Chapter 11 - I Believe I Know

  Corvus lifts a hand to single a server. The attendant rushes over, bowing. “Yes, Lord Corvus?” The crow pulls out a simple card and hands it to the attendant who scampers away. A moment later, a small cask is wheeled out to him on a dolly. “As you’ve ordered, Lord Corvus.” The attendant says, bowing again before retreating to his post.

  Corvus stands and nods his thanks, then effortlessly lifts the cask from the dolly and places it atop a low table next to his seat. The table groans, but holds, its sturdy construction protesting the weight suddenly planted atop it. The Carrion Lord settles once more into the plush wing-backed chair and plucks a tumbler from a row of glasses stored on the other side. He twists the valve on the cask’s tap and watches as a trickle of amber liquid slowly fills the bottom of the glass.

  He swirls the liquid, watching how the light plays off its shimmering surface. “Today is a day for celebration.” He says to the empty air before lifting the glass as if in toast. He sips the drink and makes a contented sound as the burning alcohol runs down his throat. He gazes around his private lounge, eyes lingering on a few portraits adorning the few open wall segments between the bookcases and display shelves. Each is a masterfully wrought painting of one of his charges who beat the odds. Each one proved their strength and rose to prominence in Hell’s myriad civilizations.

  “Your newest sibling may have found his spark. I only hope it will burn in him, and not just burn through him.” Corvus says to the paintings. He empties the rest of the glass and starts to refill it. But before he can finish pouring another for himself, the attendant approaches again.

  “My Lord, you have a guest awaiting your attention.” The attendant says, while bowing low again.

  “Who?” Corvus asks, looking at the attendant from the corner of his eye.

  The attendant doesn’t rise. “A Soul claiming the Title of ‘The sensation of freefall just before reaching terminal velocity’. Per their own word.”

  Corvus arches a brow and closes the valve on the cask. He sets his drink down on the stand next to it before lifting the cask and returning it to the dolly. “I will meet with this person, but return the cask to my personal storeroom first.” He says and the attendant hurries to comply.

  Moments later, the attendant returns and ushers the visitor into the room. A man steps in wearing an elegant robe, though ‘steps’ is inaccurate. He doesn’t walk, but rather seems to gradually fall forwards in the direction he wants to go. As he moves, his long blond hair billows behind him in a wind only it responds to. “Corvus, thankyou for seeing me.” The man says, stopping a few feet from Corvus’s chair.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Corvus gestures to the twin of the seat and nods. “Thomas, it has been quite some time. You have quite the conspicuous Title as well. A conceptual Title. Those are rare indeed.” He says, real intrigue coloring his tone.

  The man beams. “Do you know how many peaks I had to fall from before it started to form?” Thomas says and settles into the seat opposite Corvus. “Of course just jumping from tall things wouldn’t cut it. It had to be Falling. Craziest thing.”

  Corvus listens with a gentle smile. “Yes, Titles are rarely straight-forward in their creation or application. Congratulations are in order.” He says, reaching to shake Thomas’s hand. The man grasps it and gives a firm shake. “But I doubt you’re here simply to show off your new Title.” Corvus says, turning to business.

  Thomas’s exuberance fades slightly and he allows the effect of his Title to withdraw, his hair drooping to hang more naturally about his shoulders. “You’re right. I came on behalf of an employer I have a Deal-bond contract with. He sent me because he knows you enjoy seeing the souls you’ve aided, and because my recently acquired title lets me get access to this place.” He says, gesturing around. “The ivory-tower of Hell. No Title, No Entry.” He chuckles.

  Corvus nods along, then makes a rolling motion with his hand for Thomas to continue. “Right. My employer wishes to remain unnamed where you are concerned, but wants me to convey a message to you. He says that he is aware that one of your splinters has managed to breach its post at the Nexus, and that it is on the move. He instructed me to relay an offer. Should you wish to do business, your splinter should seek him out within his territory. The location of which is adjacent to the Abyssal Grotto and the territory of Last To Burn.” Having finished the delivery of the message, Thomas falls quiet again.

  Corvus sits with a pensive look on his expression. “I believe I know who your employer is. And he’s correct to not wish his name to be spoken. Should my splinter arrive near his territory, we shall see what business may be conducted. Please convey that to your employer, as well as this. The splinter is bound by a Deal, and must travel with the person it is bound to. Should that individual’s progress be hampered by your employer,” Corvus leans forward in his seat, “there will be ramifications.”

  Thomas swallows, unnerved by the sudden threat. “I’ll ah… I’ll ensure my employer gets your message.” The man says, doing his best to not stammer.

  Corvus nods and relaxes back against the chair. “Good.” He motions for the attendant. “See our guest out to the common lobby, and give him two bottles of the Ashbow vintage, one for himself, one for his employer.” Corvus says, clearly signalling an end to the meeting.

  Thomas rises and follows the attendant, walking this time, unwilling to rekindle his Title’s ability after the tension of the prior moment. Corvus watches him go, and when the man is out of view, Corvus lets out a heavy sigh. “Gravitas already took interest, the boy sets his own sights on The Glut, and now this. Guiding this boy might just be the death of me.”