The Antiquity: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Griselda

Thanks to her Royal transfer papers, Gris had been let onto a merchant ship that was heading back to the Heights, an experience which brought back sour memories. Whenever the ocean’s turbulence rocked the ship, the scar on her jaw would tingle faintly. She would clutch Synguardian tightly, as a child would hug a stuffed animal, relying on it to keep them safe from monsters under their bed. Gris used to be afraid of things like that, and had asked her childhood bed every night until she was eight if there was anything beneath it before going to sleep. It had never grown tired of answering, always a gentle, “nothing down here”, and Gris had usually been satisfied with that answer. She missed the days when that was her biggest concern.

Gris didn’t mind being at sea, but was smart enough to fear whatever else was also at sea. Slaving Pirates, for example. She’d watched a movie about pirates, once, a children’s film where the villain had a hook for a hand, and whenever his doubloons were stolen, he’d go yarggg, and swing his hook around like a rookie Guardsman in fencing practice. If only this was the caliber of pirate that roamed the Spirrage Ocean. Instead, they tended to use hooks as actual weapons, said things like “put the girl below with the others”, and when their doubloons were stolen, they’d enter a horrific killing frenzy from which few were spared.

But there also existed the possibility that the sea was still a better alternative than what had awaited her on land. Stepping down onto those docks once again had made her knees weak, the warmth of late spring not disguising the ever-so-familiar sensation of the freezing cold in her veins, a feeling that she still experienced sometimes, like in the small hours of the night, when she couldn’t sleep because her stomach was turning and turning over itself.

But Gris straightened herself up. This was not the same place as it was those 12 years ago. She was not the same person, and she would tell herself that until it really was true. The Prime had told her a few times, “you are what you pretend to be, you please pretend to enjoy your job”, which, looking back, sounded suspiciously like “be delusional and gaslight yourself”. But fine, Griselda had thought, I’ll try things your way. She strode through the docks with a soldier’s dignity, weaving through groups of sailors and merchants unloading their cargo, trying to look like someone who was supposed to be there. She was apparently going to be picked up by a chauffeur who would take her to the residence of this “Pilsworth”. She’d already formulated a few possible mental images of this mysterious noble, each more punchable than the last. She hoped he would live up to her expectations.

She soon spotted her driver, an older gentleman holding up a paper sign that read “Armesta”. He stood waiting near where the docks transitioned into the cobblestone streets of the Heights proper, which now included a small parking lot. In this lot was parked a dignified black Coupe, a newer electric one by the looks of it, but still retaining the antique appearance of its original model. It was the first car she had seen in years. Gris approached him, her hand resting on Synguardian’s hilt.

“Ah. Griselda, is it?” He asked, offering her a kind smile, “My name is Keynes Heartnet; I’m one of Lord Pilsworth’s attendants. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand to her.

Gris swallowed audibly. “Yeah...you too.” She accepted his hand, shaking it firmly, as she’d been taught to do upon meeting a client. She produced her transfer papers, which Keynes took, flipped through rather briefly, and tucked into his coat. He opened the Coupe’s passenger-side door, gesturing for her to enter. Gris hesitated despite the polite invitation.

“Are you uncomfortable with vehicles? My Master’s residence is only a few miles down the street, if you’d prefer to travel on foot. I would be happy to accompany you.” This was a very accommodating offer for someone used to Modern transportation, which Gris noted begrudgingly. Most people from or used to the luxuries of Metropolita found Weissians' proclivity towards motion sickness to be rather burdensome.

“No, it’s alright. Sorry.” Gris answered. He held out his hand again, nodding towards her bag, which she handed to him. He set it down gently in the backseat. He also motioned towards Synguardian, but she gave him a hard look and gripped the sword’s hilt even tighter, causing him to squirm a bit. She assumed that Keynes was going to put him in the back seat with her luggage – no way that was happening. Keynes took the hint and didn’t insist, which for his sake was the right decision.

Gris ducked into the car, gritting her teeth as she plopped down on the padded leather seat. Keynes closed her door, and then got in on the driver’s side next to her, turning the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life. With the deftness of one with many years driving experience, he gracefully pulled out of the lot and started down the road.

Gris kept glancing sidelong at him despite herself, her head resting on her hand as she pretended to look out the window. He had a longish face and an angular jaw, but his rosy cheeks and kind eyes gave him a jolly appearance that mitigated the sharpness of his features. His silver hair was exceptionally neat, gelled and combed sideways without a strand out of place. He seemed nice enough, and maybe she was just taking her dismay towards Pilsworth out on the wrong person, but she couldn’t help but be unnerved by something about him, something she couldn’t quite place. Against her own instincts, she decided to put it out of her mind, for now, as her surroundings were starting to demand her attention for real this time.

