinnamon, and many bushels filled with different herbal leaves and restorative berries. People walked here and there, never idle, always concerned with their upcoming business.
I smiled; despite the slight primitiveness, it was good to see the global market in action. I felt right at home—except for the fact we had no such marketplaces or streets in Vermilion. Our city proved slightly more sophisticated, and we had a wide harbor, suitable for roaring trade and financial exchange. And it was situated around several other large cities, most notably the metropolis known as Celadon. We had distinct marks in the cities as far as our economy was concerned: Celadon, the "Cradle of Kanto's Heart," Saffron, the "Evolution of Kanto's Mind," and my beloved Vermilion, the "Port of Divine Hands." My Lord, how I loved the Kanto region! Yet I concluded this place to be not completely unsatisfactory, either. At least there was activity going on, rather than other regions that sit in economical waste for many decades before finally making some progress.
There were some obvious problems with this Mahogany. Filthy urchins still wandered aimlessly around the streets, and once I may had even seen one attempt to pick the pocket of another unfortunate gentleman while his back was turned. The business presentation was untidy, and the outdoor atmosphere was not the wisest choice for striking up great revenue. Yes, imperfections were present. It was a thriving town, but one could still see medieval aspects layered within.
"Mr. Jacques!' A dingy youth called my name, trotting hurriedly in my direction. "Are you Mr. Renarde Jacques, sir? And Mrs. Jacques, madam?"
"I am," I responded, Vivian nodding as well.
The youth waved a folded piece of paper in his hand, handing it to me. "A letter for you, sir! Appropriation by post!"
"Thank you, young lad," I said, opening the creased letter and identifying the sender. "Ah, it is Ms. Willow. News has reached Tenebrosa that we had departed for Mahogany. And now we have arrived."
I looked up, wishing to tip the carrier. "Thank you, young man, I—"
But the youth had already gone. He was halfway down the walkway by the time I realized which way he went, and he constantly glanced over his shoulder, paying me fearful looks, running as if my words were venom. Strange country, I thought to myself. Didn't letter carriers accept tips anymore? I regarded myself by no means intimidating, not being strikingly tall or frightful in complexion, and Vivian was the same. Poor child—probably a neglected orphan…
Dismissing this unusual behavior, I read the tidy handwriting on my received letter:
To Mr. and Mrs. Renarde Jacques, Vermilion City of Kanto— I am pleased to hear you have departed recently from Olivine, travelling by train to Mahogany, near where I make my home. I hope you enjoy Johto as much as your Kanto. I have made arrangements for your stay at the nearby inn, Azure Cross, and I have confidence that your visit in Mahogany will be a happy one. I suspect your train will arrive late, so I suggest you have a good rest before departing for my estate in the morning.
Again, I am grateful of your services, Mr. Jacques, and I look forward to doing business with you. I will be pleased in meeting you, Mrs. Jacques, and I expect your husband to be in superior efficiency as my financial evaluation commences. I shall see you tomorrow evening. –Your client and friend, Celia Willow.
"Azure Cross?" I squinted at the note.
"An evening in Mahogany—how delightful!" exclaimed Vivian, hauling her luggage over her shoulder and motioning for a carriage.
We boarded the carriage without much difficulty. It was somewhat of a hassle keeping the luggage from falling off the back of the wagon, but eventually we managed to tie everything down in the compartment space, so we would no longer have any fears of losing anything.
Overall, it was a pleasant ride, and I was able to put in some valuable moments of sightseeing, experiencing the markets and city life of Mahogany. Salespersons still employed the use of a cart in this region, and I noticed the absence of industrial factories—in fact, the entire market looked as if it sold only raw materials and food items. On the other hand, the various clearings were very nice, as it gave both of us a lovely view of the mountain space up ahead. Already the moon was peaking over the ridges and cliffs, and the townsfolk, taking this as a signal to hurry up and end their day's work, began packing up their supplies into their dwellings.
I became slightly unsettled at one time or another. It could have been my imagination, but I could have sworn that the people on the streets were pointing at our carriage as we rode past. I glanced out the windows, and my suspicions were confirmed. Such marketers gazed sadly in my direction, as if I was a guiltless convict about to have my sentence announced. Some crossed themselves and clasped their hands together in prayer, bowing towards us as we trotted along. I myself had never been much of a religious person, yet even their actions made me somewhat weary of something of a higher power, some ill work going on. I rolled up the window and tried to think no more of these strange dealings.
