The Partisan Chronicles [Dystopia | Supernatural | Mystery]

Rhian

We made it back to Amalia in three pieces, but with business of his own to take care of elsewhere, Gus left me and Strauss at the Drop. We'd barely spoken since doing the deed in Delphia, so the carriage ride back to Oskari was not as dark, but it was still awkward. When we got back to the village, Strauss scurried off to catch up on things at the Church. I scurried off to catch up with Michael.

I found him sitting at the bar at the Widow's Peak, chatting with Ivana. Neither of them seemed thrilled.

"Is it my hair?" he asked.

"I don't care about your hair."

"Is it my irrepressible cheer?"

"I don't love it, but no."

It seemed like an interesting conversation. I hopped up on the stool next to Michael.

"Is it because I say to-mah-to instead of to-may-to? Because if it is, you can blame this one for that." Michael thumbed over in my direction.

Ivana rolled her eyes at Michael and then she smiled at me.

"Good to have you back, Rhian."

I wasn't sure it was good to be back, but it was nice of her to say.

"That's nice of you to say," I said.

It wasn't long before I was sipping from a mug of free cider.

"How was Delphia?" Michael asked.

And that's when I told Michael most things. I told him what we learned from Vincent Delestade, but I kept it simple for Ivana's sake.

The bottom line: the missing persons case in Jaska was most likely related to the missing persons case in Oskari, and there was a high likelihood the original case was never actually solved. It wasn't a lot to go on, but we did have one clue.

After she finished topping up my mug, I asked Ivana. "What do you know about an abandoned building somewhere to the north of here?"

"You're talking about the old schoolhouse?" Ivana shrugged. "I really don't know much. It hasn't been used in decades, but I think it's even older than that—some say even pre-Divide. Seems far fetched if you ask me, but what do I know? I'm not that old."

"You don't look a day over twenty," Michael said.

I'd have said thirty, but he was being generous on account of he was desperate.

Ivana carried on ignoring Michael. "Anyway, the old place has been re-purposed a few times throughout the years. I think at one point it was even a tavern—a rest-stop between Oskari and Jaska."

The whole thing seemed strange, but seeing as strange was basically normal around that time, I didn't think too hard about it. Either way, we all agreed it was a good place for keeping people, and Oskari was still missing some. It was time to investigate, so we thanked Ivana, packed some snacks, and hit the road.

For the record, Michael will eventually find out why Ivana didn't like him.

It's probably not whatever you're thinking.

We stopped by the church to invite along Strauss for our investigation into the schoolhouse-slash-tavern. He said he was busy, but I wasn't buying any of it it. I was sure he was avoiding me. Frankly, there was no other reason he'd miss out on something old and boring. But avoiding me was fair enough. I was also avoiding me at the minute, and it had been a while since I'd spent any quality time with Michael. He always helped quiet the chatter in my head. I reckon that's what we did for each other when it came down to it. Quieted the goddess-be-damned chatter.

On the way, Michael filled me in on what we missed in Oskari while we were gone. (It wasn't much.) And we spent the rest of the trip going over all the loose Delphia details.

All except for one detail, obviously.

At the tail end of our long walk, the conversation took a turn.

"You know, Rhian, our parents used to put us to bed with stories about the Vonsinfonie Brothers. They were my sister Marta's favourites."

"And these brothers ran a tavern?"

"I have no idea who ran the tavern. The Vonsinfonie Brothers were composers, though. They ran a music school for children."

"And you think this schoolhouse is that schoolhouse?"

Michael shrugged. "There aren't too many pre-Divide buildings still standing and according to the legends, the brothers had a special relationship with Amalia. Maybe She went out of her way to keep the place safe, like She did with Leberecht."

Personally, I reckoned Leberecht just got lucky—none of that divine intervention horseshite. But I wasn't about to piss all over the man's childhood dreams. The state of the old building was about to do that for me. The schoolhouse-slash-tavern was lopsided. Most of the stone bricks were in a pile on the ground and the air smelled like literal death. I took a moment to consider the building, and then Michael, and then the building again.

"Is it everything you've ever imagined?"

"Well, I imagined it would be bigger."

What was left of the door wasn't locked—surprise—and in other news, Michael might have been on to something. The walls were lined with shredded up tapestries, but you could still see some of the pictures showing distorted people doing faded musical things. If there'd been books on the shelves once, I couldn't have read them anyhow.

"This is incredible," Michael said.

"Look, I know I've never been a prize-winning student, but I'm not sure you know the definition of the word. What's incredible, Michael, is how those curtains are still standing."

The curtains were an off, purplish-grey colour. They might have been pretty once.

We weaved our way through the busted old desks, and wandered between several rows of rusted metal poking out of the floor. I reckoned they could have held books as well, but they reminded me of old music stands. I know on account of I've spent a lot of time in Delphia, the only territory in Auditoria where music wasn't outlawed.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Rhian," Michael said.