It was true what she’d assumed: the Antique Heights really had changed, in that they’d grown quite significantly. Buildings were closer together, and the quiet streets she’d known as a child were now packed with people. There weren’t too many cars, to Gris’s surprise, and as a result the drive was slow, waiting for pedestrians to cross and meander their way across the street, from one building to the next. They were in what looked like a shopping district of some sort, which boasted a bizarre hodgepodge of both Modern and Weissian architecture. There was a designer label clothing store right next to an armory, and a little way further, a church to the Goddess Dyne, deity of flame and patron of women, rose proudly around the other buildings.

Almost the entire town was built and populated by Moderners, so this made sense. They were crazy about the Weissian pantheon, in some cases even more so than those from Weiss. In the first few eras, multiple cults with branches from both worlds cropped up, all created by Modern people enthralled by the idea that gods could exist in the physical world. There was no confirmed “God” in the Modernity, at least as far as both worlds knew, even though its people still had their own theistic religions. Moderners seemed to have an powerful and innate desire to believe that they weren’t alone in the universe, fulfilled by worshipping the deities from the Antiquity, of which there were five major ones. Dyne, Goddess of flame; Chrolian, Goddess of time; Ziod, God of the sky; Lucio, God of night; and Calreese, God of mercy. Other, lesser gods were also worshipped here and there, but these ones were often honored with festivals and religious holidays, usually frequented by pilgrims from Metropolita, crying and fawning over them as they came down to the land to grace the little mortals with their presence. That was the thing about Weissian Gods; their existence was very much a known and proven thing, so much so that they had human forms and could walk around like anyone else, often in disguise, if they chose to do so. In all honestly, it sort of took the mystique out of the concept of a God, at least to Gris, who wasn’t spiritual in the least. Although, she hadn’t actually seen one before, at least as far as she knew, so maybe she just didn’t get it.

After about 10 minutes, they finally reached a part of town that Gris recognized, much to her discomfort. In fact, she could feel her insides twisting up as the car began to slow even more when they reached a certain building.

They parked in a small lot. One with no other cars. Next to a giant building with large windows, on a quiet boulevard. Gris spoke before Keynes could.

“Excuse me, Mr. Keynes?”

He chuckled. “Please, just Keynes will do. What is it?”

“…why are we at this building?” Her fists clenched. She didn’t look at him, just stared blankly out the window. Her voice was wavering. She felt as if the apartment building was staring right back down at her. “Welcome back, Gris”, it seemed to be saying – not audibly, though.

Keynes blinked at her, sensing her unease. “This is the residence of Lord Pilsworth. He lives on the 11th floor.”

Gris didn’t say anything. She was clutching Synguardian, who was laid across her lap, very tightly. She felt him squirm in her hands again, and she relaxed slightly.

“Gris, is this where I think it is…?” The blade asked. Gris clearly needed to work on her poker face. She knew that she was broadcasting her fear to pretty much everyone in a one-mile radius. Even the Coupe, whose engine was still on, began shuddering faintly in response, causing Keynes to raise an eyebrow, turning the key again to shut it off.

“Are you all right, Miss Armesta?” She didn’t turn to look at him, not wanting him to see the moisture beginning to well up in her eyes. Gods damn it all. It just had to be here. Her heart was beating wildly. There was a chance that this had been a setup by her father, a horrid thought that had only occurred to her just then.

“I’m such an idiot, Synguardian.” Gris mumbled under her breath, and then stepped out of the car. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them wide, doing this a few times to help clear her head. So what if her father was up there? She was not the same person. She had a sword. She had power, real power, wasted on doing maintenance shifts for some nobles far away. She could fight. Maybe this was an opportunity in disguise. She heard Keynes step out of the car behind her, shutting his car door.

“…Miss Armesta, is something the matter?”

Gris inhaled. “Nope, I’m alright. Just a bit carsick.” She pursed her lips, gave him a nod, and then started towards the entrance. Gris noticed that to enter the building, Keynes had to scan a card using a reader next to the door, which was definitely new. She stepped over the threshold into the lobby and took a moment to take in her surroundings. The décor had changed, but she supposed that was to be expected after 12 years. At the security desk sat a woman, who perked up when she saw the two of them. She didn’t seem to be an actual guard, as the security equipment behind the desk was all missing, and the desk itself was bare.

“Oh, good, you’re back.” She stood up, and Gris could see that she was wearing the same tailored uniform as Keynes, a black coat, white button-up, and crisp, black trousers. The only difference was that she also wore black combat boots hidden beneath the hem of her slacks, and delicate white gloves. She was younger than Keynes by a long shot, and in fact looked only to be a few years older than Gris. Her dark brown hair was cut quite short in a masculine crop which stopped at her ears, and she wore large, dangly earrings that resembled golden tassels, which stood out against her tanned complexion. She was also rather beautiful, as Griselda couldn’t help but notice. Her large, brown eyes were framed by delicate lashes, and her figure was small but noticeably muscular. Gris felt as if she had to immediately stand up straight in her presence, puffing out her chest a bit.

“Who are you trying to impress?” asked Synguardian, another instance of him refraining from rolling his eyes due to not having any. Gris flicked his hilt to shut him up.