It was fairly half an hour and well into the evening by the time the driver announced we had arrived at Azure Cross. We pulled our bags from the compartments and staggered to the inn's reception. I had a bit of a bother trying to wrench open the front door, the one beneath the crudely cut wooden sign, Azure Cross. Already lanterns were being lit up and down the stone streets, the light-bearers hastily setting them to fire and then scurrying off into the darkness. When I finally got the door to work (and realizing that the door had to be pushed inwards to open), Vivian and I then stepped into the receptionist's space.
I'm afraid to say that the hotel was by no means very clean. Cobwebs hung everywhere, and dust coated thickly nearly every surface we cared to glance at. A door at the right bore the title "Dining Room," while another led into what appeared to be a stairway. The door behind the front desk was made out of some sort of dusted glass. Even reception was somewhat cramped, the wall off-color with a crack here and there. There was to be a reckoning with my client on her strange taste of hotel accommodations.
"Yeh—goo' e'ening—yeh!" snapped a greasy-haired receptionist, who was, moments previously, in the private office instead of behind the front desk where he belonged.
"I believe you were expecting us?" I ventured politely, smiling falsely at his poor attitude.
No words spoken, the receptionist pulled a piece of wrinkled paper from his record books. His breath smelt strongly of alcohol as his yellow eyes scrolled down the page. Finally he muttered in an unkind voice, "I ain' go' noon like ye on my list o' reser'ations. Get ye some'ere else and leave dis p'ace!"
Vivian, who had wisely chosen that moment to set down her case, smiled that charming smile I knew all too well. "But surely you must be mistaken?" she asked sweetly. "A client of my husband's made accommodations for us to stay here at Azure Cross—this is Azure Cross, is it not?"
"Yeh, it's Assure C'oss," huffed the man, apparently unaccustomed to answering questions. "Bu' we ain't go' no room' for noon. We're full up wit' gues's, and wi' da comin' market fair, I can' spare no room fer noon. Beshides, there been strane'ge 'appenings goin' on o'er the last few days. Can' trust noon, m'fraid. Eshpecially folks out o' town."
I tried my very best to decipher his strange dialect and responded the best I could: I nodded blankly. But my wife, who seemed to understand every word he had spoken, replied cautiously, "The market fair? Strange happenings? But surely this is all irrelevant to our missing reservations—could you please check again? We are Mr. and Mrs. Renarde Jacques."
At once the man's eyes sharpened, so suddenly that I thought such an increase of attention on his part was impossible. His eyes stared from me to Vivian to me again, and they finally settled on the letter from Willow, which I was still holding. After several seconds of silence, he continued, not nearly as gruff as he was merely moments ago: "'Tis a ba' moon tonigh'," he said. "Yeh, I mayt heard o' a couple o' Jacques comin' to sta' a' this place. Board an' room an' meal ticket fer th' e'ening." He, without ever taking his eyes off us, reached beneath the desk and fished out a rusted key. "Here's ye key. Fourt floor."
Impressed with Vivian's handling of this entire situation, I thought I could get some information on our upcoming destination. I cleared my throat before asking, "And could it be possible for you to tell us anything about a particular estate that we shall be visiting?"
The clerk glared at me and grumbled, "Ma'be. Where ye nee' ta go?"
"Tenebrosa. Do you know anything about it?"
I must have touched a nerve, for whatever tolerance was left in the receptionist's blood suddenly evaporated. "Juts wha' th' hell d'ye think I am!" he exploded without warning, his eyes panicky. There was a bead of sweat on the corner of his eyebrow. "I don' know nothin' 'bout no Tenebrosa, an' if I di', I wouldn' tell ye'f life depend'd on it! That God for'aken place don' nee' no more souls ta to'ment. Now, ye go' ye key, so fer God-sake let m'alone—goo' nigh'!"
And with that said, the troublesome clerk retreated into his office, absent of a second glance, slamming the door so violently that the frosted pane in the top-left corner cracked.
