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Chapter VI - The Letter-Hoarding Dragon

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As Sir Claudius opened the letters, dusty windstorms hurled into his face and blew up into his nostrils. He coughed and hacked until reaching the one he wanted. It was the final letter in his treasure chest full of them—he had packed it so low so that he might never read it again, unless absolutely necessary.

He moved his eyes straight to the date, not daring to read the letter's contents.

"The Seventh of June, 1885," he muttered. His breath created a warm path that broke through the dusty air.

Sir Claudius tossed the letter back into the chest, slammed down the top, and locked it in one deft motion. He tried to slow his breathing, but even after hundreds of years, he still had not mastered the art of human respiration. If only he had some flames to help him breathe. Ah, yes, nice hot flames. Flames. Fire!

"Ay, old fool!" He smacked himself upon the forehead. "She'll be here any minute… That is, if she comes at all." His boots squeaked across the floor and his black locks trailed behind him until he reached the living area's grand fireplace. After grabbing the old logs and launching them into the furnace, Sir Claudius inhaled through his nose. Nothing came out, except human air. "Come on, just a wee bit of flame today? I haven't the time to make it 'man's way'," he complained. "Come on, old friend!" He scratched his nose, stimulating the smoke.

Little trickles of smoke began to spiral out of his nostrils, and soon enough, out of his mouth, too. "Ah, there we go!" His eyes turned blue and yellow and red while his stomach filled, the familiar feel of flames burning his ribcage. Sparks shot all about his insides, bouncing off the walls and ready to be released. One final gasp, then the flames spewed out of his mouth, lighting the firewood. "See, it was not that bad, now was it?" He tapped his nose. "It is nearly 9 a.m., isn't it?" he asked the dead, thin air. Sir Claudius shrugged then glanced at the Grandfather clock next to the fireplace. It read: 11 p.m. "Oh, but you haven't cooed in years. I'd forgotten." With that, the man dismissed the clock and headed toward the main entryway.

It was utterly dark save for the slivers of light coming from under the large doors as well as what little flare could be seen from the far-away fireplace. How the girl ever managed to get in the main doors without screaming and running off baffled him. Were the doors even locked? he pondered. The previous housekeepers always locked the doors, but Sir Claudius had done it not even once.

He laughed at his own foolishness. The sound echoed for a while, then a dear and intimate silence swaddled him up like a newborn baby. It was a silence that had been at his side, unbeknownst, for twenty years.

The silence soon passed, and Sir Claudius thought he heard footsteps falling on pebbles. He grasped onto the door handles and reared back, the muscles on his arms protruding. Light tore into his pale eyes, and not light from fireplace flames—not safe warm reds tinged with blues. It was a light he had not seen in some odd year.

Athena Everleigh sang to herself, a song about early morning dew, as she trotted down the walkway. When her eyes caught him, the song ended abruptly upon her tongue. "Good morning, Sir Claudius."

"Good morning, Miss Everleigh."

Without even summoning them, Sir Claudius felt flames licking his ribcage when he looked at her. He doused the flames, though. She was not pale, as he was. She had freckles circling her scarlet apples and they spilled down from there and made a home on her neck and chest.

Athena had only seen flashes of him, bathed in red and black—black cloak and black hair and black boots, and red torch and red undershirt and red… eyes. But here, he was not red and black. In the sun, his skin was almost the color of her eyes. She looked closer, scouring over his form until reaching his eyes which she expected to be balls of flame but instead matched hers of silvery-blue. In the dark, Sir Claudius was a flame, but in the sun, he was a snowflake.

He squinted, and so she hurried until in the arms of darkness once again. "Sir Claudius, I cannot see," she spoke, as soft as a kitten.

"Ach!" He smacked himself on the forehead. "Come, let us sit by the fireside and discuss your duties." He led her to the fireplace of the Grand Hall.

Sir Claudius took his seat in a large, lavish, although musty, chair. It obtained red and gold embroidery of what she thought to be snakes. He motioned for her to sit opposite of him, in a chair that would have been comfortable if it had been plumped and dusted properly—which it certainly was not at the moment.

"I expect that you've done housework before, yes?"

"Yes, Sir, I've cleaned my own house for years."

"Very well, then you know how to dust and sweep and make the beds?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You know how to set the table and clean the shutters and light a fire and draw water from the well?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I also expect you to take trips for me to the village, and Dublin, too, when you can."

"Yes, Sir."

He scratched his beard. "I once had stables but they have not been tended to in a few years. I'm sure the horses have all passed on—"

Athena gasped, covering her strawberry mouth with her freckled hand.

"So there will be no need for you to tend to them."

"Yes… Sir Claudius," she whispered. "Were there no stableboys?"

"No, I'm afraid not," he said, staring into the fire.

She said nothing more, but rather, stared into the fire, too.

"I don't expect you to do anything on the grounds much, besides drawing water," he told her.

"Well, I do love tending to gardens," she said. "Wouldn't you like fresh vegetables, Sir? I would be happy to plant one, although since it's well into spring, I wouldn't be able to plant much."

"Whatever you wish. My other… housekeepers typically bought vegetables from the costermongers with the money I gave them."

Athena perked, drawing her eyes away from the fire.

"And that is likely why you're here," he said. "'Paid in gold'?"

"Ay…" she paused to clear her throat, thinking. "Sir, I only wanted… I only wanted to work to provide for my family, as I said yesterday. I will take whatever you wish to offer."

"I see." The coldest words he could have said. Athena's head drooped to the floor. "Then I will pay whatever you wish to have."

"Oh, oh, sir!" she spoke, smiling and looking into his eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." The flames in his stomach tickled him, so much so he couldn't help but grin, too.

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"You—you wouldn't mind if I opened the shutters, now would you?!" Athena called, yanking at the tall, maroon drapes. She heaved and heaved but still, they would not come apart.

"Oh, Miss Everleigh!" Sir Claudius dropped his journal and pen and rushed to her side. "Let me help you."

He grabbed onto the fabric, and she caught a glimpse of his large muscles protruding from his pale skin, before latching onto them herself. They both pulled together until finally the shutters came apart and light filtered in through the castle.

"My goodness! How long have they been shut?" She dusted off her dress and turned to look at Sir Claudius. He was staring at her.

"I'm not sure, Miss Everleigh," he mumbled, his bluish-pink lips hardly moving at all.

"Oh, well, I'm sure it's been quite some time," she laughed.

"Yes, quite some time." He returned to his study. "Oh, my, I've forgotten to put the date on this journal entry!" he complained.

"Well, it's the 10th of April, Sir. Does that help?" She giggled as she dusted the shutters.

"Yes, thank you!" He wrote it down hastily before pausing again. "Say, Miss Everleigh, it seems I've forgotten the year, too. Each time a new year begins, I always want to write down the previous one. I never write the actual year. A nasty habit I have, I suppose you could say. Now, what is it: 1889 or 1890?"

Athena stopped her dusting and left her hand in the middle of the window, which caused a great shadow to form over the Grand Hall. She breathed in the cold air. "Sir, it's 1905."

He laughed—a deep bellow. "Now Miss Everleigh, you must be teasing me. It can't have been that long ago—"

"What couldn't have been that long ago?" she queried, cocking her head.

Sir Claudius bit the top of his pen. "Nothing..." he trailed off.

She began dusting again, slower this time. "Sir… The year is 1905."

"I know," he spoke, his voice as grave and chilled as the dungeons below the castle. "Twenty years…."