A/N: Here's another chapter! Please, please, please review; I thrive off your comments and critiques. If you don't know what a quadrille is, I recommend you look up a video of it being danced, as that is some of the dancing that occurs. Alright, enjoy chapter 14.
{XIV}
It was very dark. Madam Hemmingway, from her last encounter, had woken up startled, concerned now for not only her son but also her own wellbeing. Having been placed in the third floor space of the Ponquet manor, she had been kept alone for days and nights, over two weeks, if she had counted correctly. A dull ray of light from thick dirty windows in this abandoned corner and the presence of a singular meal were how she measured her forced stay. Often she paced along the walls of her confinement, snatching up left spider webs and bound small fistfuls of gnarled twigs, bouquets she saw to give her son upon his return.
From her position, she caught pieces of her story, a tale Mr. Ponquet had spread about the gravely ill Madam Hemmingway, sick in the mind and in desperate need of tending to, such selfless care he was eager to offer, after the odd disappearance of her son. She was shocked to find how she and her son had so quickly begun to slip the minds of Terminn, becoming a passing memory, buried. The more she was in absence the more they doubted her existence. Hardly anyone went near the stone-paved way to their home anymore, simply placing it out from their thoughts. Therefore, especially with the influence of Mr. Ponquet, it no longer became a concern for them to look out for her and her unusual stresses; they took the quiet of her actions to be a relief, and didn't question the matter further.
After living near the wealthy family, Madam Hemmingway was able to construct a solid profile of its members. She gathered how Mr. Ponquet was rather stately yet preferred to act on his own when it suited him best, and how his daughter Grimella was rather self-serving in a similar fashion, though much more concentrated than her father. The girl was so fixated on Claude, she noticed. She was uncertain why, sure her son was polite and well-to-do, but she distinctly remembered the annoyance he felt from her. This girl already has the entire town swayed to her will, why not leave Claude out of it. Madam Hemmingway had heard how the other young men of Terminn had practically flung themselves at her feet for the mere chance of even being trampled, it seemed. She picked up the sticks that had fallen sideways and placed them back upright against the walls.
More noise gradually built up downstairs as the ball date grew near. Grimella's slight approvals and outrageous tantrums regarding the minute details of the night could be heard from Madam Hemmingway's residency in the dusted attic. Eventually it quieted to the murmurings of relieved servants, a loud door snapping shut, marking the departure of the narcissistic girl, bedecked in what she could only imagine the most expensive gown, and her father, both with individual thoughts on their mind for the masquerade at the Terminn Theatre Lounge.
Inside the building were at least a few hundred people, richly dressed, each moving as there were no still moments. Candles were fasted to the walls by gold sconces, each held high above the crowd. Everything seemed to float around in circles, no jagged or sharp movements across the floor. The main hall was a deep square floored in dark wooden panels, adequately reflecting the light from the shimmering gowns spinning above them. There was an upper banister that went along the perimeter of the lounge, and to the left and right of that were two long rectangular halls for more people to dance. To get to those levels, one had to go up either a wide grey marble staircase in the center, placed as a focal piece, or two minor ones leading to the backs of the two second story foyers.
In the back was a small cluster of fine instrumentalists producing the soft accompaniment for the evening: a violin, a flute, and a rather infrequent bassoon. Well, in such a masquerade with no standards, such a sight shouldn't be too uncommon, besides, such things could have changed since you've been so cut off, Arrhenius supposed. In all honesty she was surprised that she still was alive after being in sight of this many people at once. Shortly after they had entered, she had abruptly stopped, quickly assaulted by the sheer number of those in attendance. Her stop jolted back Claude, who had her hand when entering and prevented him from going further.
He turned to her and asked, "Are you alright?" He could see her eyes darting about the room beneath the motionless mask, slowing down as she thought of a reply.
"Somewhat. I haven't quite adjusted to this amount of people," she said in a quiet voice, leaning to the side whenever she felt others were dancing too close to her. Though she had been brave about herself before, demonstrated earlier by Claude's introduction to the raspberry mansion, here was a different situation; she was outnumbered, outside her familiar domain, unprotected without her isolation.
