A Gift of MemoriesAt night, Clifftop glowed like a thousand fireflies in a world of shadow. Men, women, and demons alike wandered the gilded streets in search of wonders. The maze of spires, parks, and winding roads offered delights for every taste, dreams for every romantic. Music and laughter hung in the air, a chorus of spirits echoing throughout eternity. Even though it no longer resembled the world he’d been born into over a century ago, for Loyal Francis, Amber city had never lost its allure. True, he still possessed the natural resentment for the loss of its True King, his Master, but Amber remained his one love even in her darkest hours. And would continue to be such until he died. He stood on the southern balcony of Rose Hall, overlooking Tacita Boulevard. The ancient oak trees flanking the manor rustled in the mountain breeze. He’d tended them ever since King Eric died in Amber’s defense. They, like Loyal, were silent sentinels of an age long passed. He felt a kinship too them and communed with them every night. This strange camaraderie had allowed him some solace during his century-long vigil. They protected Rose Hall and the memories of what had been. What greater calling could there be? The gibbous moon crested Mount Kolvir, silvered light painting the spires of Clifftop in mother-of-pearl. Loyal felt his old heart swell with pride and reminiscence. He lifted his hand and examined its bony fingers in the moonlight. Beneath the wrinkles and pale scars, he could almost see the young man’s hand that once held a sword instead of a dust-cloth. A weak smile formed on his thin lips as memories of battle and glory washed over him. He closed his milky eyes and listened to the ghosts of past ages, of the Amber that once was. He remembered his King, lying slain and yet still fighting for the city and people he’d sworn to protect. He recalled Eric’s eyes as they fell upon him, infusing him with such pride, such fire that Loyal had thought he would burst into flames then and there. A cold breeze passed over Loyal, chilling his tired bones and dispelling the illusions of youth. The century suddenly hung heavy upon his shoulders. The old hand clutched the cast-iron railing, fighting against the frailty of so many years. He realized he’d been crying, wetness staining his paper-thin cheeks. “Memories and dreams,” he muttered to the night. If it heard him, it gave no indication. Another glacial blast passed over him and the evening promptly lost its charm. He clutched his cloak tighter, but the cruel chill continued to find every weak spot. “A nice spot of tea and a biscuit before bed,” he said to the oak trees. Their branches bent as if in consent, the leaves whispering in the wind. He bid them good evening and closed he balcony doors behind him. He hobbled through the extensive building and down the servant’s stairs to the kitchen. Along the way, he noted the rooms that would need a good dusting in the morning. Loyal hated to see the state of decay that had begun to settle over Rose Hall. But as the sole keeper of the half-forgotten manor, he simply could not maintain it as he once had. Pride prevented him from asking for assistance. With one Princess in exile and the other too busy with her duties to recall one of her father’s numerous properties, he doubted there would be much help forthcoming. No matter. The aching bones and arthritic hands were small sacrifice in comparison to some. He would do what he could until his final day. Crimson light from the kitchen hearth illuminated the sizable kitchen. After the chill of the outdoors, the warmth from the fire was a welcome relief. He fed some wood to the embers and let them return to life before putting on the kettle. Next, he fetched the biscuit tin and a plate and put them on the butcher’s block. He’d stop feeling guilty about using the good china long ago and it provided him a sense of intimacy he cherished, eating from the same plates his King once used, touching the past. Somehow, he knew the family would understand. Loyal retrieved some jam from the pantry and then checked on the water. As he lifted the lid, a sharp rap echoed through the house. He let out a startled cry, nearly burning himself on the hot metal. The sound bled away and the house fell silent once again. At first, he thought he must have imagined the sound. Or had a tree branch struck the side of the house? Had something fallen over upstairs? The rapping came again; metallic and resonant. The front door. Fear and curiosity flooded Loyal’s heart. Who could possibly be at the front door at