Diamond Eyes - 2. Chapter 2

The man who greeted Vanus reminded the orphan of the seals he saw stretched out on the pier when the days were warmer. He was shorter even than Vanus, and as plump as a rubber ball. He seized Van's hand with fingers that glinted with bejeweled rings; Van had never seen diamonds so fat. They literally brightened up the gloominess of Alysious' office.

"You must be Vanus. It is an absolute honor to meet you, m'boy!" The man pumped his fist, bright blue eyes glowing with genuine enthusiasm. "My name is Conrad Fritzgerald! Most people just call me Mr. Fritz."

Van resisted the urge to jerk his hand away. He glanced stiffly at Alysious. The woman remained by the door, making no move to come to his aid. “Mr. Fritz, right.” The suit Mr. Fritz wore was perfectly pressed, with the edge of a red handkerchief poking out from his shirt pocket. The buttons of his coat strained to contain the massive expanse of his gut. The state of his dress made Vanus feel underdressed in his scratchy long-sleeved shirt and stained leggings; here standing before him was a man of class. “So who are you, exactly? What do you want from me?”

“You must forgive Vanus for his rudeness,” Alysious said to Mr. Fritz with a tight smile. “He doesn’t get many visitors I am afraid.”

Vanus glared daggers at her.

“I can imagine many of the children under your care don’t,” Mr. Fritz replied not unkindly. He glanced disapprovingly at the bare walls and old furniture. He gestured for Vanus to have a seat. "Unfortunately, I don't have a way with words unlike most lawyers, which is why I am in the financial department of the Imperium; that being the case we shall shoot straight to the point if you are of the mind."

"Of course," Vanus said doubtfully.

"Fantastic. Part of the details of my job is the handling of finances and wills. A will is when someone…a family member, perhaps, but anyone can make a will…leaves their things to another. This could be an heirloom of sorts, a home, whatever currency they've managed to save up…"

"I know what a will is," said Vanus.

Fritz arched an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Vanus smiled in spite of himself; already he liked Mr. Fritz, even if he didn't quite know what to make of him. "I know what a will is. They do try to make sure they educate and teach us about the world."

"We try," Alysious said. "By the Seraphim it is not always an easy job. Now don't tease the nice lawyer too much, Kaufman. He has traveled a very long way to meet with you."

Mr. Fritz waved a hand dismissively. "Dear Sister Alysious, do not be too hard on the dear boy. I do love a bit of conversation, especially when dashes of humor are thrown in; it makes the day pass by faster, don't you think?"

"For some of us it just makes things drag on longer than they're meant to," Alysious said sternly, fixing Mr. Fritz with her most matronly stare.

"Right you are." Fritz's round cheeks burned a bright, furious red. He turned his attention back to Vanus. "Mr. Kaufman, it just happens that a relative of yours has passed away due to unfortunate circumstances; in the event of his death, he has left everything to you."

Vanus frowned, his thoughts racing. A relative. An actual blood relative. It couldn't be possible. He thought of all the children who were abandoned here for the simple fact the world didn't want them. Many of those orphans grew up with no idea of who their families were. He certainly hadn't heard of anyone leaving the orphanage with an inheritance.

"I was told I had an uncle," was all he could think of to say.

Mr. Fritz gave an enthusiastic nod that made his powdered curls bounce about wildly. "Indeed. The late Lord Charlie Kaufman of the Imperium."

"Lord Charlie was a magician of great renown." Fritz frowned at Vanus speculatively. "Honestly, m'dear boy, I'm surprised you never heard of him."

"Why would I have?" Vanus replied with a shrug. "Up until now I didn't even realize I had an uncle or that I had any relations to the Imperium?" He glared again at Sister Alysious. Did she know anything about this? He wouldn’t hold it past her to keep all this from him, after all her loyalties were strictly with the Theocracy.

Mr. Fritz tapped his fingers against Alysious desk. A quiet tension had begun to build in the room and Van sensed he was at the center of it. “Right-o. Jumping right along.” He produced an envelope and held it out to Vanus. Vanus regarded it suspiciously, before reaching out cautiously to take it. The parchment felt smooth in his hands. Very expensive. He turned it over, studying the wax seal. The symbol was in the shape of two conjoined circles: the crest of the Imperium. If Fitz did not do business through the Theocracy, then did that mean he owned his own practice? Curious, Vanus filed the information to examine later.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Your uncle's will," Mr. Fritz answered.