I stood there, rusted key in hand, quite unsure as to what to do next. But who wouldn't, after being confronted with such rudeness? Vivian called me to action with a gentle hand to the shoulder:
"Perhaps we ought to bring our bags upstairs to our room, Re?" she inquired.
I snapped back into reality; she had called me by my pet name. "Of course," I agreed, somewhat relieved that there was still at least one sane person here in this odd town. "We shall drop our luggage at our room, perhaps visit the dining room for a late dinner, and then enjoy an evening of rest and relaxation before heading out for Tenebrosa in the morning. But I must say…this town presents quite a few strange people. I pray that these unusual customs don't bog us down, and I can only hope these people don't treat every guest like this. Quite an irrational bunch…"
"I'll have to agree with you," she said, lifting her baggage back over her shoulder. "Now, where did he say our room was?"
My brow furrowed as I tried to visualize the clerk's jagged words. "I believe he said we were to be on the fourth floor."
"Very good," my wife concluded. "Let us go there immediately." She gestured towards the stairs, and we at once crowded into the narrow passageway.
The stairwells were made out of some sort of wood that creaked whenever one would take a step. Obviously this building was a very old piece of architecture, and very poorly lit, I might add. I nearly gashed my forehead by tripping over a step and slamming my head clear across the surface of the floor. Had such a rickety design been allowed back in Vermilion, I swear I would've filed endangerment charges against the owners—but then again, I reminded myself, Willow warned of more treacherous designs in her own mansion. I swallowed, trying not to think of the shambles that she quite possibly would be able to entertain. A faulty stairwell would've been a start.
Once we had groped our way in pretty much nothing but pitch darkness, we eventually found a keyhole that admitted our given key. Jiggling the rusted thing around for a little bit, a click soon indicated that the door had unlocked. Shifting our weight under our surplus of luggage, we staggered into the room—fortunately, I grasped a lantern almost as soon as we had entered, and I wasted no time in setting down my bags and flaring up the lamp.
Now, I had expected our room to be designed along the themes of what I had already seen—the uncleanness, the unwelcome appearance, the sixth-rate aspect. I was not disappointed. The quarters was cramped and filled with shadows, and the air inside was musty, as if no one had dared disturb this room for probably half a century. The ancient floorboards creaked, and I very much doubted that the architecture was reinforced, much less inspected by the government's Department of Residential Safety. A single window, thickly coated with dust and miniature fractures, locked as a portal to the northern end of the hotel, giving us a distorted picture of the town's buildings, dimmed lights, and if one were to squint intently, the absolute tips of the mountains and the rising moon. An antique table lay broken in one corner of the space, and chair with one leg shorter than the other sat crooked by our bed. The bed itself was sunken in the middle, and the frame holding up the mattress looked as if it would crumble to pieces should anyone even exhale half a breath upon it. The pillows and blankets were ripped halfway across the seams, and for an overall impression, I began to wonder if this town was out to make us feel as uncomfortable as possible.
Unable to grasp the correct words to utter about this place, I swung my luggage around and deposited the whole lot onto the bed. As I thought it would, the bed sunk even lower, and I grew concerned that the entire thing would collapse. Fortunately, though it groaned several wincing cricks and squeaks, the frame held its place. I breathed in relief; at least I needn't to worry about falling through the lower floor, which of course would have been a tragic ending to what had already been an unpleasant visit.
Vivian placed her numerous bags upon the floor. "I suppose they don't get too many visitors in Mahogany," she sighed.
"Or, at least, Azure Cross doesn't get too many visitors," I added.
Vivian shook her head and, kneeling down, pulled out from her bag a pad of paper and an envelope. It appeared to be a half-finished letter. She sighed and crossed out a passage on the paper. "It looks like I'm going to have to tell Rhea the truth on what I think of this place, despite it being her homeland. I can't believe she would actually want to live in a place like this!"
"Naturally, she has been dishonest about Mahogany," I commented with, for no particular reason, a wry look on my face. "I cannot imagine why. Would Blackthorn be like this?"
"I would assume so," replied Vivian. "After all, this is Northern Johto. Why she lives in such a place is beyond me."
