Recherche: Path to Perdition

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Recherché Chapter Eight

For the workmen … this was an experience.  

Sure, they’d seen rich folk up close before and they knew the rules; bow politely, never initiate conversation and avoid direct eye contact if addressed.  But this man made forgetting the rules easy.  Tall, dark, powerfully built, he was nothing like the local landowners they were accustomed to.  His carriage regal, and yet his stride, like that of a rouster employed down at the docks.  Most of the monied would pinch their noses as they passed by them, but this man’s smile was so warm and friendly, it was as if he didn’t mind breathing in the same air they did. He was kindly affectioned to them, though it was clear to everyone present, the household servants greatly feared him.

It was a puzzlement.

Ah, but what stories they’d whisper round humble hearths or shout across roughhewn tables inside the taverns tonight

For Maito … this was torture.

These men of simple minds and strong backs, the sweat stained clothing which adhered to their chunky physiques; their easy, unrefined laughter and grunts of exertion ... these awakened in him an appentence forbidden. Commingled musky scents trapped inside the foyer and funneled down the corridor, made him sick to his stomach; bitter reminders were they of what soon would be denied him.   The smile he wore hid the ravening beast within and concealed the panic ripping  at his innards.  He walked among them as a peckish man in a well-stocked market; mightily anhungered, without the means to purchase or the craftiness to steal that which he craved.  But the yearnings of his belly must needs wait, for something more terrifying than cupidity lay ahead.

 For the first time in years … he was afeard.

You see, when summoned to the manor in times past, ere the full moon rose, he’d stride through the maze of underground tunnels leading to the master's chambers; there would he give his report and there would his collar of subjugation clatter to the ground. It was his reward for a job well done.  Acting as the eyes, ears and strong arm of his master, his recompense was more precious than refined gold.

Liberty.

A reprieve from this clunky suit of flesh, freedom to revel and indulge in his nature most primal.  For three wondrous nights each month, he’d choreograph a hellish band of minions through the sacred hunting and mating rituals of his people.  Imbued with a portion of the Master’s authority, he orchestrated the voices of a lupine choir, leading them in songs of worship and praise to the Lord of the Lycanthropes.

Seventy-two hours of surfeit,

feasting on the flesh and the fat, drinking deeply from the fountains of blood spurting from his prey; their terrified screams ringing down in his ears.  With the coming of the dawn, he’d stand majestic - glistening dew, fragments of bone and splatters of blood clinging to his fur, he’d make his bed in the soft moss of a forest cave as the sun rose; his belly full ... his body satisfied.

Alas, it would not be so this time.

Called inside the manor proper, while the sun ruled the heavens, recompense would surely come; punishment - swift and severe, that was his due

for now, was the Master at his vengeful best ... ‘twas true.

For his error, a hue and cry for justice now sounded throughout the town; the citizenry in an uproar, the constables in stymied readiness,

for a mad dog killer they must needs bring down.  

Alas and alack, poor Maito … from his fate was no escape.

  Recherché

As he turned the corner, he couldn’t help wondering,

Where did I go wrong?

When his eyes fell upon her as the ship pulled into port weeks earlier, he knew she was the one.  Though scores of people thronged around her, their eyes searching the assembled crowd for a familiar face, their arms raised, waving as they caught sight of friends or family members, his target stood alone.  Enveloped in a bubble of melancholy, her eyes were downcast.  Her manner of dress, simple and proper for a young lady her age; her long flowing ebony hair, free of ostentatious adornment, billowed in the breezes.

These, he assumed were signs she’d left behind any and all familial attachments.

Of course he’d seen the rows of elegant carriages lined up at the port’s entrance – it was impossible to miss them, yet he presumed they waited for someone other than her.    He left the port long before his target disembarked, confident that he’d found a prize for the Master to claim.  In the following days, he hounded her steps, taking careful note of where she lived and the company she kept.

Her residence - the nurses’ dormitory; her daily frocks bespoke her status as they were the standard issue of medics working to receive certification.  She had no close friends to speak of and rarely socialized with her peers outside the hospital.  At ease among the downtrodden, the aged and the ill . . . no hint of haughtiness or high bred mannerisms had she.  Nothing about her life indicated she had a family, especially an influential and politically connected one – one which had an adversarial relationship with the ruling family of the territory as well as their peers.

And now, he thought, what defense have I, the basest of creatures against an omnipotent being?  What words can I draw from a limited human vocabulary to express my regret and buffets me about the head and shoulders with an overwhelming sense of shame?

Standing in a wedge of yellow sunshine stretching under the drawing room doors, Maito leaned forward, breathing in the fused scents springing from the enormous salon. There was a hint of fresh ink from a newly filled pot . . . the fragrance of warm spiced tea and the crisply pungent aroma of pine sap from the logs stacked by the fireplace that would crackle and pop inside the hearth later this evening.  And then …  of course, there was the distinctively masculine and unappetizing scent of that house servant - Kinoe.

That blasted cockalorum, he groused as the inviting light warmed the tips of his shoes.  Like the other puny humans before him, Kinoe was overcome by the Master’s odylic force; spellbound by his mystique and unearthly power.  He lapped up the abuse like a sponge even as he hungered for scraps of the Master’s power.  But unlike those others, this one was shrewd ... possessed of great intellect, with a head for business and a tongue sharpened by deceit and flattery; it was to him their lord turned over control of the estate’s everyday affairs. His latest project - oversight of renovations to the manor, that would serve as their base of operation.  Later, it would become the home where Master and his bride would spend eternity.

Like it did with the others, the morsel of authority granted Kinoe pushed him into fostering a desire and chasing a dream that one day, he alone would stand at the Master’s right hand ... the heel of his boot crushing Maito’s head into the dust.