"Am I supposed to open it?"

"I thought…I thought you might like to see it." Mr. Fritz snatched the envelope back hastily. "It is my job to take care of all the ceremonies and pomp. You don’t have to do anything except attend the reading of the will and sign a few papers. Sister Alysious, would you happen to have a letter opener?"

Once the letter opener was provided, Mr.Fritz made a show of breaking the seal with the thin blade. Van focused on the rings on his finger. How much money did one have to possess to wear items of such opulence and indulgence? If he were to snag them off the lawyer how much could he pawn them for? Before he could slip into fantasies of thievery and adventure, Fritz cleared his throat and began to read from his late uncle’s will.

'To my beloved nephew, Vanus Kaufman,

I, Lord Charles Kaufman of Kaufman Manor in Imperium, leave everything I possess including Kaufman Manor and all financial assets previously at my disposal.'

"Very straight forward," Mr. Fritz said with a strange click of his tongue. "Charlie Kaufman lived a very long life and collected many investments just in the fifteen years I'd worked for him.”

“So, what happens next?” Vanus asked.

“There is a lot that must be done. Tomorrow we will have to tour the Grand District and stop by the Imperium headquarters here in Vaylin…”

“He is not a subject of the Imperium. He was raised under the doctrine of the Theocracy.” Once more Alysious glared at the lawyer, seeming more tall and imposing than ever before.

“I’m afraid through law and legacy he is a subject of the Imperium,” said Mr. Fritz. To Van he said, “If I’m being honest, I am just as confused by this situation as you are. I do not know how you came to be here, Vanus. I am simply a man who follows the law. I can tell you this: I served your uncle faithfully for over ten years. You can rest assured your legal affairs will be safe with me.”

“I don’t understand,” said Vanus.

Mr. Fritz waggled his bushy eyebrows at the orphan. “I work for you now, Mr. Kaufman.”

                             …

It was said the city of Vaylin was caught in a perpetual storm. Coils of smoke rolled out from the spires of factories. Rain flooded the gutters, spilling out into the trash-filled streets, covering everything in a greasy sheen. There was no escaping the reek of a city rotting from the inside out: the smell of waste left out to molder; of pollution, tar, and corruption. And yet it was the only home Vanus knew, the only place where he’d ever felt he truly belonged. As it turned out he belonged somewhere else.

For a moment he hung suspended in the air, gravity threatening to pull him down to the street below, before landing on the rooftop of the next building. Without breaking step, he rounded the corner and dashed down the fire escape to the cobblestones. He slunk his way along the noisy length of Billard Avenue, past food stalls that reeked of fish. In order to escape the sweaty press of bodies one had to keep moving or risk becoming lost in a human mob.

Three blocks later, Van found himself on the walkway of the pier. Sailors marched to and fro, muscling crates onto the back of wooden carts. Voices carried over the cacophony, barking orders. On a normal day, Van would have hovered on the edge of the scene, watching them work with great interest, but today he had other things to be about.

Bellow's Knot, the tavern Vanus frequented, was crowded with sailors fresh from the sea. By now he was so used to the stench of male sweat and spirits he no longer noticed it. Already the tables were lined with players looking to play cards, so Van sat at the bar and bought a pint of whiskey. He was halfway through his drink when the door to the tavern opened and a familiar face stepped in. The boy was tall and lanky, his cheeks sunken from malnutrition, a common malady to those who lived in the Maeville District. From this distance it was impossible to guess the shade of his clothes, they were so covered in dirt. His dark eyes widened in recognition when he saw Vanus watching him. Jill will be happy to know Hansel isn't really dead after all. Not that Vanus was entirely surprised. Vaylin was a massive city with a population somewhere over eight million; almost half that population resided in the Maeville District, where the streets were redolent with prostitution, crime, and the growing number of victims infected by the Mauler plague. People got lost, disappeared. Orphans especially. Sometimes they returned or were found; most of the time they weren't.

“Vanus, what are you doing here?”