I shrugged. "Perhaps your sister is seeing someone. Love sends people to extraordinary places, you know."
"I know that. Still, this place gives me a feeling far from home. I daresay Ms. Willow's estate is anything like this."
"I wouldn't be remotely surprised," I completed, sitting on the edge of the bed while Vivian finished scratching out her message to Ms. Rhea Walton, of Blackthorn. Rhea Walton…Vivian Walton…they are two sisters who originally grew up in Pallet, a small town in southwestern Kanto. Their father owned a shop that sold refined goods such as mirrors, gowns, and antique furniture; their mother was a professional trainer and an ambitious collector of many Apricorn, which she then sold for outrageous prices. No doubt this had some influence on Vivian's liking for adventure. My own father was a coordinator, though he was better at fleecing other people of their possessions during his travels (nothing I would be proud of, of course). I always somewhat suspected him to be part of the infamous Team Rocket, though my mother never liked to speak of such matters. She was a doctor at the Viridian City Medical Center, and I assumed it was the close association with a staff of Chansey that gave her such a kind heart. Therefore, she rarely spoke of my father, even after his eventual death for whatever reasons I don't know about.
How I met Vivian is a strange matter in itself. Even I had to ponder the happenings behind it as I gazed upon my wife. The absolute front of her auburn hair somewhat resembled that of a Vulpix, seeing as it triangulated down the center of her forehead in a similar fashion. The rest of her hair, other than that, was long around all sides. I mention this because of the fact that I met her in a restaurant in Cerulean that happened to produce many lit candles. A waiter had the carelessness to misplace one particular wax dangerously close to her hair, and I happened to be passing at that exact moment, where then I used my hands to smother the flame. I suppose that was the turning point for both of us (and the waiter—he was out of a job).
At last, Vivian finished her letter. "I'll leave it with the clerk and see if I get him to deliver it to the mail service," she said.
"If this town is fortunate enough to even have mail service," I chuckled. "Come, we'll bring it downstairs, and then we'll see if we can see if the dinner hours are still open."
Vivian smiled and sealed the envelope. Making sure to extinguish the lantern before leaving, we made our way back down to the reception office. The clerk was shouting something about "damned rodents" in his office, and I had to exercise the use of the bell to call his attention. He stormed out of his office with snarl. "Yeh—yeah! Wha' the 'ell ye wan'!"
I decided it was best that I hand the letter over to him, as supposed to Vivian. "I was wondering if you would be able to send this letter to the corresponding address?" I said firmly, though somehow voicing my statement in the interrogative voice.
The clerk snatched the letter from hands, squinting at the address imprinted on the front. Finally, he muttered. "Fine, I'll get it to th' pos' ser'ice in th' morn'. There's ain' no chance ye ma'ing me to sen' I' no'."
"That is fine," I receded. "Just send it as soon as you are able to…please."
"Ye ain' ma'ing no jo'es in thi' ti'e of the e'ening. Ye know 'ow 'uch I 'ate the dar', esphecially in 'imes when weir' c'eatures come ou' teh p'ay 'n the streets. An' that damn'd lady won' lea'e us alone wih' 'er en'hantments. You be'er sta' in'oors or el'e som' th' of oogin."
A blank expression from me was, again, the most appropriate response I could muster. I nodded slowly. "Th-thank you, sir," I stuttered. "Just send that letter when you get the chance. Have a good evening."
The clerk turned and returned to his office, scratching his unshaven face with the sealed letter and muttering something about "nee'ing mar sher'y an' bi'cuits." As soon as he was gone, Vivian and I, now badly needing some refreshment, stepped our way through a side door that read "Dining Room."
Imagine our surprise when we saw that the room was fairly spacey, and not nearly as filthy as the other rooms in the entire hotel, or town for that matter. There were about a dozen tables in the room, and each was lined with white linen and napkins. Vivian breathed in awe, and I simply stared from one customer to another.
"Here to eat, Madam and Monsieur?" asked a waiter who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.
I came out of my brief daze. "Well, why yes, we are," I stumbled, still trying to understand the impossible logic of finding a clean space in the middle of such a dingy town.
