A Fine Black Sky
CHAPTER THREE
Within the form of the Tower, concave to the endless stone walls, were recesses inserted at strategic points, once used when the Towers were nothing more than Watch Towers to the advancing light and all it brought forth, where a garrison of Vigilants would hold out against the invading force, who were used to the darkness and its revelationary curiosities. Here now it was used as a kind of ante-chamber to Kid’s Father’s Office, and awaiting without was a tall thin man, rakish in his day, sporting a long forehead that stretched from his eyebrows to his crown, with a moulded moustache and tiny thin beard combination. He was soaked in oils and unguents, slippery even as he spoke, with a croak and a tendency for his voice in the upper register to be a little scratchy and high pitched. He always seemed standoffish, but a slither of kindness he would always show to Kid, the various and short times they had met.
He was Uncle Pellax, a politically ambitious man, cautious in his dealings with everyone he came into contact with, not to mention greasy to those who had something he wanted. Kid was unsure exactly how they were related, if he was indeed an Uncle by blood, or it was simply an affectation given some time in the past, when he would come and see Kid’s Father in his Office. His Father would say, “This is Uncle Pellax, my Son. Now, be quiet while the adults are talking, there’s a good boy.” and Kid would blend into the background of the Office, quiet as a mouse and half as big, eating at the shadows in his own private contemplation. Kid had learned to be on his own, entertain himself secretly, live in the Towers in his mind. There he was a Lord, and people noticed him. They had to. They had no choice.
“Ah, Fuscus, my boy.” Only Uncle Pellax called Kid by his given name. Not even Father did that, and especially not his Brothers, “Going in to talk with your Father? Good. How’s your education going? Making friends?”
“I must go in, Uncle Pellax. Father needs to talk to me.” Kid said, suspicious of the man every time they met. There was something disturbing about him, as far as Kid could see. There was an underlying menace, or a tormentuous meandering to his look, his walk, his speech - even the way he interacted with others. But Kid had no desire to judge him. Particularly not when he had been so judged himself.
“And how is your Brother?” continued Uncle Pellax, unrelenting.
“He is, as far as I know, with his betrothed.”
“Ah, Queen Isabeliana of the Cantheus Nobles? A beautiful lady, as I seem to remember! Excellent choice for the boy! Don't you think?”
“I don’t have an opinion.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Keep well away from affairs of state. Messy business is politics.”
“So I understand.”
“So few words, but all of them intelligent! Your Tutors taught you well. Besides, I did ask how your Brother was, not where he was?”
“At the home of the Montright Nobles and flourishing as far as I am aware, if it makes any difference?”
“No - you’re right. I’m quite certain it doesn’t. The Montrights you say? Fine people. Fine people.” Uncle Pellax seemed to be mostly assuring himself of this fact, evident by the frown upon his long brow. A smile affected itself upon his filtrum, out of a sense of responsibility, “Well - Fuscus - in you go. Your Father will be waiting. Oh, and if you ever need anything, come see your Uncle Pellax, whatever it be, for guidance, help? There’s a good Kid.” It was something of an empty promise, something one said to the child of a Lord, without ever meaning a word. But Kid courteously nodded, smiled as best he could, before reaching for the large brass knuckle to his Father’s Office. Uncle Pellax shuffled about behind him, even as Kid opened the door.
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