Van thought about turning away and ignoring the man. Other than gambling, he wasn’t really in the mood for small talk. His meeting with Mr. Fritz and all that he had learned from it had left him in a foul mood. On the other hand, Jill’s always telling me I need to work on my social skills. Surely it won’t kill me to try and be a little more friendly for a change. He held up his stein. “Just havin’ a pint.”

Van hoped Hansel would walk away; instead, the older boy took the stool next to him. “I didn’t take you to be much of a drinker.”

Van drained the last finger of his whiskey before answering. He winced. The stuff tastes like dog piss. Soon I’ll be able to drink the good stuff. “Typically I don’t. Always been more of a thief and a gambler. Everyone at the orphanage thinks you're dead, y’know?”

“Really? Why?”

“Apparently they found your body in an alley; you’ve been devoured by maulers.”

Hansel shuddered. “I wish I had the money to get a drink…”

Van waved the innkeeper over. He slid two coppers across the countertop before passing a pint of whiskey over to Hansel. “It’s not everyday someone comes back from the dead. I’ll warn you, it tastes like something scraped off the cobblestones.”

Hansel shivered once more. “As long as it warms my bones. I am so tired of the bloody rain. I wish it would stop…”

“The rain won’t stop until the factories stop. And I don’t think they ever will.”

Hansel raised his glass in thanks. “I’m actually doing quite well for myself, y’know? I’m renting a room somewhere.”

“Are you?” Van looked him up and down. Hansel stunk of old sweat and dirt. His hair was greasy and cow licked. You don’t look like you’re doing too well. But who was Van to judge? His hygiene wasn’t the best at the moment either.

“I have my own room, a place to lay my head at night, so I can’t complain. The Seraphim have blessed me.”

Vanus snorted. “If you say so.”

An awkward silence grew between them. Raucous laughter and curses rose from the card tables. Hansel turned his head to look at him. Sometimes he would stare and other times he would focus on other things in the tavern as if trying to distract himself. His scrutiny made Van’s skin buzz. “What are you staring at?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry.” Hansel jerked his head away. “Old habit, I guess. Suppose I was just thinkin’. How come you and I never became friends, Van? We’re certainly close enough in age. I’m only a few months older than you.”

Cheeks burning, it was Van’s turn to look away. “Perhaps you’re afraid of me like everyone else.”

“Jill isn’t afraid of you.”

Vanus chuckled. “Jill isn’t afraid of anything or anyone. Our friendship is a strange coincidence even to me.”

Hansel pursed his lips. “Was I ever cruel to you? Did I join in?”

Van noted he had soft, full-looking lips. For a brief moment he wondered what it would feel like to kiss the other boy. Would his lips feel as soft as they looked? “No,” he said. But you never did anything to set yourself apart from them either, he thought.

“Everyone thinks you’re a daemon,” Hansel said, his voice slurring.

“Perhaps I am,” said Vanus. “Who wants to be friends with a daemon?”

"But you're not a daemon, are you? You're an orphan just like me, just like every other shit in that matchbox waiting to burn." Hansel smiled drunkenly. "I always thought you had pretty eyes…y'know, diamond eyes…just never had the balls to say it to your face."

Vanus let him ramble on like this for several minutes. He could feel himself beginning to grow restless. The prospect of gambling no longer held his interest, the continuation of this conversation even less so. He was about to excuse himself when Hansel asked if he would like to see his room. "It's only a couple streets away from here."

Vanus didn't know why he agreed to go with him. At the moment the idea seemed more appealing than racing around the city like a bird who didn't want to be seen. And he did say he thinks my eyes are pretty. They slipped out through the back door with a bottle of whiskey. By this time the day's earlier events had become a sticky wad in the back of Van's mind. The world tilted this way and that, making it hard to walk. Dark shapes loomed out of the mists. Gratefully he let Hansel lead him by the hand.

Hansen's room wasn't much bigger than Van's, but by then his inhibitions were lowered to the point he didn't care where they went or what they did. Once the door was open, Hansel was on, pushing him towards the bed. Van let it happen, his body deciding for him. It didn't matter that he barely knew Hansel despite having grown up together. The only thing that mattered was the sudden burning need to be touched and the hands that fulfilled that need.