"Then follow me, sir and ma'am," said the waiter, motioning towards a table in one corner of the room. We sat down, and Vivian turned her head in several directions, examining the contents of this room with widened eyes. A menu lay at both ends of the circular table, and I at once picked it up.
I unfolded the menu, briefly glancing across the meals. "I'll have the Oddish- and Chikorita-leaf salad, to follow with a roasted Farfetch'd and new potatoes. And a half-bottle of Charlemagne brandy."
The waiter produced a pad and scribbled the order before asking graciously, "And what shall the madam be having this evening?"
Vivian softly smiled, not quite convinced that we were still in Mahogany, after all the odd occurrences over the last few hours. "I shall have the pan-seared Goldeen and the Kingler-meat salad. Mineral water, please, to drink."
The waiter tipped his hat, bowing courteously before retreating into the kitchen.
For a time, the wait for dinner was rather agreeable, and we amused ourselves by listening in on surrounding persons' conversations. None were very interesting, except for maybe one or two—one in particular, which would chase around my mind long after our visit:
"Are we in fair order for the transaction, Nathaniel?" said a gentleman with black hair, garbed in travel clothes and a cape-like overcoat.
The brown-haired gentleman chuckled, sipping red wine from a glass. "On the contrary, we are in perfect standings for the upcoming deal, Jonathan."
The one called Jonathan folded his hands together and smiled. "Do speak!"
"It is interesting how these things occur, how discoveries are actually made," continued Nathaniel, relishing every moment of an apparent success. "But it is irrelevant. What matters now is to get the mini-keg to our dear friend, Dr. Von Steichen. A simple deal: he gets the revolution in manmade medicine, and we get 75,000 Pen each, not forgetting our fees owed to Mr. Cromwell."
I sat up a little straighter and motioned to Vivian for silence.
"I find the whole matter exciting," he said, "to be in service of this sir. We collect for him specimens he needs to become world-renowned, and we get paid well for it. We shall depart for Blackthorn just as soon as the market fair is over."
Jonathan pondered the scenario for a moment. "But couldn't we just claim the discovery for ourselves?"
Nathaniel took this as an opportunity to sigh a long, melodramatic sigh. "We've been through this many times, Jonathan. The less we are connected with these medical substances, the better off we are. Besides, should the unlikely occurrence arise that any particular persons confront us, we won't be at the top of their suspect list. As you know as well as I, it took certain…illegal hands…to move these mini-kegs into our possession. I wouldn't doubt," he added with a wry look, "that to be convicted of compounded theft here in Johto is jail time of fifteen to twenty years. I, of course, will take the twenty-year sentence, whereas you will take the fifteen-year imprisonment. But I can confidently say that neither will get us back to Hoenn with terrible swiftness. And your wife and children won't take too kindly upon hearing such news…"
"Leave them out of this," grumbled Jonathan, his previous smile shrunken down by about an inch. "I promised them I would return successful and wealthy, and through our involvement with Von Steichen, I intend to fulfill that vow."
Nathaniel shook his head sympathetically. "Ah, you and your vows. You're almost as wretched as the Captain of Celebi. Wouldn't it be better to be poor and content, reunited with your family, as opposed to being rich and dissonant, separated from those you care for? Is it the letter or the spirit of your intentions that matter?"
"At least I keep contact with them!" snapped Jonathan. "And the last time I checked, you've failed to communicate with your own wife over the last two years—my Lord, she's going to believe you dead!"
From my view, Nathaniel appeared to be undaunted. "Now, now, let's not get overexcited," he chided calmly. "I'll be seeing my wife again just as soon as you see yours. There is no need to spoil a perfectly good acquaintance over this matter. I assure you, after this last deal, we shall evaluate our total assets and hop aboard the nearest ship, and away we'll be! Over the waves, over the horizon, into the sun, and soon enough, we shall touch the happy shores of Hoenn. We'll have sufficient funds to maintain both our families for many years to come."
For a moment neither man spoke, their eyes locked in an uncomfortable silence. Vivian and I as well exchanged glances; the atmosphere in this dining room was rather unpredictable. I shan't point out the various contradictions that these business dealers had spewed, but listening in on this conversation was slowly dulling my appetite while sharpening my mind.