"Indeed, I didn't know so many could be held in this building." He began moving forward slowly, indirectly bringing Arrhenius farther into the crowd. They walked past a refreshments table under the stairway, brimming with miniature cakes on pastel plates, topped with sweet fruit and crème, along with thin layers of baked dough encapsulating a mixture of what Claude soon discovered to be spinach and tomatoes. He took a few more for later, while Arrhenius took a small raspberry cake, keeping the frosting from getting on her gloves while she just held it, as she didn't wish to risk moving her mask.
They walked along the edge of the hall, not wanting to disrupt the current dancing. Soon the instrumentalists paused, getting ready for the next song. A long note from the violin indicated the flute and bassoon to follow with a lively but gentle melody.
The change in the music stirred a memory in Arrhenius, from when she would watch the guests of her parents assemble, silently gripping the doorframe as not to be seen. "Come on, we're supposed to move this way, now, before the main music starts!" She remembered fondly watching the elegant couples arrange themselves, them systematically dancing in tandem with three others nearby. Now used to this cold second skin, Arrhenius felt free to play out all her younger hopes of dancing.
Seeing others come closer and stop right by them, Claude asked his partner what was going on. "Why exactly are they near us?" he whispered, as not to appear too ignorant and offend anyone.
Shifting around in excitement, Arrhenius turned to him. "It's the quadrille!" He saw how her vast excitement made up for the lack of such of those around him, or maybe it was just them containing their feelings about what for them could be a common event. "We'll be able to dance the quadrille! Look at our high society selves go." Hearing the name Claude had a slightly better understanding. He had read about such dances before, even a few of the novels Arrhenius kept had mentioned their steps, but obviously just reading about them did not prepare him to recognize or partake in, from what he had gathered, a highly regulated and specialized dance.
His doubts were assured by Arrhenius, who told him just to follow whatever the two couples on their left and right did, as after they did a move it would become their turn to do so with the two people in front of them. The lady across from Claude wore a loud yellow and orange gown, a narrow neckline connected by twin phoenix pins on both shoulders, with a fire-mimicking mask incorporating her red hued hair. She was escorted by a man in a dignified military costume, abundant with several cords and tassels. He wore a similar rope embroidered piece on his face, also wearing a pompously plumed hat on his head.
The ensemble officially began playing for the next dance, and each of the four couples turned towards their partner, bowing and curtseying in a traditional introduction. Arrhenius had positioned them so that she and Claude were in the secondary group, allowing the side couples in green and blue to move first. The first and third pairs walked towards each other, went in a circle with the other's partner, and returned to their starting place.
"Go forward and take her hand," she quickly said before it was their turn to move. Arrhenius held her breathe around the man across from her, not releasing it until she had let go, for even though she had her gloves, she was still nervous about how easily the bumps on her arms could be felt through the fabric.
Each returned to their initial partners, they began to quickly waltz around in their circle. Arrhenius's hair was whipped around further, strands now coming out of their arrangement. She wasn't too concerned, however. If she was, she could have easily played it off as her hair resembling oak branches to further match her costume, but currently she was so absorbed in the vibrant masquerade she hardly cared. Fits of uncontrolled laughter escaped from behind her gold-lined ceramic lips, she jumped higher than the others in her circle when the dance called for it, spun herself and Claude around so that they became dizzy when they stopped, and was relieved that they had a still moment before doing it all again. She was so fully captivated by the experience she momentarily forgot her past sufferings. In both of their delight, they were absorbed in the fast music as quadrille ended and allowed everyone to waltz wherever, and neither paid any attention to the two halls occupied above them.
If they were concerned at all, upon looking up they would not have been able to miss one girl who constantly lingered around the wooden railings, so put up to prevent those on the second level from falling off the floor, continuously looking down at the crowd. Her heavy white dress didn't have too many embellishments, but the hefty amount of fabric was meticulously folded and pleated giving a flowing silhouette. Thin silk ribbons went along the edge of each piece, meeting in folded roses when seams crossed. She wore a dainty mask fully covered in white feathers, with a few singular grey ones mixed in. It extended from an orange point over her nose to the top of her forehead, where the longer feathers were placed, mixed in with the white ribbons holding her caramel curls in place.
