Tomorrow's Shadow - 5. Surprises

Stefano walked up the path to the large gates outside the Falow estate. Three guardsmen on the inside looked up simultaneously; one stepped to the gate and looked directly into Stefano’s eyes.

“Name and purpose.” It was not a request.

The answer came in the same tone. “Stefano. I am expected.”

“Yes, m’Lord. We were told of your visit. Please, there is a side gate here on the left. I shall open it for you. And welcome to Falow Grounds.”

“Falow Grounds?”

“Yes, m’Lord. That is the name our dear Lady gave it when they moved in. And it remains.”

“Very well, I shall remember it.”

“Very good m’Lord. The gate clicked shut behind Stefano as he stepped onto the grounds.

“There is a short path just here through the rose-hedge. It will take you directly to the main doors. There should be someone there awaiting your arrival. If not, the heavy knocker will most definitely bring someone quickly.”

Stefano turned for the path, answering almost as an afterthought. “Thank you then. Have a pleasant evening.”

“You as well, m’Lord…..” The guard’s voice trailed off as their guest had already stepped through the hedge and out of view.

“Rather … uppity sort, if you ask me,” said one of the other guards.

“No more so than the Master.”

“I suppose. But I still think if you are speaking to someone you could do them the courtesy of looking at them.”

The third guard chimed in. “Enough. What is done is done – the visitor is reportedly Lord of the great house on the island. There needs be no more discussion on it. Now then, on to more pressing matters. Did either of you see the serving wench at the pub last night?”

Stefano smirked slightly as he neared the Falow main doors. Although a good distance from the guards now, his enhanced hearing gave him the ability to eavesdrop, which he did anytime he fought boredom. Although the grounds were immaculate, they were too much a clone from others he had seen in the hills of the mainland. He walked up the few steps to the grand portico where there was indeed a servant waiting – an older gentleman, eyes forward, posture too perfect for comfort. He bowed his head slightly to the newcomer.

“Lord Stefano. You are expected. This way, please.” He turned and opened one of the large oak doors then stepped back and allowed Stefano to step in first.

Stefano would have asked how the servant knew for sure it was him, but his attention was grabbed by the shear grandeur of the Falow entrance. High, domed ceiling, painted, of course, Gold leaf, which he was fairly certain was the real thing, and enough paintings on the halls to put on a decent showing at the neighborhood gallery. Though looking at the quality of the art, he was fairly certain they were all family in some manner. He turned towards a modest stairway as Lord and Lady Falow stepped down, smiling their enigmatic best.

“Stefano. It is good to see you again.”

“Terence, Abigail”

“Please Stefano, my friends call me ‘Abby’ – and no comments are needed Terance.”

“None given, my sweet.”

Stefano fought a chuckle at their gentle banter as he took her hand and raised it, bowing over it to brush his lips against the back – barely the whisper of a kiss. “Abby then. You are radiant tonight.”

“What – this? A casual gown, nothing more.”

“Hardly ‘casual’ with the array of family gems giving you the well-finished look.”

She giggled behind a hand. Stefano tried hard not to turn away in disgust at the falseness he would be dealing with.

“Stefano, my friend, dinner won’t be for at least another hour. Would you accompany us to the parlor?” Lord Falow didn’t wait for a reply but turned and walked off towards a curtained entrance across the room.

Uppity indeed, Stefano mused as he followed his host. Lady Falow stepped beside him, linking her arm through his, holding him close enough to trip over her gown if he didn’t watch each step.

“Gerik leaves his regards, but he had some thing or another with his friends in town. Said it had been planned for weeks and honor wouldn’t let him cancel. Personally, I think he just didn’t want to be part of this small gathering. However…”

Stefano cringed just from the way she broached the next subject.

“…Our two daughters would love to entertain you with a song or two. After all, we simply must repay the great kindness you showed at your home.”

He smiled at the Lady as they stepped into the parlor. There at the piano stood two girls, he assumed the aforementioned daughters, each dressed nicely, but simply – hair tied back and very much without any makeup. The curtsied as he entered the room. Lord Falow stood in front of his fireplace, lighting a pipe. “Come in, sit. The girls have quite a treat for you.” He turned to the waiting songsters, “Now, girls.”

Stefano steeled himself, but was happily surprised. The younger was actually a rather accomplished pianist, her sister almost matched the skill on her violin. He did have to keep from shuddering at the occasional squeal from bow against strings, but all-in-all it was a very pleasant time. He turned his head to the sound of a gong somewhere in the house.