this hour? The only visitor he ever had was Mistress Kaitha, but only on the two days she brought him supplies and food. Certainly, she would wait until morning’s light before disturbing him. Loyal lit an oil lamp and made his way toward the front door. The weak flame reflected off the marbled foyer, as if he were walking over a pool of ink. Roses and thorn-covered vines had been painted on the walls with such detail that one could imagine themselves surrounded by extensive hedges. Only the white, gabled front door appeared solid, serving as an anchor within the surreal world of Rose Hall. He unlocked the door and cracked it open slightly to look outside. A tall woman with dark, short hair stood there, her delicate hand raised as if to knock once more. Color rose to her exquisite cheekbones as she found herself caught in the lamplight. “Oh,” she said in a familiar voice. “I. Didn’t realize there would be anyone home.” Even after fifty years, Loyal recognized the woman before him. “Princess Larissa?” he said, opening the door fully. “Yes,” Larissa nodded. “It is I. Forgive me, sir. I hope I didn’t wake you.” “Nonsense,” Loyal chimed, suddenly feeling a hundred years younger. The princess had come home after all this time. Immediately, he began to think of the many things out of place or undusted. Her room would have to be prepared, a bath drawn, a meal prepared. He wondered if he could find a runner this late at night to help him refill the pantry. So much to do, so much to do. “Had I known you were coming, I’d have been better prepared, Princess,” he stammered. Larissa offered him a tender smile, “I’m truly sorry. It was a spontaneous thing. The fault is entirely mine.” Loyal felt humbled by her graciousness and remembered his manners, “Please come in out of the cold, Princess. You’ll catch your death. I have some tea steeping in the kitchen.” With an ethereal grace, she stepped over the threshold, carrying with her the scent of spring and memory. Now able to see beyond the doorway, Loyal noticed the horse and cart waiting in the street. No a royal carriage this one, but a painted wagon with a tarp over the flatbed. A small fox with ridiculously large ears sat in the driver’s seat rather than typical coachman. He stared at the animal and it stared back at him with a smug expression. It opened its mouth as if yawning and Loyal could have sworn he heard a voice carried on the wind, sounding surprisingly like, “You got a problem, old dude?” He shook his head and returned his attention to the Princess. Lady Larissa had moved farther into the foyer and was now gazing up at the rose-crystal chandelier with a childlike innocence. As Loyal watched her explore her home, the wagon and strange animal were forgotten. He closed the front door and picked up his lantern. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, as the faint light reflected in the chandelier. “Your father thought so when he had it commissioned,” Loyal said, hobbling over to her. “It’s said that there is a perfect rose-crystal for every star that burned in the sky on the day you were born. He kept it here as a reminder of the roses he had in you and your sister, as eternally beautiful as the stars themselves.” Loyal hated lying to his Princess, but the story sounded plausible enough, despite its sentimentality. In truth, the King had simply believed that the chandelier would be an impressive showpiece for the foyer; something to impress his guests. Disciplined and stern, Eric probably hadn’t looked up from his tax records, let alone noticed the stars on the days his daughters were born. Larissa’s pale cheeks flooded with color and she offered him a gentle smile. Her expressive eyes glimmered in the lamplight. Strangely, they appeared almost violet rather than the brilliant blue he remembered from before; a trick of shadow perhaps. Her regal beauty, however, was unmistakable; radiating an aura of nobility. So very much like her father had in his day. “What a beautiful story,” she said with a deep wistfulness. “Thank you…” She cocked her head, a guilty frown blemishing her angelic features. “I’m sorry. I should know your name, shouldn’t I?” “Loyal Francis, Princess,” he said. “No need to apologize. It’s been half a century since you last saw me. And I’m just the butler.” “Hardly, Mr. Francis. I doubt you could be ‘just’anything. You’re a very sweet man.” She touched his hand and smiled. Loyal’s heart raced. In all the decades he’d served the Royal Family, he’d never dreamt that he’d be blessed this way. For a moment, he feared the emotions would