From her vantage point she could see all the guests, the nobility her father had connections to mixed in with the simplest folk of Terminn. There were the wealthy merchants in appropriately heavy furs, hardly merchants themselves, only taking profit, dancing next to the poorer ones they conned. A duke dressed in a king's robe and crowned in a regal mask, familiar in that he also had taken interest in Grimella, much to her father's approval, was busy wooing the town's ladies in makeshift satin and haphazard decorations near the provided refreshments. Those silly girls, she flippantly thought, fingering a loose hem on her skirt. Oceans of rank separate you; he's only here because of me, and even if you get a brief amusement, he'll never want to see you again. She glanced away from the marble staircase and caught sight of a crowd of dignified couples that had attended events at the Ponquet manor before. Each were dressed like a different environment, it seemed: some wore deep greens and browns like a forest with bark masks and waxy leaves applied like feathers, others wore silvery blues like a river, focusing on the smooth pebbles used instead of beads.
The often touring lord and lady of Svalrodsk were also in attendance, completing a quadrille square near the front including Mr. Ponquet himself, not known to be the true host of the event. While they took a break, allowing the second and fourth couple besides them to dance, they whispered back in forth. "This is rather quaint," the lady said, fanning herself with her bone spoke fan matching her stunning black dress with its sideways puffed half sleeves trimmed in gold.
"Indeed," her partner said, quickly adjusting a coordinating black and gold sash across his well-adorned jacket. They both glided forwards, swapping spots with Mr. Ponquet and his temporary partner, a widow of an influential banker.
"It's such a shame," the woman said, her lips smacking together, "That these events are all that are left." They twirled, and each group rotated fully, the excessive skirts of the dresses each expanding as they did so.
"Such a dilemma, I know, dear. Truly, no one can compare to the balls almost a decade ago. Yes, these are nowhere near the impeccable class of those dances at the Hemlighets."
This comparison reached the ears of Mr. Ponquet as the pairs passed one another, causing his mouth to twitch unnoticed behind his lion's mask. Always, even when they had seemingly vanished beyond the Opclime he felt substandard to the Hemlighet extravagances he too had attended frequently. Ignoring them, he knew that such an event was exactly as his daughter had desired, exactly with some of its mediocre traits mixed along with a more fitting style of affairs.
Grimella sighed each time she didn't see Claude in the festivities, only being assaulted by requests from the men around her for one of the dances.
"I am so honored you have had this ball filled with the sweets from my shop," one said, wearing an large jacket with an ornate border, impressive until she was close enough to see it was only painted on in an amateur fashion, pointing to the table by the flirtatious duke bearing small cakes and iced pastries. "Please let me show my gratitude towards your good nature by accepting this dance."
At the end of each song the men gravitated towards her, centering around her. One in full leathers and a suitable bear mask, the huntsman, Grimella assumed, came up to her. She believed he too was asking for a dance, but the bear's face over his own muffled his words significantly. "My lady, how do you like your gown?" asked the tailor, who, though he only stitched the ribbons as his father constructed the rest, took credit for the work. "May I see how fitting it is for dancing myself?" He held out a checkered glove for her to accept.
According to custom, she danced with each who asked, always keeping her partner curbed to the edges so that she could still scan the main floor. Feigning exhaustion, Grimella maneuvered her way past eager suitors to rest herself delicately against the banister, viciously scanning the filled floor below for any signs of her soon beloved. Where are you? If I've evaluated you correctly, this is the type of event you wouldn't miss for the world. Of course Claude would be grateful to her for hosting such a splendid event. She would humbly say it was for the enjoyment of the whole town, but was glad he though so highly of her.
However, glancing about one more time, she recognized something, hair the particular light shade of brown of Claude's. Grimella stood up straight, the feathers in her costume shaking about, continuing to look as not to be mistaken. Yes, he wore a heavily embellished blue coat and brown pants, a crème mask with orange diamonds obscuring his face but not his eyes. But, from what she saw, he came accompanied by another, someone other than her, wearing a matching ensemble of the oak tree print completely covering her along with a full length ceramic facade.
Arrhenius and Claude had tired themselves thoroughly, dancing their way over all of the hardwood to each song the orchestra put forth, never resting between movements. Now they stood near the entrance, the cool night breeze from the lingering winter storm highly welcomed by both. She felt the cold moving swiftly in the space between her skin and the mask.
