Читать книгу The Vlishgnath Chronicles - Daniel Mitchell - Страница 12

Episode 6

As the three men made their way back to the main hall, Thunderclese rubbed the back of his neck tenderly. “It just barely punctured the skin.”

“You’re damn lucky I pulled that thing off of you when I did, then,” came Maximus’s reply, clapping Thunderclese between his shoulder blades and almost sending the burly blonde paladin sprawling forward.

“No arguments here. Who knows what sort of horrifying diseases that thing could have been carrying?”

“Did you see the way it moved?” Vlishgnath interrupted, snapping back from what had apparently been his own little world. “It was unnatural. Awkward in a way, like it knew what it wanted its limbs to do but hadn’t the experience with its own limbs to do it.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t look like any of the reanimated corpses we put down during the Necromancer Wars.” Thunderclese had taken a break from rubbing his neck and was now looking around the main hall. “So where should we look next?”

Vlishgnath thought for a moment. “Let’s continue the sweep of this floor and get a general layout of the place. Don’t stray far from each other, and if we encounter any more of those things you are free to engage them.”

The first floor by itself was enormous. They began sweeping through the rest of the rooms in a clockwise rotation, first encountering a large room full of taxidermy animals, all of which were positioned in the fiercest looking configuration possible. Next to that, they discovered an indoor theater—several rows of seats facing a stage along the western wall complete with sets of stage curtains. By themselves, the two rooms would have made sense, but it was the close proximity of them that baffled the three paladins.

“Who puts a hunting trophy room next to an indoor theater?” Thunderclese mused out loud as they walked up and down the seating aisles.

“Cooped up, eccentric rich people,” said Maximus, shuffling sideways through an aisle too narrow for him to walk down facing forward.

The following room, however, looked at one point to be a magnificent art gallery. Weeks of neglect had left it dusty and smelling of mold, however, and the progression of subject matter was truly horrifying. Each piece bore the same three-letter signature, an elaborately drawn “VLF.” Earlier pieces were stunning visual displays, ranging from brilliant impressionistic interpretations of cityscapes and skylines to the most vividly detailed realistic portraits of anyone and anything. Pieces that had been done more recently, however, took on a more gruesome nature, and by the time they had reached ones that had been done in the last year, it was quite apparent to any who looked upon them that they had just born witness to VLF’s downward spiral into complete madness. Gut-wrenching depictions of people being disemboweled by others who feasted on their entrails, and painstakingly detailed depictions of unthinkable acts of torture and suffering. By the time they reached the back of the gallery, Vlishgnath and Thunderclese could barely look upon any of the paintings anymore.

Maximus, who had noticed something in the corner, called out to Vlishgnath and Thunderclese. “Hey Vlish, you might want to come look at this.”

That said, Maximus grabbed hold of a sheet that had been draped over a stack of paintings tucked away in the corner, and began laying the paintings out on the floor. By the time Vlishgnath and Thunderclese made their way over, he had all seven of them lined up in the order in which they had been stacked.

First, there was a portrait of a man and a woman, both looking to be middle-aged and married judging by the way they embraced each other in the portrait. The man had a regal bearing about him, the woman a serene looking smile, and both wore exquisite looking garments typically reserved for the very wealthy. The title at the bottom, “Jonathan and Abigail,” was masterfully penned in a calligraphic font.

Next, a strapping blond-haired man stood with one foot up on a chair, a bow slung over his shoulder. Garbed in various furs and leathers, his bright blue eyes stared at the viewer confidently, a slight smile drawn upon his square jaw. “Bartholomew” was drawn in the same careful lettering near the bottom.

Then, a somewhat slim young man stood with his arms folded defiantly across his chest, staring impatiently at the viewer. He wore the robes of the scholars at an arcane university, his black hair cut short. In his right hand he held a rolled up scroll of parchment sealed with a blue ribbon, and a brown leather satchel was slung over his shoulder. The name “Alexander” decorated the bottom of the portrait.

The fourth painting displayed an astonishingly beautiful young woman, her brunette hair cascading down around her shoulders as she gazed upon the viewer with a warm look in her brown eyes and a wide smile. She sat on a bench, turning sideways from a harpsichord to look upon the viewer, the name “Lillith” written along the bottom.

Up next was a rather uncertain-looking young man, his shoulder-length black hair slicked back and his sunken eyes a dark brown. His head was tilted to the side and facing down a bit, and he stared at the viewer in a slightly unsettling way. His attire was rather dressed down compared to the elaborate outfits of the others—mostly dark browns and blacks—and the name “Vincent” adorned the bottom.

Next to last was another female, this one quite young. Wide-eyed and smiling brightly, she looked a great deal like the other female. A wreath of flowers sat atop her head like a crown, a quill pen resting naturally in her right hand. Seated with a desk at her side, the name “Isabelle” was written at the bottom like the others.

Lastly, there was a young man looking to have just crossed the threshold from boy to adult, his blond hair was shoulder length, and although he resembled the one titled “Bartholomew”, he lacked the physical prowess to be a true likeness. He clenched a pipe between his teeth, grinning triumphantly at the viewer while standing next to a desk, reams of parchment stacked up on the corner of it. In the same fanciful calligraphy as all the others before it, the name “Lucien” was written along the bottom of the canvas.