Finally Jonathan, apparently wanting to move the conversation from these dangerous waters, muttered in a flustered sort of way, "What you said—the Captain of Celebi—comparing him to me—who is he exactly?"
Nathaniel's old smile returned, seemingly cured of the inflated tension. "Curious, are you? Then I shall tell you—but then again, I'll assume that you've never heard of the Story of the Sea Captain? The navy man who could not swim, despite the fact he had the capacity to do so and no external physical disabilities?"
"No, never," responded Jonathan, also smiling now, but probably for politeness sake.
"Of course you wouldn't. For an account based on history, it is a strange tale," nodded Nathaniel, taking another sip of wine. "But that poor soul was supposedly hard pressed with his sailormen. This occurred briefly after the Battle of Wingulls, a sea battle between the Triad of Celebi troops and the fleet of the Rocket Empire. You do know about the Trio of Celebi? Three regions—Kanto, the Orange Isles, and this Johto—rising against the tyranny that was the Rocket Empire?"
Jonathan settled back into his chair, making himself comfortable for the upcoming lecture. "Who doesn't? It's global history."
Nathaniel continued, speaking flawlessly. I wondered if the whole reason he bothered telling this tale was for Jonathan's entertainment, the burying of a previous conversation, or merely because he liked to spout his apparent expertise on world history. "Already it had been a bloody battle. Some three hundred Celebi ships had already been blasted to bits, and the enemies had released a troop of Growlithe across many others, setting fire and inevitably capsizing them.
"We were fated to lose that battle, as it happened, despite the fact we would win the war some years later. This captain, foreseeing such an occurrence, took a coward's move: he pulled out the ship he was on and abandoned the remainder of his fleet, sailing out into the deep ocean.
"Naturally, his men wanted to stay and fight it out to the death, but some demon seemed to have possessed the captain. He desperately feared for the safety of his life, and he seemed to be willing to go to any length to prevent losing it. When asked by his troops why he refused to fight, he merely replied in an eerie tone, his gaze far away, across the starless evening: 'Because I must. My word is my soul. And my word is to never rest—I must avoid death at all costs.'
"The sailormen pressured him, but he would give no indication of his motives, why he must cling to life as he did, why he must be so ignoble to his homeland—he lived here in Johto, by the way. But whatever efforts he made to save his life were sadly wasted."
Jonathan's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Why?"
Nathaniel smiled a crooked grimace. "Some haunted accident set his ship on fire. As the story goes, there wasn't enough space for one person to escape on the rowboats. The entire crew could leave the ship safely…except for one. Take a wild guess which person his sailors decided to leave."
"Him?"
"Exactly," completed Nathaniel. "They left him to burn on the ship—and they knew he couldn't swim. As his men rowed away from the devastation, they could hear his anguished wails in the distance, crying curses of his men, his homeland, and the entire world. Eventually they were extinguished when he supposedly jumped into the water, where then he drowned.
"Why they did such a horrendous act is not clearly known. Many people say that it happened because of his cowardice to fight in battle, others say that it was his 'vow' that always involved keeping himself alive, which probably spawned much annoyance to his comrades, and still others insist that they left him to die because he was…different."
"Different? What do you mean by different?"
Nathaniel stared off into space for a moment before answering, as if he himself was trying to figure it all out. Or perhaps it was for added effect. Finally, he spoke: "There's no historical evidence to support my theory, but he was a funny character—he separated himself from everyone else for hours at a time, and no one would know why. He also spoke weirdly during that time, locking himself in his cabin and telling people to go away in some foreign dialect—almost unhuman, some folks might say…. Overall, he might have been a rejected being, and according to the superstitions of this lovely little Northern Johto, he was a demonic soldier who was to be destroyed."