overwhelm him. As if sensing this, the Princess saved him from embarrassment. Larissa smiled softly. “You said something about tea, Mr. Francis?” “Yes, milady,” Loyal nodded. “Right this way, please.” She took his frail arm and walked beside him as they made their way to the kitchen. The Princess continued to glance about, distracted and awe-struck by the home. She made no comment regarding its slightly dusty condition, but Loyal suspected she was only being polite. He delighted in her positively ecstatic reaction to the kitchen, chuckling despite himself. “Will you look at this place?” Larissa laughed. “The meals I could cook in here!” Loyal regarded her strangely, “You cook, Princess?” Larissa chewed her lip nervously. “Umm. Well. Yes. Sometimes. When I’m not doing. All those business things that I do for Amber. You know. Have to have a hobby, right? Heh.” She slid from his arm and began to explore the kitchen. He watched her for a moment, trying to recall the woman he’d once served. She’d lost some of her poise over the decades, appearing almost mousy and nervous as she walked around the room. He dismissed his feelings, attributing her odd behavior to an overwhelming sense of reminiscence. It could not be ease revisiting one’s past. Loyal lit a few more lamps and then busied himself with making the tea. It felt joyous to be useful again and the heavy years fell from his shoulders like leaves. When he’d finished with the tea, he discovered Larissa sitting at the servant’s table, across from where he’d prepared his ‘dinner.’ “Princess?” he said. “Wouldn’t you prefer to sit in the lounge or the study, perhaps? They are prepared and far more comfortable than some old wooden chair.” She shook her head, “No, Mr. Francis. I’m quite happy where I am. Here let me help you.” Larissa surprised him again by helping carry the loaded tea tray to the table. She shushed him when he tried to prepare the plates, “I can help myself. You sit down. I interrupted your evening. It’s the least I can do.” After pouring them some tea, she sat down across from him. Now in better light, Loyal noticed her gentle eyes were indeed the color of amethyst rather than blue. He bit into a biscuit and studied her more closely. The surreal nature of the evening only deepened further as time went on. The Princess was positively voracious for stories about her family. She delighted in hearing even his most inane tale, listening with profound patience. The simple joy of having someone to talk to overrode his uncertainty. Out of the blue, Larissa said, “My sister has a private bath here doesn’t she? An ornate, cast-iron tub?” Loyal nodded. “Of course, Princess. It was one of her prized joys before the war.” “May I see it, Mr. Francis?” “Umm. Certainly,” Loyal said, blinking in confusion. The change in conversation struck him as strange. “I shall clear up the plates later.” She nodded and followed him into the west wing of the house. Princess Islain’s touches were unmistakable here, dominating the décor. He’d not been in this wing for sometime and once again Loyal felt a deep sense of guilty. He purposefully used the side entrance to the bathroom, rather than take the more direct route through the grand bedroom. He could not allow the Princess to see her sister’s abode left forgotten like some museum piece. The bathroom had been done in polished tiles, the walls a floor a faint bluish tone to accentuate the Rebman furnishings. Corals and draperies added splashes of color here and there. A bay window and balcony usually provided light to the room during the morning. The air still smelled of oils and fine perfumes, as if its previous occupant had just left for the evening. The true wonder was the bathtub, around which the room had been modeled. A double-slipper tub with Gothic feet, the cast-iron tub could easily fit two people. The porcelain interior shone like polished abalone and the white, hand-smoothed exterior gave the tub the appearance of a giant seashell. Larissa clapped her hands like and excited school girl, “Oh, Princess Islain will just love this. She’d going to be so happy.” Loyal blinked at this girlish display. His gnawing doubts flared once again. Princess Larissa had undoubtedly left her youthful exuberance behind some centuries ago. Nor would she refer to her sister as ‘Princess.’ Between this display and the many other oddities in her behavior that night, he could no longer believe she was the same woman he’d once served. “Who are you?” he said softly. Larissa stopped and stared at him with her wide, violet eyes. “Umm. What?” “Who are you?” he repeated. “You’re not the Princess Larissa, are you?” The doppelganger shifted nervously and blushed. She opened her mouth as if to protest her innocence, but finally sighed in defeat. “No. No, I’m not. I’m sorry, Mr. Francis.” He felt a rush of fear slam into his heart. A shape-shifter. Here? Suddenly, he felt his age weight heavily upon him, the sense of betrayal overwhelming. This doppelganger would most certainly kill him now that its ruse had been uncovered. He prepared to swing the lantern at her, backing toward the doorway. But much to his surprise, the woman appeared more afraid of him than he was of her. She remained rooted in one spot, her eyes wide and teary. “Then who are you?” he demanded. The doppelganger shuffled her feet, “I’m a friend of the family. Truly, I am. Please. Please let me explain, sir?” Her face and body began to melt like tallow, shrinking away inch by inch. Gone were the noble features he’d known all his life, replaced by those of a timid woman, hardly out of her teens. The violet eyes remained the same, but the cheeks were softer, the hair darker. Her dress hung loosely on her mousy frame, piling around her thin ankles. She stared up at him with heart-wrenching humiliation; not exactly the expression one would expect from an assassin. “My name is Solitaire Helgram,” the young woman said sadly. “Baroness Helgram, to be exact. I’m doing a favor for the Princess Islain. A very secret, important favor. I. I never expected someone to be here. I swear it. Please forgive me.” Still wary, Loyal regarded her with his milky eyes. “And what favor might this be to come knocking in the night wearing her sister’s skin?” Solitaire shrugged, “She was very sad when I met her in Rebma last week. She missed her home. Just as anyone would, I suppose. So, I offered. To get her a piece of her home back. She’d been talking about her tub all night, so…” She gestured toward the tub and let out a faint sigh. “I decided to get it for her and send it to the Forest Arden. She was very kind to me. So, I thought it was the least I could do for her. I’d hate to have someone steal my home from me.” “But you’re Chaosian,” Loyal said, glowering down his nose at her. “Half, sir. Only half,” she exclaimed. “And really. Does it matter? Chaosian or Amberite… everyone understands what it means to be homesick. Don’t they?” The emotion in her voice cut through the man’s old hates. Loyal could see how stricken the girl was, feel the breadth of her emotion. He set the oil lamp on the wooden vanity and scratched his chin. He snorted, “Why the disguise then, Baroness?” Solitaire smiled faintly, “My doing anything for the Princess would be highly frowned upon. I thought no one would notice Lissa visiting one of her father’s houses. But me? I’m watched. I think. It’d be very bad if they saw me. Trust me on this.” “Bad how?” “Master Mandor would be most disgruntled.” The name stung Loyal like a slap to the face. “You know him?” “Uh. Yeah. You could say that,” Solitaire said, unable to meet his eyes. Loyal narrowed his gamey eyes, “So. He would be disappointed that you went behind his back?” “Very.” “And the Princess Islain would be most pleased by this deception?” “Ecstatic, sir.” Loyal chuckled for the first time in as long as he could recall. “How might I help then?” Solitaire blinked in surprise and then smiled brightly. “Really? Truly, you’ll help?” “If you swear that you are helping my Princess, then yes, I shall help you, young Chaosian.” With a squeal, Solitaire wrapped her arms around him and squeezed Loyal tightly. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Francis! I knew you were a kind man. I’m so sorry I had to pretend with you. Honestly, I wanted to tell you the truth. Honest!” He patted her head and chuckled. “Yes, yes. All is forgiven. Now, please. I’m an old man. You’ll break me if you hold on much tighter.” She leapt back, blushing brightly. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” He waved her off and hobbled over to the vanity bench to sit down. “No harm done, Baroness. But it is late and we do not wish your ruse to be uncovered. People will question a wagon outside Rose Hall.” Solitaire glanced toward the window, “Yeah. True. We’d better get a move on.” “What would you have me do?” “Simply close these windows when I’m done,” Solitaire said. “And don’t tell anyone about this.” “I believe I can manage such, Baroness,” Loyal said, feeling a sense of wonder as he watched the girl go about her task. She turned off the water and drained the pipes into the tub. Strangely, she began to chant in a soft voice. A moment later, the old water floated up and out of the tub in a round, liquid ball. It lazily glided over to the sink and then burst with a harmless splash. With the tub completely dry, she started to chant once more. The bolts securing the tub began to squeak and turn as one, freeing it from the wall and plumbing. The young woman did nothing more than turn her fingers in the air, as if unscrewing them, yet never touching them. “Now’s the hard part,” Solitaire said. She opened the balcony doors, letting in the evening’s chill. She carefully checked the street to make sure it was clear. Her eyes flickered in the darkness as she accessed senses Loyal could only begin to imagine at. Someone must have been there, because a voice echoed up from below. “It took you long enough! I may have fur, but that doesn’t mean I love the cold, you heartless, animal-abusing hussy!” “Shut it will you?” she hissed. “Whistle if you see someone.” Solitaire turned back to smile at Loyal, “Umm… my partner in crime, so to speak. Heh.” Loyal said nothing and continued to watch in stunned silence. The tiny woman began to concentrate on the tub, moving her hands as if to lift it. Much to Loyal’s surprise, the tub floated off the ground with the grace of a bird taking flight. With little pomp and circumstance, it continued its way outside and disappeared over the balcony’s edge. Unable to contain his curiosity, Loyal got up and joined Solitaire. Down below, the tub settled on the wagon as light as a feather. The fox he’d seen earlier that evening promptly covered it with a tarp to hide it from prying eyes. “It’s magic,” he said to himself. “Just a simple set of equations really,” Solitaire chuckled. “But it doesn’t lose its charm, I’ll tell you.” The fox hopped back into the front of the wagon and stared up at them. “Will you stop schmoozing with the old dude and get down here? This isn’t exactly subtle you know? We can’t stay lucky forever.” Solitaire sighed faintly, “He’s right. I’d better get going. And I should put my ‘face’ back on.” Right before Loyal’s eyes, the Princess Larissa took form; a perfect impression of her in every detail but one: the violet eyes. “Amazing,” Loyal said, hobbling along side her as they went back into the house. He closed the doors behind him and led her back to the foyer. Despite his initial shock and reservations, by the time they reached the door, the old man regretted seeing the bizarre girl go. She’d given him a night of wonders and stirred memories of times long passed. Seeing her wearing Princess Larissa’s form still sent a shiver down his curved spine. It was like being young again and he’d forgotten how much he missed the family he served. “Thank you, Mr. Francis,” Solitaire said. “You are an exceptional man.” “And you as well, ‘Princess.’ Fear not. I shall not tell a soul of what happened here this evening.” “Thank you,” she smiled. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, holding his old hand warmly. Loyal took a deep breath, fighting against the melancholy resurfacing in his heart. As wonders did, they ended far too quickly. Soon, his ‘Princess’ would be gone and he would be forgotten once more. “Good-bye, Princess,” he said, feeling his throat closing. Solitaire touched his cheek and nodded. He opened the front door for her, watching her step into the night. She paused on the stoop, turning to regard him with those luminescent eyes. “Mr. Francis?” “Yes, Princess?” “Can. Can I come back some day and hear your stories again?” Loyal nodded, hoping she would not see the tears of joy in his old eyes. “Yes, Princess. I think I’d like that very much. Very much indeed. Good night, Princess Larissa.” “Good night, Mr. Francis.” Loyal watched her go and smiled to himself. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind rustle through the oak trees. His heart sang with memories of ages past, of times long gone. But mostly, it sang with hope. Who’d have thought it would take a Chaosian girl and a pilfered tub to stir that emotion in an old man once more? “Memories and dreams,” he whispered to the night. “Memories and dreams.” And this time, the night heard him. Postscript: One week later, a large crate arrived in the Forest Arden; shipped through unspecified means that only a scoundrel like Vikund could provide. Only the words: ‘Tanstaafl’ and ‘To my sister’ were written in Ancient Rebman on the side. Inside the tub are a cornucopia of bath salts, soaps, and oils, as well as numerous, colored sponges.
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