But Kinoe was an arrogant fool, much like the others before him -

the Master knew his heart.

In exchange for his soul, was he cursed to an eternity of brutal servitude; his sustenance, vermin, arthropods, reptiles and amphibians.

For all his intelligence and savvy, Maito thought, he never understood the bond betwixt myself and the Master; a sacred covenant, a claim against and a seal engraved on my soul which forever secures my position.  But the loss of esteem in the eyes of his lord was too heavy a burden to carry.  Master never forgot a wrong committed and never forgave those who disappointed him.  

The thought of banishment left a taste in his mouth bitter as wormwood and as potent as gall.  

The cold fingers of fear clawed at his mind; snippets life outside the reach of the Master’s beck and call ...

Separated from the one who gave him liberty and life,

a shriveled, tangled mass he’d be inside,

always hungering and never satisfied.  

As he leaned closer to the door, he couldn't sense an iota of his lord’s powerful aura nor was there any trace of the Master’s uniquely enchanting scent inside the room.  A disappointment, for his lord smelled as one who bathed in the moon’s glow . . .  as one who wrapped himself in the night mist like a regal robe.  His scent, refreshing like the forest loam on a humid night and underneath it all,  faint traces of copper, iron and phosphorous … the blood of his prey

But my lord is a powerful being, able to conceal his presence and even his scent if he wishes. Come now, quit yourself and prepare for his wrath.  But wait, the windows have been flung open, he absently thought as mild breezes licked at the hems of his pant legs.  And the drapes, they’ve been pushed back, giving access to the heat of the day. Master would never put himself in jeopardy just to punish me.  

So, it is Kinoe alone I must face.

Nervous fingers comb through his hair and sweaty palms brush along the front of his jacket.  I cannot kill him, though I long for his demise.  Another deep breath and he closed his eyes.

Silver door handles, cool under his palms, were to him a lifeline as he stood there, mustering his courage and dampening his temper. He felt himself cringe at the sounds of rustling paper and the scratch of a pen’s nib moving briskly across the lines of a ledger book; swallowing down a curse, he grit his teeth when the strident voice beyond the closed doors sang out;

“Do come in, Maito.”

No sooner than he’d pushed open the doors, intense light lunged at him from behind heavy burgundy brocade drapes; dust motes and dog hair pirouette in the sunbeams.

“I’ll thank you to close those doors quickly, the noise of the workmen has been driving me to distraction all morning,” said the pompous man seated at the desk to his right.

Maito did as instructed out of respect for the home of his lord, completely ignoring the other man as he stood stock still near the entryway of the salon. Pointedly turning his body away, his eyes wistfully take in his favorite part of the room. Far to his left, stood a marble front fireplace and slightly away from its hearth sat two high backed leather chairs; their brass brads no longer shone, having spent years being discolored by the soot from the fireplace.   A round table of mahogany topped with the finest slate stood between the chairs; a crystal decanter and two snifters, rest on its surface.  On either side of the fireplace, floor to ceiling shelves housed a portion of the elder Hatake’s most beloved books.

Long forgotten memories spark a tiny, sad smile.

Of all the rooms in the manor, this was one of the few that remained just as Hatake Sakumo left it.

Having spent the majority of his life living abroad, it reflected a European sensibility that resonated with Lord Sakumo’s soul.  And if he closed his eyes . . .  just for a moment, he could still smell the special blend of pipe tobaccos Sakumo-dono favored … he could still hear his voice, could feel his power, pressed down and encapsulated within these four walls.

He and his father before him frequently shared this space with the heads of the household; Maito sitting at the feet of the Master’s son, while his father sat on the floor beside the late, great Hatake Sakumo.  Since their return from England, it was here on cool nights he and the current Master sat side by side in those old chairs, sipping cognac . . . watching the fire crackle in silence.

What a lumbering, bumptious oaf, Kinoe thought as he watched the other man stride off in the opposite direction.

“Now pay attention, you hairy goon… I’ll try to make this simple enough for even you to understand,” he said. “Umino and his companions have arrived in the territory; I’ve already informed the Master.”

Maito turned and was standing in front of the other man before he could take in another breath; his fangs bared and his paw full of the soft material of Kinoe’s shirt as he lifted him up and away from his seat.

“What else did you tell him?”

Kinoe stared the partially transformed beast in his glowing yellow eyes, his voice never once giving any indication of the fear his shaking limbs were only too happy to show.

“Release me, unwashed philistine! Our lord is already aware of your ineptitude.”  

As Maito’s grip tightened and his claws dug into the yielding flesh of his chest, Kinoe wrapped his hands around the massive paw holding him aloft.  “Hatake-dono wants you to keep an eye on Umino,” he gasped.  “He expects a report on where he’s staying and to whom he’s spoken with as soon as we return from the wake tonight.”

At the mention of the Master’s name, his natural form retreated under the surface of the human skin.  Cautiously, he released the other man with a slight backward push.  “So, he’s tracked us here at last . . .  persistent little shit, isn’t he?”

When he rounded the corner of the desk, he saw Kinoe struggling to regain his balance and it cheered him.  Now standing halfway between the desk and the salon doors, he said, “I’d rather snap Umino's neck and be done with it--”

“Ah, but then, our lord will surely banish you from his presence for tampering with another one of his prey. Much as I’d like to see you permanently removed, Maito, I’m sure even you aren’t that stupid.”

His mind, still fogged with rage urged him forward as the other man’s words harnessed the wrath rising within him; when he turned about, Kinoe had retaken his seat with a smirk on his face and a silver dagger lying beside his hand.

 “What of the others?” he growled.

“Master’s interest is only with Umino, so I’m at liberty to kill and eat the rest . . .  right?”

 

Note:

Cockalorum: a self important little man.