When he closed his eyes, it was easy to pretend the hands and lips exploring his body belonged to someone more experienced and not so tentative; someone who spent their days at sea, lifting crates of fish with calloused palms. He thought he could hear piano keys strumming somewhere close by, played by skilled fingers.

A moment later Hansel collapsed into the space next to him, face flushed with exertion. He looked over at Vanus. “You’ve done this before,” he said speculatively.

“Did you think I was a virgin?”

“I don’t know why, but yes.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Who was your first?”

“I’m not telling you. That’s my business.” Vanus shifted, feeling uncomfortable. He dropped his head so that silver locks fell before him, hiding the pain in his expression from view. He sat with his back facing Hansel. It was a mistake to come here.

He waited until Hansel was asleep before pulling on his clothes and slipped back out into the rain. The gongs of Vaylin's church bells signified the midnight hour. He'd already missed curfew, but no longer feared Alysious' wrath if caught. What was the point in punishing him when he was to leave the orphanage in less than three days?

A shadow loomed in the empty door to his right. There was just enough light cast by the gas lamps he could see the shape wasn't completely human. "I can smell you…"

It spoke in a raspy, clogged voice that made Van's blood turn to ice. The thing standing before him was in the final stages of becoming a mauler. Bipedal and nearing two meters tall, it towered over Vanus. Tufts of fur stuck out from the ragged remains of a dress. Tumorous bumps riddled it's back; a long, pale, fleshy snail snaked between its furry haunches. The creature's beady eyes focused on him intently with an intelligence that was both startlingly human and predatory. It held a tin can in a long-fingered clawed hand. It shook the can chidingly as it approached, saliva dripping from its open maw.

“Hungry, so hungry…And you smell so good…”

Vanus sensed he was in danger. His fingers snaked into the pockets of his trousers, reaching for the easily-concealed dagger he carried with him at all times. Perhaps once this creature had been human, but the plague had transformed her into a monster.

Now that he held it in his trembling fingers, the dagger seemed ridiculously small. He doubted he would have a chance in a physical altercation with the creature. He could move quickly, but maulers were much faster. They had a tendency to sneak up on the victim and make the fatal blow when they were right on top of them. Getting scratched or bitten wasn't a risk he wanted to take. One knick was all it took to spread the Mauler plague. The only option left to him was to disappear.

Slowly he inched back into the shadows, still gripping the dagger. If he were to survive a direct confrontation with the creature, then he would have to hope he could get the creature to sneak up on him. He closed his eyes and forced the tension out of his body. I'm not here. Not really. I am made of air. I am made of nothing. I cannot be seen. He repeated this mantra, thinking of nothing else. Not more than a few feet away the Mauler craned her head about, standing in the spot where Vanus had been just seconds ago. The pail lay forgotten in a water puddle, empty.

The mauler lifted her broad head into the air. Her nose twitched inquisitively. She's trying to sniff me out. Van's heart sped up. He couldn't panic. To stay invisible was to stay empty, like the mauler's pail. The creature was close enough he could smell the reek of sewage on raw meat wafting off her body. The stench made his stomach clench.

The mauler suddenly let out a howl of rage, kicking the bucket with a clawed foot. The bucket flew through the air before slamming into the side of the building with a metallic clatter. “Where are you?” she howled. “I know you’re there!”

I’m not here, he thought. I am made of air. I am made of nothing…

Suddenly the creature whirled around to face him. She stared directly at him, her foul breath hot against his flesh. Slowly she reached up with a paw, reaching, reaching, reaching. Van raised his dagger above his head, ready to leap out of the shadows and strike.

And her claw passed right through him.

She let out a frustrated hiss, then backed away.

He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to be back in the orphanage, huddled beneath the thin cloth of his blankets. He thought fleetingly of the harmonica Jill had gotten him for his birthday.

The mauler was gone at last.

He sprinted from the shadows of the alleyway, kicking up water, and did not stop until he reached the orphanage. Once inside he had no trouble sneaking back into his room. He knew every nook and cranny of the building as if the walls itself were an extension of himself. He shrugged out of his wet clothes and huddled beneath the covers. After a moment he reached over, grabbing the harmonica Jill had given him for his birthday. Despite being from an antique store, the harmonica felt novel in his fingers, as if it had never been used.

He licked his lips, raised the harmonica to his mouth, and then blew into the hole.