Jonathan afforded himself a dark chuckle, glancing at the space around him. "This is a very queer place, is it not? I think this region is at least three hundred years behind the development of all the other countries in the world. I mean—" He lowered his voice now, as if he might insult the townsfolk. "—The people here avoid many specific places in the region, and they are determined to avoid having any contact with certain…excommunicated persons. Not to mention they tell great tales about demons, astrology, and strange beasts that are half human and half…well…"
"I know," murmured Nathaniel. "But I find relating the Story of the Sea Captain a much better pastime than discussing local beliefs, much more haunting. I say, leave these people to their ideals. After all, they can't in any way affect us…" To my displeasure, his eyes quite unexpectedly turned towards Vivian, where there they rested for a while. Even she looked surprised, despite the fact that she had turned her head away. "As for other people," said he, much more slowly now, "they would want to take extra caution. Love is a fickle thing when it is depraved…and generally it is the most innocent that are the first victims…"
Nathaniel's eyes remained on Vivian's face much longer than I would have liked. Almost at once, my desire for eating had vanished. Seeing as I found another man staring at my wife most impolite, I gestured for Vivian to follow me, and she did so without further persuasion, flicking away a strand of her auburn hair. We exited the dining room, and I received that nasty feeling that the two gentlemen were staring at us intently. (I, of course, was curious to know why? Was it because they knew we were listening to them? Probably.)
"I felt very uncomfortable back there," she commented as soon as we were out of earshot, back in the cramped reception room.
I was relieved that I did not have to explain myself to Vivian; she seemed to have picked up on that odd man—a wily businessperson without a doubt, but still an odd man. I spoke calmly and simply: "I understand. That man lacked manners. A great storyteller and collected speaker, but still mannerless. Come, let us return to our room before something else happens."
When I had said, "Before something else happens," I had obviously meant, "Before we witness something else disturbing and uncalled for during our stay in this strange town". Indeed, all I wanted to do now was to get upstairs and enjoy an evening's rest before departing to Tenebrosa—and I sincerely hoped my client's estate was more refined than where we were at the present moment. Personally, I couldn't stand another minute of Mahogany. I looked into Vivian's eyes and I could see that she felt the same. And to think her sister lived only fifty miles away, in Blackthorn!
We reached our room without incident. Almost immediately Vivian settled into bed and with a good night on her lips, she fell asleep. I, however, though I managed to lay down in bed and examine the shadowy shapes all around the tiny room, I realized that sleep was a hindrance. No matter which way I lay, I felt this unprecedented restlessness crawling across my abdomen. Over time, the dull light emulating from the window began to fade as lamps on the street were slowly extinguished. The seconds past, the minutes past, and perhaps even the hours past, but I stared blankly at an empty wall with no results. I tossed and I turned, pulling the torn blankets in one direction and then another, but again, nothing to my benefit. (Vivian, through all of this, somehow remained peacefully asleep.) I myself could not sleep. Something, whether a mental ailment or a bodily malady, prevented me from rest.
Crawling out of bed, I paced the room several times, wondering why I was unable to sleep as I normally would. Already I could hear my wife breathing deeply as she dreamt sweetly, serene thoughts in her head and nothing more. It was incredibly troubling to think that I should be in such a state, but maybe most of it could be attributed to my apprehensiveness on the upcoming journey in the Johto highlands. Or perhaps I shouldn't have listened in on that duo's conversation. Somehow, the story of being trapped on a burning ship then drowning in the midst of a dark, forlorn sea disturbed me more than any warning from my upcoming client. But why would I be so worried? We weren't even on the sea—far from it. Our travels were in the mountains, the forests, and the clearings. I saw no reason whatsoever why I should be afraid of water. Besides, I wouldn't drown; I remained a skilled swimmer. Yet the whole scenario needled my heart, made me fear the unknown, an unknown that, despite its absurdity given the unlikely landscape, drew me away from the water, and rooted me to elevated land.
I leaned by the inn's window, trying to process it all. Finally dismissing my worries as superstitious influence and anticipation of my upcoming business venture, I breathed a deep sigh, which, though it helped calm my beating heart, didn't quite shake off the strange silence, a deathly silence associated with the sea. I shook my head, resolving to myself that all means of future travel would be done on land and on land only. At last I felt slightly better.
I gazed through the dusty window, across the streets, slumbering dwellings, and closed shops. How strange the stillness of the evening hours, as if nothing longer existed, no life present. It was quite unlike any other cities I had visited, which always bustled with human activity, even in the earliest of hours. It was not a hopeful silence, either—on the contrary, it felt incredibly like a desperate quietness, a restless sleep, an uneasy watch, anxiously waiting for the dawn. A foreboding sweep across the city, as if only the dead would dare walk in the roads. How appropriate it was, considering my own restlessness. Indeed, as I looked once more across the city intersections my sight lingered on one particular street corner, by a dimly lit lamppost. I squinted into the darkness, the distant lanterns and waxing moon failing to provide sufficient light for me to perceive great details.
