The three Unquenched Merris had in his employ were Lauris, his right hand and maid; Thaeldris, the destructor and his protector; and Varnil, the secret.
Varnil rarely allowed Merris to mend it or prevent it from decomposing. It was an independent creature. However, its loyalty to Merris was unquestionable. It was an androgynous thing, sometimes appearing more male, sometimes female. It was lovely, thin, and lithe. It referred to itself sometimes as "he," other times as "she." Varnil, unlike other Unquenched, was not raised from the dead by the necromancers of Nehmain. It was a creature Merris created from scratch. Varnil was created after Merris' masterpiece went awry. He made the previous version of Varnil too willful, too independent. That creature struck out into the world, and Varnil was the replacement. This time, the mistakes he made with his previous creation were perfected. Varnil would never take too many liberties or overstep itself.
It crawled on long, elegant limbs instead of walking. It was never seen during the day. It was a whisper, a secret-keeper. It spoke in the voices of the moth and scuttled through the night, collecting rumors and gossip in its hand like rainwater.
Varnil was a great help to Merris, since he found it very, very difficult to enter the world of people. Merris had crippling social anxiety and found the streets too unclean, too unpredictable and loud to travel. He made efforts to leave his manor – tea with Lillandyr, for instance. However, even that at times was very difficult. But Merris kept his fingers on the pulse with who was marrying whom, and which noble houses were feuding with one another. He felt it necessary to stay in the loop.
Varnil knew what Merris found important. He came like a spirit in the mornings to report his findings from the night before. Sometimes there was nothing to tell, and he never came at all. Other times, he came to report a great many things. Varnil knew that Merris particularly enjoyed anything to do with the Flesh Quarter and Shadowglade.
He had been eager to hear from Varnil. He sent his gift, the carousel made from Belindra's bones, to Lady Lillandyr Shadowglade and heard nothing in reply. Perhaps she didn't receive it and it was stolen from her front step. Perhaps she didn't even bother to open it, since she received many gifts from suitors, and it was just tossed aside and forgotten. Maybe it was flawed. It misfired and didn't work, didn't have the effect that he desired.
He had also never heard from Lady Shadowglade regarding his request for the Idol of Turtih. No notes asking for his company for afternoon tea. Nothing. Not even a letter with an update. He had only heard silence from her. Perhaps it was a sign that she did receive his gift and found it insulting, and was calling off her deal to fetch him the idol. That was greatly disappointing, and the opposite outcome from the one he wanted.
He was feeling depressed, heavy-hearted. Discouraged. He almost wanted to descend into his temple of Venorith to cancel his request to be the man chosen for Lillandyr to lay with for the Feast of Saint Baellith. He was a failure and a fool. Why had he even tried? Lillandyr had perhaps been clever enough to see through his game and now no longer wanted anything to do with him. He wondered why he had even bothered.
Lauris had brought him his usual breakfast. She stood rigidly in silence, her hands knotted behind her back, dressed in her impeccably clean black and white maid's outfit. She was awaiting any orders, any request he may give. Merris sat at the end of the bed with his soft, feathered black hair rumpled from sleep and his silver breakfast tray lying precariously in his lap.
The oatmeal steamed, uneaten. He didn't bother mixing the sugar with the hot black tea. The fruit was colorful, soft, and juicy, but untouched. He couldn't even muster the desire to eat his side of raw carrots that he usually so enjoyed.
He felt listless. He didn't want to rise, bathe, and dress himself. What was the point? He couldn't have his idol, and Lillandyr wanted nothing to do with him. Lauris remained quiet, standing near the door. Her eyes searched him, respectful and curious. She teetered on her sharp, black heels uncomfortably. Something was wrong with her master, she could tell. He wasn't acting like his usual self. But she didn't dare ask.
Then there was a soft, gentle knock on the bedroom door. Lauris waited for Merris to give a reply before she answered for him.
"Come," Merris called out, picking up a carrot and examining it as if it were an odd creature instead of food.
Lauris turned and eagerly pulled the door open.
Varnil looked up at Lauris from the shadow of his hood.
"Master..." said the searching, whispered voice of the creature.
Lauris stepped aside to allow the crouching, longed-limbed thing inside. It moved like a spider. Its wine-colored leathers creaked along its joints. Its blood red, tattered cloak draped behind it like a tail. Limp hair hung down from its narrow, hidden face. All that could be seen was a long chin and the bottom of a sharp nose.
Merris waved Lauris away to hear what news Varnil brought. His servant swiftly left and closed the door behind her. Varnil smiled and circled a small pink tongue around his lips. He waited before speaking again.
"What news have you brought?" Merris asked as he snapped loudly into a carrot. His dark eyes glittered with interest, yet he didn't want to anticipate too much, only to have his hopes dashed. He crossed his legs at the knee and set his breakfast tray aside. "Have you heard from Shadowglade? Did she receive my gift?"
"I've not word on that, Master," Varnil replied in a hushed tone, its head bowed low. Shadows masked its face.
Merris frowned. Disappointment creased his black brows.
"But this is just as interesting, if not more so, my Master. I knew you should be the first to know. The first to take if it pleases you. Something of value. She was cast away. A Muse of Eryss. She wanders the streets like a beggar. Maestro Mulecio threw her from his home in disgrace."
"A Muse of Eryss wanders the streets?" he echoed as he munched into another carrot with interest. The gossip completely distracted him from his morose mood. He was indeed happy to hear about this. He rolled it over in his thoughts. The possibilities, the use of the girl. Maestro Mulecio? Yes, the name was known to him, as well as the face of the Muse in question. A wan, small, skinny, pale girl with hair like moonlight and silver, sad eyes. It was hard to forget. He thought she was lovely.