Never before had she experienced so much enjoyment. She always thought she would when she was younger, but such dreams had slipped away in her abandonment, until they were awoken once more. Yet, this was her chance to release Claude from the sharp hold of the bramble, and such was what she planned to do. If it is true that I have enjoyed my time with Claude, then I suppose I should be sated for some time. "There is something I need to tell you, Claude."
"Yes?" He turned to her, and she could see he held this event in the same merriment she did. He seemed to be in total awe of the ball, something outside the novels he always was reading, something for him to experience for himself.
"I wish for you the best, and I must admit that that won't come from staying locked away in the Opclime with me, my home ensnaring you and your dreams." She raised her arms to fidget with something unseen at the back of her neck. From under her acorn pattered bodice and beneath her own decorative necklace she brought forth the locket she always wore, though it looked different this time. "I give this to you; it will allow you to see me once you have left." She placed the magic mirrored locket in his hand, no longer covered in bright iridescent beads but in a less feminine onyx shell, small white pearls placed along the edges.
He stopped her by placing his own hand over hers. "What do mean? How would it do such a thing?"
They were forced to look directly at one another. "This will show you whatever you wish to see, whenever it may be, you must only ask. I want for you to have this now, as I will soon retreat back to my briar and raspberries, and will no longer need it. Take it, please." The music around them dulled as each thought of what was now the definitive and finalizing event which would mark the end of their interactions.
"Arrhenius, this won't be my last time seeing you." He carefully unclasped the necklace, splitting it into its two halves of the mirror. Looking at it, he saw how there was an alternate connector she had built in, allowing the device to function in place of a pocket watch as well. "You are someone I am most unlikely to forget."
Knowing that protesting would get him nowhere, his stubborn nature was in no state to compete with that of Arrhenius's, he sighed and held out the mirror. He thought of his concerns and worries, and knew what he would ask. "Mirror, show me my mother." As commanded, the surface fogged over until it revealed his mother's location.
The jovial music in no way suited the picture revealed to him. In a dark and unkept room he saw his mother, resting, but frequently coughing. He was completely confused by the unfamiliar setting she was in. How had she gotten there? Why was she in such a poor state. He had no idea. However, behind Madam Hemmingway's sleeping form were the dirty windows, a milky composition clouding the outside. Squinting, he was able to make out the bright lights coming from the masquerade, and knew exactly where she was. He snapped the locket shut, placing it in his pocket while fasting the chain to his waistcoat. "She's being held captive somewhere, but I think I know where that might be. Based on the location I saw this event from, there's only one building high enough to get such an angle. The Ponquets have her, for what reason I'm unsure, but I need to get to her, get her out of there soon." He had no idea how his mother had fallen captive again, or for how long she had been in such a state. Again he felt guilty for leaving her for so long when he was in the Opclime, but was now able to account for his negligence.
"Yes, you must go and rescue her. I've become so numb to the outside world, but it is vital to your being; this is where you must be, you are needed here. I thank you for your stay, and that you have offered someone like me your friendship." Arrhenius breathed quickly, burying her hands in the folds of her skirts. "You must go."
Grimella's limbs became frigid looking at them, seeing that girl give a memento to him of an obvious value. He shows up to my ball, but in the arms of another- how dare he. How dare she, this wretch, thinking she can cleave him from my side, go on and parade him under my own eyes. Fracturing a rib in her ostrich feathered fan she clenched the banister in her rage.
"Her," the woman scanning the ball breathed. "That's her! She who took Claude away from me!" Breaching all social etiquette Grimella ran from her overlook spot on the balcony down the stone stairs to go directly across the main dance hall and in a frenzy ripped one of the tan sleeves from Arrhenius's gown, exposing her. She froze, seeing her own arm in a light she hadn't in years, not since when her parents had first left. Isolation had softened her gaze, but now she was petrified, surrounded by the crowd who was slowly turning their heads towards her bearing unforgiving and frightened eyes. There were small gasps, but nothing too unsightly had provoked them further. The pair were frozen, utterly shocked at what just had happened, but worse was to come.
Not yet satisfied against this intruder, the jealous girl tore at the false ceramic mask, snapping the cord holding it in place, releasing it so that it fell onto the slick wood, forces causing it to shatter with dark winding cracks forming across its surface, several pieces dislodging completely. Shards scattered outwards from Arrhenius and the music quickly halted as a result.