Vlishgnath and Thunderclese stood and studied the portraits for some time. Maximus wandered the gallery, keeping an eye on the door.

After several moments, Vlishgnath finally spoke. “I do believe we are looking at the LeFay family. I must admit, I’m somewhat disturbed by how normal they appear.”

“I think it goes without saying we’ve found our artist.” Thunderclese replied, pointing at the portrait of the sunken-eyed Vincent. “Vincent LeFay? Vee-El-Eff? And look at the way he tilts his head off to the side…chances are if he portrayed himself in such a manner, what we’re seeing is subtle compared to what a true introvert he probably is. Those artist-types are easy to spot.”

“Hmm…you may be on to something. That would explain the trophy room then…see the way Bartholomew stands with a leg up? It’s a very popular pose among the Journeymen Guild.”

“The huntsmen?”

Vlishgnath nodded.

“So why the stage?” asked Thunderclese.

“Well…” Vlishgnath trailed off again, looking over the portraits for another moment before quickly pointing to the one of Lillith. “There. She’s seated at a harpsichord. I imagine if we explored back stage a bit we’d find one that looks a lot like the one in her portrait.”

“Alright, so we have the hunter, the …are those mage robes? Those are the Darlisheld University colors.”

“I think you’re right. He’s holding a degree of some sort.”

“Hunter, mage, musician, artist…writer?” Thunderclese queried.

“The last two are both at desks,” said Vlishgnath, “but there’s definitely a big difference between the two. Isabelle’s wearing a crown of flowers.”

“Meaning…she spent her time in the gardens?”

Vlishgnath considered that. “Poet, perhaps?”

Both men nodded slowly, their minds beginning to paint a mental image of exactly what sort of family they were dealing with.

It was Thunderclese who spoke next. “So how does a multi-talented family with more money than they can spend end up…” he paused, taking a moment to look around the musty, uninviting room in which they stood, “…like this?”

Vlishgnath remained silent for several seconds, then shook his head. “That’s a good question. They each seem to have had their vices, so I wonder what Baron LeFay did in his spare time. I have a sneaking suspicion as to what the rest of this floor is for, but let’s make certain.”

The next room contained rows upon rows of bookshelves, the contents of which all lay spilled into the aisles. Thunderclese and Vlishgnath stepped in and cautiously approached the mess, leaving Maximus on guard duty again.

Vlishgnath knelt down, picking up one of the books. The dust jacket was unadorned and plain looking, appearing to have been bound by hand. Opening the cover, he peered inside, then handed it up to Thunderclese. “Look.”

On the front page, scrawled in big bold letters, it read, “A Collection of Poetry, by Isabelle LeFay.”

Thunderclese pondered its meaning for a moment, then looked around collectively at all the books on the floor. “Do you think they’re all…?”

“Possibly. Look, here’s one by Lucien LeFay. They displayed their work in this room.”

“So were you right?” said Thunderclese.

“So far, yes.”

The next room was a long, rectangular one. The floor was tiled, and a mass of expensive furniture had been piled up in the center of the room for no apparent reason. Looking to have been a ballroom, there was red velvet curtains drawn closed along one of the walls. Thunderclese pulled them open a bit to reveal a wide set of ornamental doors that led out onto a back balcony overlooking the garden they had seen behind the house.

Vlishgnath circled the pile of furniture a few times, trying to peer inside at the center of the clutter, but was unable to find a reason as to why the furniture had been stacked.

“Insanity’s a good enough reason, right?” was Thunderclese’s suggestion, causing Vlishgnath to shake his head and Maximus to give him a shove as he passed by.

The next room they came upon housed a number of certificates and degrees, many of which proclaimed some sort of honorary status or incredible achievement. All of them were made out to one person: Alexander LeFay. The walls were practically plastered with them, and glass cases in the center of the room housed the more exemplary ones.

“This guy’s been all over the world…” Thunderclese said in awe.

“From what I can tell, he’s breezed through courses of study in every major university on the western continent, and some up in Darlisheld,” Vlishgnath replied, running his gauntleted fingers across the glass top of one of the cases.

Making their way around the room, they passed by an open door that led into a smoking lounge before coming upon a large set of closed wooden doors at the back. As they drew near, however, a constant buzzing drone grew louder and louder, causing Thunderclese and Vlishgnath to give each other a sideways glance.

Vlishgnath grabbed hold of one of the handles only to find out the doors had been locked. “Maximus, do you mind?”

The big man stepped forward and, without breaking stride, continued on with a powerful front kick, almost bringing the doors off their hinges. Inside, a magnificent table set for a grand feast was swarming with a seemingly endless number of large metallic-looking flies, the deafening drone of so many insects washing over them now that the door was open. The smell of rancid food was thick in the stagnant air. Then, just as the overpowering scent hit them fully, the gathering of flies on the table began to coalesce into the form of a large humanoid in such detail that it even took on facial features.

Slowly, an arm made of frantic flies—wildly encircling each other within the confines of the limb’s structure—rose up, a finger pointing at the men as the creature’s mouth opened to unleash a massive swarm of ravenous biting flies upon them.

As the flies descended, the creature spoke in a bone-chilling whisper. “Be gone from this place, children of Colopatrion…”