"Michael," I said.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Usually," I answered.

The stage at the back of the room hadn't collapsed yet and if there'd been any stairs, we'd have used them. But there weren't, so we climbed the stage instead. No better place for a picnic. Bread, sausage, and boiled eggs courtesy of Ivana.

We chatted casually while we ate until Michael changed the subject.

"I haven't forgotten what you learned about the case from Delestade, but are you sure that man you don't remember killing wasn't our culprit? Nothing even remotely out of the ordinary has happened in Oskari since he turned up dead."

"I've been thinking about that, and what if that's what someone wants us to think? What if the drunk man was a set-up? Suddenly we Partisans arrive, and we're on the trail, right? What if this old kidnapper-slash-killer-and-or-cannibal made nice with a scapegoat and somehow tricked him into assaulting me? I kill him, get caught, things go back to normal for a while, we leave, and he's free to start all over again."

"Okay, I see what you're saying. But let's say our culprit really is some old man—how's he luring people from the village? What's he saying to them?"

"I've no idea, Michael. This old man is clearly some sort of genius. Or he's got allies. Or both. Either way, there's something not right about any of this."

"Do you remember anything else from that night?"

"Nope."

"If you do, you know you can tell me and I won't judge, right?"

"Do you think I'm lying?"

"I don't think you're lying, Rhian, but like you said, something isn't right. If it was just you who'd lost your memory, or if it was just Finlay, I'd be comfortable chalking it up to a bump on the head. But the both of you? It's really strange."

"It sure is."

Once we were finished eating, I gathered my things and hopped off the stage. Michael needed a minute longer to strap his sword Intrepi-what-the-bloody-ever on his back.

"You know, Michael, spending all that time with Delestade did get me thinking—what if there's a Palisade defect behind this? What if it's a Delphi, running around, wiping memories and controlling minds and whatnot? They could be using an old man decoy."

I'd already started exploring the rest of the room when Michael jumped down after me.

"Yeah, okay. I'm following, but—"

A loud crack, followed by a crash and a whole lot of crumbling. When I looked over my shoulder, Michael wasn't following at all.

Turned out, he was too busy falling through the floor.

When I joined Michael through the hole in the floor, we learned two things right quick. One, the schoolhouse was once a tavern—just like Ivana had said. Two, there was a solitary man tending the bar who reckoned it still was. The poor bastard had on a nice suit and everything. There were dozens of dusty bottles scattered around crooked shelves. It was a bit sad and a lot peculiar.

"Patrons! Welcome!" he said. "Please, have a seat."

Only, there wasn't actually anywhere to sit. The tavern was full up on patrons that day. Dead ones. Polished bones, sitting around the tables with their fancy clothes, and candles, and whatnot. Look, life got creepy fast and that's just the way of things.

Michael curled his fingers around the hilt of Intrepi-what-the-bloody-ever. "I don't see an immediate reason for violence—"

I saw about a dozen reasons.

"—but if you resist, consider this my only warning."

"I've heard that before," Creepy Barman said. "Do you see that couple there?" He pointed. "Or that one? Or those three? They were all such wonderful guests. They all had such beautiful eyes. Just like—"

Thunk. My knife hit the man exactly where I'd aimed—smack in the special neck vein. It was about a second before he started sputtering. It was about another second before he reached for the blade, yanked it out, and chucked it back at me.

I dodged and Michael charged the bar.

"Get out!" he shouted.

I should have listened straightaway to the Commander Sir, Michael, Sir, because the Creepy Barman had big ideas. Bottles flew, bottles broke. Alcohol spilled. As far as I was concerned, it was a goddess-be-damned waste. But about the same time as the first candle hit the floor, I took Michael's advice. The fire spread through the basement, creating a fire-wall between the pair of us. The last thing I saw was Michael climbing the bar before the heat chased my freckled arse straight up through the hole in the floor.

I'd escaped, but Michael was still trapped. Even if he took a chance running through the flames, he wouldn't be able to get up through the hole so easily—not like I could, being a springy Strachan and all.

Back in the schoolhouse section, I raced across the room and yanked one of the music stands out of the floor. Well, I tried. And then I tried. And again, and again, until I found one with corroded bolts.

I listened.

Thud.

And I listened some more.

Thud, thud, thud.

I ran toward the sound and beat the piss out of the floor with my piece-of-shite metal rod. All I needed was a crack. Across the room, the fire was creeping up the stage. Meanwhile, Michael was coughing and still banging on the ceiling.

"This is fucking insane! What are you?"

My feet were getting hot, and there wasn't much time. The piece-of-shite metal rod bent in half just as Michael's fist bust through the second board. And then, lo and behold, I went flying through the air sideways and straight across the room into a bookshelf. Before it came crashing down on my head, I saw enough of the person who stormed the room and tossed me aside like a rag doll to know he looked Barren.

He had brown eyes and a nice jacket.