“And that would be dinner.” Terence explained as he knocked out the remainder of his pipe into the fireplace before heading to the door.

Stefano turned to the daughters and offered to escort them. “Ladies?” To his amazement and lack of pleasure, an arm was latched onto by the Lady of the house.

“Oh, they’ve had their supper already. Besides, they have their studies then off to bed.” She practically towed him across the room through another curtained doorway to a noble-looking dining hall. One of their servants pulled back a chair and indicated it to him. He sat with the offered assistance, speaking an under-tone “Thank you” to the lad.

And Gerik is not present. I hope the boy isn’t avoiding me after my assault on his senses.
No, he probably didn’t even take notice.

Stefano listened politely as the Lord and Lady regaled him with their travels, eating slowly, nodding politely any time they paused, saying “Please, do continue.” Just let this ordeal be over echoed through his mind.

Before dessert was served, the front door slammed and a voice rang out. “Mother? Father? I came home early. The gents had planned some fool outing…” He stepped in the door and stopped short. “My apologies, I forgot you were entertaining.”

Stefano raised his water glass to sip as his eyes raked over the form in front of him. Riding boots, snug trousers, a white silken shirt, tucked in of course but pulled somewhat loose at the waist. The shirt was unbuttoned practically to the beltline. A light sheen of sweat glistened on the young man’s chest, the perfect picture of immature maturity, just learning of life. Stefano was certain that if his heart still beat, it would be loud enough to hear in the far rooms of the home, and racing like a wildcat’s.

“Father, my apologies again. And to you Lord Stefano. Please forgive. I shall go and … clean up.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked out, taking the air with him. Or so it felt to the Lord of the Keep.

Stefano sat through the remainder of the evening, hoping against hope that Gerik would make another appearance, but it was not to be. Lord and Lady Falow, convinced he remained to be in their presence, regaled him with story after story of things they wanted to do. Lord Fallow wanted to go on a hunting party to Africa. Lady Falow wanted to take a trip to Greece. Or perhaps to the Orient. Or maybe to both? When Stefano reached the point he wanted to scream “So go already!” in their faces, he stood and politely stated it was time to end their fine evening.

When he arrived back at the Keep, he bolted the door with a frustrated bang before trudging across the room to sit at the bar. Viktor looked at him a moment before speaking.

“I trust the evening was a success for the Falows. It does not appear to have been so much a success for ye, however.”

“I suppose you could say it was successful all around. They got to spend time with the “illustrious Lord from the island” while I am now able to strike their name from my obligation list. Which, by the way, I am still not certain should be necessary.”

“After ye have visited each house once, ye can disregard it. But the first visits ... I would say they are most necessary. ” He turned to fill a wine glass to two-thirds. “Here, have some of the Master’s bloodwyne”.

Stefano took the glass hesitantly. “Should we be diving into Sire’s selection without his approval?”

“But you have it always, son of mine.”

Stefano set the glass down as he stood and turned, walking briskly toward the balcony. “Sire, I did not know you were here. When did you arrive? Will you stay for a while before running off?”

“Run off? I do not ‘run off’. I leave that to ... snow melts and rain falls.” Vargon grinned before taking a sip from his own glass of wyne. “And, alas, I am to leave at the morrow’s evening, but entertain me with the story of your visit mainland.” He walked slowly toward the bar.

Stefano walked just behind him, taking a seat again at the bar. He took the offered glass and raised it. After taking a healthy sip, he sighed, and began his tale of the evening’s events. Twice during the telling he had Viktor add to his wyne glass. He spent time talking about the Falow daughters’ musical abilities, but left out his strong reaction to Gerik’s return. When he finally reached the end of his story, he was looking far more relaxed and at peace.

“So tell me more of this young Falow lad.”

“Not much to say, Sire. I only saw him briefly, and before that even briefer still at my ... open house.”

“There is more, it shines in your eyes. But I shall not force you to speak it - your life is still your own, my chylde.”

Stefano smiled hearing “my chylde”. Each time Vargon spoke it, he felt incredible pride, purpose, and peace - and a sense of belonging. “Nothing truly. Except he does resemble Nikolos...” He finished his wyne. He held up a hand when Viktor offered to refill it.

“From your youth? Actually that is not uncommon with our life line. We are here more than long enough to experience look-alikes, not to mention actual spirits and the like.”