If he had a Muse for himself, he could create his art without thoughts of Shadowglade plaguing him. He could continue onward with his quests for the artifacts that he needed to one day bring him his death without getting too discouraged. He wouldn't be his own worst enemy. He would have inspiration in his heart and a clear mind with deliberate direction and purpose. Nothing could stop him. Nothing would come between him and what he wanted. Maybe it would even win him the heart of Shadowglade if he created something truly beautiful and magnificent. The Muse could even inspire him to make his house more gold. More influence. More power in the city. The world would unfold before him. Yes, the more he thought about it, the more he needed this Muse.
One man's trash was another man's treasure. This couldn't wait. He needed to bathe and dress and find this girl. He needed her to be his before someone else discovered who and what she was.
He didn't allow the fear of the outside world to hinder him. He felt energized, renewed, excited. He hollered for Lauris to return and draw him a bath and lay out his clothes. He was going out, and he wanted to look immaculate.
"You will be rewarded for this, Varnil. This is exactly the sort of thing I want to know," he said as he gently patted the creature on its hood.
"I am pleased and humbled, my Master. I found her wandering the streets in the Flesh Quarter," Varnil rasped, bowing his head modestly. The creature had a sullen, mysterious smile on its narrow face.
"Lauris, be sure to have my carriage ready. We are going out. Have a change of clothes for the girl, in case she needs them. We will bathe her, feed her, invite her into the family and welcome her as one of us," he explained, listing the items one by one.
Varnil scurried out of the room as preparations were made. Lauris dutifully saw that he was bathed and his beard trimmed. He finished his breakfast enthusiastically. His teeth were brushed and his hair combed and bound behind him.
He put on a clean, double-breasted black suit with a draping, heavy cape. He pulled on a pair of shining black shoes, polished into reflective mirrors. Merris' heavy, gaudy moth ring rested over his gloves. Moth cufflinks clasped his cuffs closed. He looked dapper, regal, and very, very wealthy. He was a reflection of everything noble and high class. Yet a flutter of apprehension flickered in his stomach. He did not like going out into the hazy, polluted city full of commerce, people, and dirt. It frightened him a little, intimidated him. He wished that he never had to leave his manor.
But this was too important, too exciting to allow it to pass him by. He ordered Lauris to change into a respectable gown fit for a noblewoman escort. She dressed in velvet and black lace, reds and embroidered golds. Her gown was heavy and bulky enough that she needed to lift it to walk.
Another one of his undead servants manned the carriage. He was dressed rakishly in a tailcoat and top hat that hid his waxy, bluish face. Two black stallions pulled the carriage. They clopped down the winding passageway out of the twisted, dead gardens of his manor and into the city. The iron gates creaked open automatically as they passed.
It took him all afternoon. He stopped every few blocks to wander the streets by foot. Gawkers and beggars pleaded and stared. He never dropped a coin into a single bucket or bowl. He kicked away hands that came dangerously too close. He couldn't bare being pawed at or touched. When the smell of garbage and waste became too disgusting, too overpowering, he clutched his handkerchief over his mouth to keep from getting sick. Still, he needed to trek onward to find who he was looking for, even if the journey was unbearable at times.
Lauris and his coachman kept silent and lingered in the background, watching for his safety.
Whores catcalled to him from doorways and windows. Here was a man with a lot of gold; his patronage was most desirable. Some even recognized him as the lord of the House Osterious. He was prestigious, and stuck out of the crowd like a sore thumb. He was a shining black diamond amid the mud and slime. He was not here for them; he was here for a tiny beggar girl, a little dove. He asked several transient people if they had seen her. They told him no. Then he finally broke down and offered a handful of gold.
Their eyes lit up, and suddenly their tongues became looser. Yes, they had seen her. They pointed down the dark, dreary alley littered with reflective stagnant puddles and paved in rat feces and urine. Merris politely thanked them and dropped the coins onto the ground, so as to avoid any physical contact.
He left Lauris and the coach behind as he traveled down the dirt alleyway. The afternoon sun was waning. Yellow light bleached the clay and stucco walls of the ghetto to a sick golden color. He scanned the area. A stray dog barked, echoing off the walls. A second dog in the distance replied and howled. Then it was silent and deserted, except for the muffle of rats and mutterings of conversation inside the cramped, stacked apartment buildings. Failure, he sighed. Finding a single beggar tramp in this place was like locating a needle in a haystack. It occurred to him that she could have moved. Maybe she went to some place more familiar, like the Artisan Quarter. Maybe she tried her luck in the Industrial Quarter. Perhaps, sadly, someone else had found her and claimed her as their Muse. He was too late.
He ought to give up and simply have Varnil find her and bring her to him instead.
In the distance, he thought he saw a pile of gray, filthy rags.
Except, the pile moved. It was not a heap of crumpled paper or discarded clothing. It was a girl with long white hair and a sad, smudged face.
Was it her? His heart lit up and he smiled. It had to be. Her milk-colored skin and moonlight eyes were unmistakable. Even under a layer of caked-on muck and half starved, he felt a light in his mind. The aura of a Muse was constant music in the soul. He didn't need to see her or speak to her to know what she was. His eyes closed and his ears shut, he still knew she was touched by the gods. He felt her presence grow stronger as his feet pulled him nearer and nearer. It was her. It was his dove, and she caused his creative mind to soar on whitewashed wings.
His perfectly clean shoes grit along the path, closing the gap between them.
Finally, she looked up at him with saucer-wide, doe eyes. Then her gaze pathetically fell. "Please..." she whispered, staring down at her distorted reflection in his shoes.
She thrust her arm up, her palms cupped into a bowl to beg.
He briskly swatted away her hand. No, no more begging. The time for that was done.
Merris smiled at the little bird, the sweet, dirty dove.