A figure stood on that street corner, and from what I could see he was smartly dressed in a gentleman's coat, buttoned down and complimenting his dark pants and wingtips. His face was the complete opposite of his proper attire; he had a pained savagery deeply creased into his forehead, and he appeared to have no mouth—if he did, it was nothing but the palest of lips. He was too far away for me to properly examine his black eyes, but I did note his seemingly unwashed and bearded cheeks. He never moved from his place, and for a moment I thought his expressions to be of stone. In fact, he might have been an animated corpse had it not been for the occasional nod from his head. His eyes fastened onto the distance and darkness, nothing that I could see from this inn's window. But I needed not open my window and crane my neck, for the thing he was staring at responded to him. It slowly strode into my view, its head low and obedient—a Ninetales. But each of its tails was drooped, dragging behind upon the cobblestone, its pace reluctant and reserved. It seemed to be in good health, nevertheless: its fur was not thinning, nor did its posture appear disheveled. It merely walked with a grudging air, as if it would give anything to be anywhere but by the gentleman's side.
A certain grievance arose as the creature approached the man, stretching far beyond the pits of hell, one that would make even the dead wail in their rest. It was almost a trance of sorts, squeezing the breath from my lungs where I stood, despite my safety several stories above. Was I witnessing a surreal power at hand? Or was I losing my sanity over this long journey? I could not break my eyes from this uncanny but seemingly harmless reception, yet my brain felt torn between logical reason and unexplainable abstract. An anguishing paralysis had seized me.
It was an unusual sight in the hushed night hours, especially in a city like this. A savage gentleman and a Ninetales found on an isolated street corner? It made little sense, seeing as Ninetales are an aristocratic breed, found only in well-kept manors and castles—hence their reputation as medieval creatures in certain fairy tales. While one side of my brain was filled with this curiosity and attempts for explanation, the other half of my brain cried out warnings of ghosts, ill favors, and primitive superstitions that I had believed when I was a youth. Whether my mentality had shifted into one mode or another, I did not get to ponder on this long, for whatever light remained on the lamppost extinguished without warning. It vanished as if some invisible hand closed suddenly around the flame, smothering it into the darkness.
At once my mind freed from its uncommon state; I found myself able to think clearly once more…to a degree. I strained my eyes, but to no avail—I could see nothing. To my shock, however, in less a moment's passing, the light immediately returned, brighter than it was before, the flame erupting as if the tiny lamppost couldn't possibly hold the flares. The glass container shattered as the flames billowed atop the lamppost, leaping in angry tongues.
Even more, the savage gentleman and the Ninetales were nowhere to be found. They had gone from the street corner in an instant, so quickly that they couldn't have had time to run from that spot, no matter how swift they may have been. I looked up and down the streets—no brutal gentleman. I glanced from intersection to alleyway—no Ninetales. They vanished like the flame had only a few moments ago, melting into the darkness like apparitions do.
Finally deciding that I was weary enough to sleep, I pulled myself from the window and settled into bed, where Vivian continued to sleep soundly. How I then wished I could sleep with ease, as my wife was always able to do. I pulled the covers up to my chin, undoubtedly juvenile, and feared every corner of my room, every shadow that stirred, unnerved by these recent supernatural (or so I thought!) occurrences.
I closed my eyes and murmured incoherently to myself, turning about in bed, trying to find comfortable rest. But an ill fate for me, for I would sleep no more! That strange scene tormented my dreams, and for a greater portion of the night, I imagined I heard the coarse cries of a fox somewhere in the distance.
And that is that: this is the end of the first chapter. Please post a review if time permits (as it should, seeing as you took the time to read this story). Should this fan-fiction continue, or shall it die right here and now? There are many twists, many characters, many transformations, and many, many woes that will be established as this story proceeds. Please post you replies.
- A.G.M. Mendelssohn
