Diamond Eyes - 9. Chapter 9

Twenty years in the lifetime of a daemon is like comparing a drop of water to an ocean. Decades passed ina the blink of an eye. Twenty years spent in a box, bones being crushed to sand repeatedly, reintegrated, and then crushed again had only been a humiliation; but to have everything else change so suddenly, so wrongly was more than Bazzelthorpe could bear.

“I am sorry, dove,” the daemon said to Vanessa’s tombstone. His hands clenched into fists. “I promise you I will find Henry and kill him.”

The disorientation that had plagued him from the very moment he’d been freed from the malum followed him back to Kaufman Manor. He found the orphan girl and the fat man sitting in the kitchen, chatting. When he entered the room, the girl lifted her head and smiled sweetly at him. “Hello,” she chirped.

Bazzelthorpe scowled in disgust. Her presence was an affront to the Kaufman household. How is it I’ve been put in the charge of protecting a greasy-haired orphan? Is this how I am to be punished for my failure? “Where is the boy?” he demanded.

“Vanus said he was going to Lord Charlie’s old office,” the fat man said. “I don’t know what on earth he’ll find of interest in there, but who am I to comment on such matters. Kaufman Manor is now his and he can do what he wants with it.” The fat man looked at the daemon shrewdly. “You should call him by his name, y’know? It’s not polite to call him ‘boy’ or ‘orphan’. He is your patriarch.”

“I gave him my fealty and I will honor it,” the daemon said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Bazzelthorpe indeed found the orphan in Lord Charlie’s office. He had the ring of house keys and was testing them to see which would unlock the drawer of Charlie’s desk. The daemon snorted in outrage. “What do you think you’re doing, going through his things? You don’t have the right!”

“I do have the right,” the orphan said without looking up; he stuck a key in the keyhole. When it didn’t work, he went to the next one. “He’s dead and this is my house now.”

“What do you hope to find? Can you even read?”

“Yes, I can read quite well. You’d be surprised at the number of things I can do. According to Mr. Fritz, Charlie’s death was a suicide. You said he wasn’t the type to do so. Everyone says he was a powerful magician and an influential member of the Imperium, yes?”

The daemon nodded.

“Which would leave me to believe he followed the traditions of the Imperium. I doubt suicide is one of those traditions. Secondly, Henry trapped you in the malum. Why?”

Bazzelthorpe ground his teeth together. “To get me out of the way of course.”

“To stop you from doing what?”

“He wanted me out of the way so he could terrorize Vanessa.”

“Why?”

“He lusted after his own sister.”

Something seemed to dawn on the orphan. “Where was Charlie during this time?”

“Charlie had to go off on an important assignment in Chuleil. I warned him he shouldn’t go, that if he did, he would try to hurt Vanessa. And he didn’t listen, and now look at the mess we’re in!”

There came a click from the desk. The orphan smiled, satisfied. That smile vanished immediately when it turned out the drawer was empty. He slammed the palms of his hands against the top of the desk. “Nothing!” he shouted.

“What were you hoping to find?” the daemon demanded.

“I don’t know! Something, anything that would explain what in the Infernal Depths is going on!” The orphan paced around, fuming. “I wish I’d never come here…I knew it was all too good to be true.” He stalked determinedly out of the room without a word to Bazzelthorpe. The daemon followed him into the dining room where they found Mr. Fritz and the orphan girl still sitting.

“There’s nothing in there!” Vanus said.

“Why would there be?” said Mr. Fritz. “The Imperium took everything after Lord Charlie’s death.”

“Why?”

“In case there was important Imperium information.”

Vanus scoffed. “Of course, it was. So, where can I find this information?”

"I'm afraid you would have to go through proper Imperium Channels. It's a process. You would have to begin by gaining an audience with the High Priestess, and she is a very busy woman."

"Then that will be your next task," Vanus said. "Begin the process. In the meantime, I am going into the city. I need some air." He went to Jill. "Will you be alright? I won't be gone long. I just need a moment to clear my head."

"I'll be fine." The shakiness in her voice meant she was afraid. Bazzelthorpe chuckled to himself. Poor delicate orphan girl. The little lord at least has some steel in his blood.

The orphan left right afterwards. Bazzelthorpe waited a minute and then followed. The orphan walked as if to pass the statue and then stopped long enough to give it a puzzled glance. He studied the staff in his hands, looked at the statue of Azrael once more, then moved on past the wrought iron gate. Bazzelthorpe told himself he was only eager to see how the city had changed in his absence if it all, but if he was truly honest with himself, he wanted to see what the little orphan was up to…

What? Where in the blazes did, he go?

The lord was no longer in sight. He had only been there just a second ago, walking along the road that led into the city. The daemon swung his head this way and that, searching. He reached for his sword, ready to pull it free should danger suddenly present itself.

“Looking for me?”

In a series of fluid motions, Bazzelthorpe whirled around, pulling the sword from his scabbard. The orphan merely stood his ground, eyes glowing. Perhaps he looked amused.

“It’s not wise to sneak up on a daemon,” Bazzelthorpe said.

The magician lifted his head, a gesture that made Bazzelthorpe think quite suddenly of Lord Charlie. “But it’s perfectly fine for you to follow me?”

“I can stay out of sight if you would prefer.”

Vanus passed the demon, continuing in the direction of the city. “I would prefer it if you didn’t follow me at all. I told you already, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“You need me to watch your back,” the daemon persisted. “The Imperium is not a game, orphan. This is nothing like the filthy alleyways you grew up in.”