The woman held out her hand to Gris, offering her a smile. “My name is Vilda Forrester. I’m one of Lord…Pilsworth’s attendants.” What was with that hesitation? Gris shook her hand with the same firm grasp as she had with Keynes’s. She also noted that beneath Vilda’s delicate silk gloves, she had the grip and strength of a fighter. There was definitely something going on with these attendants, which only served to make Gris more uneasy.

“Methinks, you have a weakness for pretty people. Getting distracted?” Synguardian quipped. Gris ignored him, fighting to contain a scowl. She was not distracted.

The two attendants led Gris into the elevator, her breath catching in her throat as she stepped inside. She ran her fingers lightly along the inner wall, greeting it for the first time since she’d thanked it for carrying her down to safety. If Keynes and Vilda noticed, they said nothing. Gris hoped that her nerves would be mistaken for a Weissian unfamiliar with Modern technology. She was mad at Pilsworth, and mad at her father, but she was most upset with herself. She’d never forgiven never having forgotten. All she could do was see this as some sort of blessing in disguise, one which had yet to make itself clear to her. But what was she supposed to do if it wasn’t? Be glad she was finally away from the Guardsman’s Association?

When she’d signed that Royal contract so many years ago, she’d signed away many of her rights, as well, without proper informed consent. The Association owned her; they’d put down a great deal training her and keeping her fed and clothed. If she ever wanted to be free, she’d have to disappear in a way that made her appear to be dead. Was she even capable of that? Right now, her indenture sat at a cool 3,400 Gold Dia, which used to be 4,000 Gold Dia, but 600 Dia of the fees paid by Pilsworth had gone to her. She was lucky; that was a once-in-a-lifetime amount to be offered for your services while working as a Guardsman.

The system that the Association ran was meant to keep a grip on and exploit desperate Weissian mages. They would come to the castle, many of them young or fleeing from slavers, hoping for food and shelter. The castle would promise, “yes, of course we’ll help you, as long as you do some work for us”, with a huge asterisk at the end, leading to small print that said, “indefinitely, until you can pay off an impossibly high amount that we calculated specifically so that your power will belong to us for the rest of your life”. Magic was an incredible skill, and a line of work that usually paid very well. But you only received a pittance for if you were tied to the Association. If you were caught doing under-the-table work during your indenture, you would be found “in violation of contract”, and any money you’d made doing this volatile work would be added as punishment on top of your indenture. Gris had known only two mages in her life who’d broken free of the Association. One was 52, having been employed at 25, and one was 36, having been employed at 18. They had both been in the castle their whole lives. Some chose not to leave, resigning themselves to their fate, even having children within the castle walls. If those children were born mages as well, they would be “taken in” as wards of the Association. If they weren’t, they would be allowed to stay in the castle, under the condition that some of their parents’ pay would go towards their upbringing. Why anyone would voluntarily have a child under those conditions was beyond Gris, but she couldn’t deny that some of them probably hadn’t been given a choice at all.

Gris shook her head, clearing those thoughts from her mind. She performed better when she was focusing on the here and now. She watched as Keynes pressed the button for the 11th floor, feeling a shiver go down her spine as the elevator began ascending.

“Mr. Keynes…I mean, Keynes?”

“Yes, Ms. Armesta?”

“Sorry, but I was just wondering: what kind of work does Lord Pilsworth expect me to do? And…forgive me, but what is he like?”

Keynes shook his head, smiling. “No need to apologize, it’s a natural thing to want to know.”

But before he could answer her questions, a voice came through the elevator, channeled in by some sort of intercom. Vilda jumped in surprise, a look of anger spreading across her face. Keynes had no visible reaction.

“Ah,” the voice said, one of a young man, “you’re finally back. How nice. And I see Ms. Armesta’s with you.” Gris didn’t know how he was able to “see” anything; the thought of there being a hidden camera somewhere in the elevator made her nerves stand on end.

“How many times have I told you to uninstall your stupid intercoms?!” Vilda demanded, “You scared the past three guests who’ve come through here out of their wits!” Keynes just sighed and said nothing.

“From here, it looks like you’re the only one who got scared, Vilda.” The voice chuckled, and began humming a tune. The sounds of a keyboard being typed on could be heard faintly in the background. Vilda flipped off the top corner of the elevator to the left of the door, giving Gris an idea of where the camera was. She felt uncomfortably like she was intruding on someone else’s ongoing argument. This was a type of master-servant dynamic that she’d never seen before, and wasn’t sure how to feel about it. “Don’t come into my room for a little bit, by the way. I’m building smoke canisters, and I don’t want anyone to breathe in the fumes.”

“What?!” Vilda exclaimed, her voice a thick compound of rage and concern, but the sound of the voice’s absentminded humming was cut with the intercom immediately clicked off. Vilda fumed for a moment, and Gris got the sense that she was the one who usually had to clean up when these sorts of things went awry. She couldn’t help but feel sympathy mixing into her general confusion. Vilda crossed her arms, letting out a long sigh of exasperation.

“You want to know what ‘Lord Pilsworth’ is like? He’s a complete and utter menace.”