Such disgust Grimella was unprepared for, screaming at the sight of bulging veins too close to the surface, crisscrossing with puckered skin like mismatched seams of fabric. Arrhenius quickly looked around, her neck pivoting quickly as all she did was expose more of her scarred and bruised face to the curious onlookers, taking steps closer but keeping their safe distance. A few of the noblewomen nearly fainted, clinging onto their partners for support as their sumptuous skirts sprawled upon the wooden floor.
Immediately she was brought back to that moment seven years ago, herself crouched over under the tall gaze of all those looking down at her in her parent's mansion, her mansion. However, soon events escalated beyond that.
One of the men dressed in armor made up of stiff crinoline leaned close to his partner and whispered rather loudly, "So that must be the monster of the Opclime, I reckon."
The woman in a tall powdered wig replied, "I suppose so. What business does that beast have here? Ought to go back now." She turned away from the girl lifelessly crumpled on the floor.
Others saw her presence in a more threatening light. "How dare that loathsome monster show its pungent face here, after murdering and stealing, what right does it have to this revelry?" Similar doubtful murmurings spread until there were more screams and shouts of darkness.
Arrhenius herself wasn't reacting; she was viewing the scene in such a detached manner it was almost if she was watching this terrible, alienating event happen to someone else. There was no point in trying to reason with anyone, not the vicious screeching girl who had assaulted her nor the riled attendees. There would be no reason accepted from her, most likely not even from Claude, who, though well liked, was vastly outnumbered in the hall.
Masked people in the back began pushing forward, clamoring for their turn to view what had snuck into the Terminn Theatre Lounge. The outer ring of those once concerned about standing too close to this beast now shed their worries and stepped suffocatingly close.
This wasn't how tonight was planned, Claude thought, himself panicked and outraged on her behalf. He needed a distraction, anything for him to help get Arrhenius away from those present quickly becoming violent. Almost as if some force was reading his mind, a flash of red light shot out from Arrhenius, answering his request. "Come on, you're okay. It's okay. We're okay." While those close enough to be stunned were distracted, he placed his hands under Arrhenius's arms to help her back to her feet. Still shaken, he could hear her mumble, "It's her; this is the end." Quickly he shed his heavy jacket and draped it around her; the damage done to her gown would no longer adequately protect her from the cold.
She looked at him thoughtfully as she stood taller. "Thank you, Claude." She briefly hugged him, feeling for himself the seams of her face as they were pressed against his shoulder. "Your mother needs you more than I. While I can defend myself in the Opclime, she is powerless. Go to her, leave me on my own." She swiftly turned and began running, the blue velvet billowing in the winter air.
Arrhenius fled from the hall, Claude staying to keep the distressed citizens away from the door. "Witchcraft as well? No wonder this fiend has stolen so much valuables from us!" Mr. Ponquet had worked his way to the front of the boiling group. Himself a prominent citizen, he found no resistance to his words. "As a concerned member of Terminn, I say we go on the offensive: we find this plague, then we eliminate it." On his left, having removed his bear mask, the huntsman silently nodded. "No more will we suffer at the hand of this beast!" All the men present shouted, forgetting the peaceful setting they had experienced moments ago. In a massive rush they all stampeded towards the main exit.
"No, I swear! Arrhenius isn't like that. Not at all!" Claude tried to push back those rushing out, but was only discarded limply to the side, his own mask slipping off as well in the chaos. "Please, stop this!"
Holding his lion's mask like a fresh prize by his elbow, Mr. Ponquet looked down at him. "Oh, Claude, you could have had it all. Money, respect, a beautiful wife. Yet you trade all that wealth for a life of obscurity and pure ugliness. What a truly wretched fate. You've had your chance, Claude- don't expect for it to pass again." With that, he stormed ahead to lead the riled young men into the deadly Opclime.
The once full theatre was now abandoned by its occupants, all dispersed in fright. Slowly thinking about what had just occurred, he took this chance and ran towards his mother as instructed by Arrhenius, who he could only hope could be fierce enough against those approaching her. Grimella herself had disappeared from the commotion, edging out from a small exit. She too made her way back to the Ponquet manor, in one last attempt to stall Claude and make him her own.