“You know nothing about where I grew up, daemon, so don’t even presume to know! Surely one day isn’t so different from another: either you eat or get eaten.”

Bazzelthorpe had no comment. Perhaps he isn’t as brainless as I thought. “Where do you intend to go?”

“I want to find information,” the orphan said. “I am not intent on waiting for Mr. Fritz to go ‘through the proper’ channels. Even if I’m not able to get any further on my own, I can learn more about the Imperium as I go along.”

A strong gust of wind blew the lord’s hair back from his face. A strong wave of dizziness hit Bazzelthorpe as the boy’s scent reached his nose. His nostrils flared. The smell was overwhelmingly…familiar. It reminded him of the days when Vanessa had been a small girl, running through the fields on brighter days…

“Are you alright?”

The orphan’s voice pulled the daemon back to the present. “Apart from the annoying pitch of your voice, I am perfectly fine.”

The orphan rolled his eyes before facing north. “I won’t ask again.”

Bazzelthorpe started to say something back, then stopped feeling guilty. He swatted the feeling aside. “It’s just my allergies. I have been a box for twenty years, y’know?”

Bazzelthorpe soon discovered the city of Vaylin was not the same as he remembered it. Nothing was the same as he remembered it. The city's spires towered threateningly over him, casting him in their shadow. The sky seemed to press down on him, making him feel infinitesimal. "I need…to…stop." He managed to plunk down on the edge of a park bench. To his surprise the orphan settled next to him without comment.

“You must find this all rather amusing, don’t you?” Bazzelthorpe accused suspiciously. “A daemon with agoraphobia.”

“Do you see me laughing?” The little lord was not laughing. “I understand in a way.”

“What is it you think you understand?”

The orphan was silent. The daemon found himself waiting for the lord to reply. The wind blew around them. People walked through the park, along the neatly maintained paths, paying no heed to their existence. When he spoke, the orphan sounded distant. He stared at something, or perhaps someone only he himself could see.

“My box, admittedly, was very different from yours. It was filthy, and it stank of cabbage. People came in and out of it all the time: children mostly. And you never knew whether or not they were going to stay. Many of them ran away right afterwards and were never seen again or were dragged back by Theocracy patrolmen. They would run away again and again until they gave up, like birds with a broken wing; only their wing never got mended. It was the same with staff: teachers, the bleeding-hearts who thought they could change the world one lonely orphan at a time, only to discover the task wasn’t as initially as easy as they thought it to be. People are not like plants. You can’t just rip them up from the ground, plop them down in a new hole, and expect them to grow the same way. No, if you do that to a person and they grow wrong, they keep growing that way. People are more like bones. You break it, sure it will heal back, but it won’t ever be the same again.”

Bazzelthorpe found himself listening with rapt attention. He’d forgotten where he was, when he was, even why he was so angry. Go on. Tell me more. Don’t stop.

The orphan cleared his throat. “In the early days I wasn’t always so jaded. Every time someone new came in I became excited. Hopeful, even. Each new face came with the hope, maybe even the expectation, that this person would somehow change things for the better. They would keep the promises they’d made; they would stay, they wouldn’t leave. They would tell you you are special and actually mean it. They would give you more than just empty words and promises they would never fulfill. So, I gave up, took matters into my own hands. I would not just wither and give up as I’ve seen so many orphans do. Then Mr. Fritz came along and flipped everything on its head: everything I’ve come to know about my life, about myself and who I am, and he made false promises. And like the biggest sucker I believed I was safe, that at last, I could claim all that was denied to me. But I can’t escape the notion all of this is just a box. A box within a box within a box. And when you think about it all boxes, no matter how different they may seem, all serve the same purpose: to keep things trapped inside.”

Vanus turned to look at the daemon. “Do you feel better now?”

Bazzelthorpe leaned back against the bench. He inhaled deeply. “I think so.”

“Slowly crane your head back,” the orphan instructed in an oddly patient voice. “Make sure. Does the sky still feel like it’s pressing down on you?”

Bazzelthorpe found himself following his advice. He craned his head back until all he could see was the mass of gray clouds above him. After twenty years of being stuffed in a place that was dark and without warmth or distraction, he’d forgotten how beautiful the sky could look. How big it was. How if he simply let himself, he could get lost in it. He took a deep breath and felt something within himself expand and then relax, the release of tension that he’d carried with him ever since Henry had trapped him inside the malum. “I feel…better.”

Vanus nodded approvingly. “Good. Let’s go.”

Before he realized he meant to do it, Bazzelthorpe seized his arm. He felt the orphan tense up and softened his grip. How small he was, and delicate. I could break him. All it would take is a squeeze of my hand. The thought presented itself in a flash, and then dissipated just as quickly. It was not anger he felt in the moment, or resentment. He didn’t know what he felt. Soft was the only word he could think of. “As long as I am around you need not fear, orphan,” he said. “I will do everything in my power to protect you and all that is yours. That includes the orphan girl, even if I do find her presence loathsome. I gave you my fealty and I meant it. Do y’understand?”

The orphan glared up at him. In the same moment that he’d opened up and revealed himself to be vulnerable, in the same instance his walls came up. The daemon had a sense of impenetrable walls sliding into place, blocking him from further access. The boy slid his arm from Bazzelthorpe’s grip.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, daemon.”