“Father, are you saying you believe in ghosts?”

“Believe in them? I have seen the spirits of the recently deceased first-hand. They never linger; gone within a day or two, depending on how violent their death.” He finished his drink and indicated to Viktor he also was finished. “Contrary to some tales, the dead do not walk the earth looking for revenge or ‘true love’ or what have you. They die. And soon enough, they are gone.” He stood. “Come, walk with me.”

Stefano rose and followed Vargon out the balcony doors and down the stone steps toward the beach.

Still behind the bar, Viktor took the used glasses and stepped into the kitchens, handing them to the nearest servant to be cleaned. He stepped back into the great hall and began inspecting cleanliness and any need for repair - musing over his two friends. It is not much beach for them to walk along, unless they wish to retrace steps a few hundred times. Not that they could not shade-walk and go somewhere else.

Although ... Lord Stefano usually speaks it if he plans on leaving Haven.

He stepped to the harp and gently ran his fingers over the strings, listening carefully to each note for tone, clarity, and pitch. They are an interesting two - that Master Vargon even has a chylde is remarkable. After spending so many centuries alone, I always figured he would stay that way. Calling on me when he needed a respite from the world. Satisfied with the harp, he moved to the piano and repeated the process for each of the ivory keys and their ebony siblings. He admired their shine of the former, wondering about the brilliance of the white. Normally by now, with as much as Stefano plays, one would expect ivory to start yellowing. This are still pristine. Mayhaps it is because of his and the master’s ... nature. Not that it should matter, but a curiousness none-the-less. He paused to repeat a note two more times, his lips pursed, before returning to this running the keys.

Once finished with the piano, Viktor returned to his station at the bar, one of many stations he held around the Keep. He made himself a note to call Chadwick, a piano technician from mainland, to come and look at the grand. As he leaned forward to write, he bent at the waist, but his shoulders and back remained ramrod straight. It was as if his body was never fully “at ease”. If the man had to work at his posture, it never showed; he always appeared natural and at peace with himself.

It was nearly sunrise before Stefano and Vargon stepped back into the great room from the balcony. Still talking, both faces had a slight ruddiness, indicating recent feeding. Vargon clapped a hand on his chylde's shoulder. “Another bloodwyne before slumber?”

“No, Father, thank you for asking. I believe I shall simply retire for a fine day’s rest.”

“I was wondering when ye two would be returning.” Viktor almost sounded upset or concerned.

“Yes, we were late my friend, but Stefano was telling me about his young days in the troop. But we are back and ready for sleep.”

“Very good, Master. I have already closed up the Keep, so once ye are to bed, I shall finish shutting down the balcony.”

Stefano set his empty glass on the bar. “Thank you, Viktor. I can see why my Father has always considered you a treasured friend and sometime companion. Your dedication to the Keep is exemplary.” He paused briefly. “No, your dedication to my Sire and I. The Keep could go to ruin if we wished ... I am sure it is us that you remain for, and that is beyond what any mere words of thanks can declare.”

Viktor’s eyes showed the tiniest piece of acceptance and peace at Stefano’s words. “It is so, m’Lord. And shall be. Ye are Master and Lord, but ye are also great friends. I treasure my place at your sides. Until the morrow, m’Lord. And to ye, Master Vargon.”

“Until then, my friend. I echo my son’s appreciation for all you are to us. Until morrow eve then.”

It was the middle of the next night before Vargon came down the stairs. Another hour passed before Stefano walked into the great room from upstairs. Dressed in his dark boots and trousers, this evening he wore a scarlet peasant’s shirt instead of his sand colored usual. The laces loosened for comfort. Viktor did a double-take as his friend and master practically sauntered across the room to take a seat at the bar.

“You look well rested, Master.”

“And pleased.” Stefano added. “Although my Sire does look even more pleased than I feel."

He turned to his father, "The question is ... in what are you so pleased?”

Vargon laughed, the sound of distant thunder. “I am just content with my life and I am looking forward to getting back to my wagon.”

“Truly not eager to leave, Sire?”

Vargon paused to consider his next words. “Neither anxious nor eager, my chylde. But there is much to be done and people to see. No ... a person to see.”

“Person, Father? Do I know this person who is apparently important in your life?”

“Or I, Master?”

“No, neither of you have made the acquaintance.” He paused as if to build the tension. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised his wyne glass slowly, speaking just before taking a
prolonged drink.

“...and I am thinking of taking a wife.”