The Partisan Chronicles [Dystopia | Supernatural | Mystery]

Rhian

I woke up in a comfortable bed wearing blue pajamas for some reason, so I took a quick peek around the room. No Zacharias. But Strauss was asleep beside me, also in pajamas.

By the smell and the looks of things, we were underground.

I shook Strauss awake.

"Strauss," I said. "We're in a weird room."

Strauss adjusted the blindfold around his head and dragged himself into a sitting position against the headboard.

"Define weird." He patted his pajamas.

"Looks like Adeline's workshop exploded. Gears. Pipes. Pulley systems and strange contraptions. The light fixtures are filled with more of those bulbs, like the ones at the base, but they aren't doing much here either."

"Another pre-Divide locale by the sounds," Strauss said.

After rolling out of bed, I did the sensible thing and checked the door. Locked, and no keyhole. But on the bright side, there was a platter and a note.

I brought everything over to the side table near Strauss, and I flicked the card neither of us could read.

But he lifted his sleeve and presented me the underside of his forearm. "Trace what you see. Perhaps we can figure it out what it says together."

There was some trial and error, and there was a bit of an argument about whether or not Zacharias Vonsinfonie called me a shorty, but eventually we worked out the message:

I will return shortly. Please don't leave.

Always,

Z

We wondered how we were meant to leave if the door was locked, and then we wondered if there was a trick mechanism around somewhere, like there had been behind the keyhole in the mountain. Seemed the pre-Divide folk liked trick mechanisms. Bottom line: we weren't trapped, apparently. Least we could do is give the old composer few minutes.

Therefore, Strauss took a bite of a doughy, cinnamon-smelling bread stick.

"What else do you see around here?" he asked.

I hadn't been feeling so hot that morning, so I went for the glass of water before taking another walk about the lofty room.

"A few portraits—Jakob and his mum, Sebastian."

"Interesting that Zacharias would keep a portrait of his brother."

"For all we know, their bad blood boils down to something stupid like who got to wear the purple suit that week."

"One can only hope, Sinclair. Anything else of note?"

"There's a piano in the corner."

"Does it appear intact? Usable?"

"Aye, still standing, shiny brown wood—looks new." I pressed one of the white keys. "Sounds all right."

Strauss nodded.

Seemed to me he started chewing much faster. When he was done eating, he brushed the crumbs from his mouth, wiped his hands with a napkin, stood, and worked his way around toward me. All of it, quickly.

"I've been eager to try," he said.

"Here, have a sit." I pulled out the bench and patted it.

For a while, he sat there with his hands hovering over the keys, brushing them gently against the black ones.

"I'm not sure what to do," he said.

"Just press something, Strauss. It's not about to kill anyone, is it?"

"We can't very well be certain about that anymore, can we, Sinclair?"

I reached around and mashed a few keys like I knew what I was doing. It sounded terrible, obviously. Strauss winced, but we were both still breathing.

"You next."

The brave man finally pressed a key, and then another. Still nobody dead yet. He played a few more notes, from the left, and the right, and up above. And after a few handfuls, he was pressing keys that seemed to pair up well. Must've been about twenty minutes afore whatever he was doing sounded nice. A bit random, but nice.

"Looks like you might've found a talent," I said.

"Maybe," Strauss said, testing his foot against one of the pedals a few times. "How do you feel when you're drawing?"

"Depends what I'm drawing," I said. "Relaxed, sometimes. Excited or sad as hell other times. But always comfortable besides."

Strauss tapped a few more keys. "Then yes," he said, "maybe."

We didn't have any of our belongings with us, not even the Cursed Canticle cane. We couldn't be sure if Zacharias had taken it, otherwise we were hoping it might be a clue for our friends if we were actually being kept prisoner under the illusion of not. All that to say, I didn't have my watch-slash-compass, and we didn't know what time it was.

"This is interesting," I said. "It's a—thing."

"A thing?"

"A metal contraption with rows of letters. Reckon I can press them."

"Perhaps you shouldn't, Sinclair."

I pressed them. Most were stuck, a few plunged downward. When that happened, a metal lever-looking object popped up toward the top. On closer inspection, each of the metal levers represented a letter, too. I explained to Strauss. "Reckon it's a—"

"A writing machine," he said. "I saw a one, once, in Delphia."

While Strauss plunked away at the piano, I went around the room and admired the paintings. The one of Jakob and his mother seemed a bit different in style. The colours weren't as rich, the perspectives were slightly off, and the scene felt flat. It wasn't as good as the others, frankly. Sebastian, though—good-looking son-of-a-bitch that he was, was depicted without his mask. Whoever painted it, cared for him quite a lot. I could tell. The portrait of Jakob was created in that same loving way, afore he lost his eyes. Eyes just like ours. The first bloody Partisan. He looked just like his mother.

I stared at his portrait the longest.

Couldn't be sure how much time had passed, but the door finally opened.

It clicked shut just as soon.

Looking snazzy as ever in an emerald green suit, not a styled hair out of place, Zacharias Vonsinfonie tap, tapped his way over to Strauss who'd since stopped tinkering.

"Enjoying your gift, Andrei Strauss?" he asked.

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"My gift?" Strauss gestured to the instrument.

"As if I'd planned this all along," Zacharias mused. "Well, that does sound like me. But no, the piano's mine. I meant the gift inside you."

Zacharias moved to stand behind Strauss, bringing his arms around him. Strauss aimed his head over his shoulder looking puzzled.

The composer played a series of pleasant sounding notes.

"You next," he said.

I crossed my arms and watched.

Strauss brought his hands to the keys, fumbling around nonsensically.

And then…

Strauss played the same series of pleasant sounding notes. Almost.

Zacharias held his hands to the side of Strauss's head, planting a kiss on top. "A natural."

I shifted my weight. Reckoned the man had boundary problems.

"Where were you?" I asked.

"Must I really spoil the surprise?"

"Aye, see, the thing about surprises is they're not surprising anymore when they're happening every five seconds. Spoil away, Zach."

When this Vonsinfonie smiled, it was like a ray of goddess-be-damned sunshine that didn't sear my eyes. He wasn't as handsome as his brother—until he smiled.

"I was delivering an invitation to your friends."

"Sebastian, too?" I asked.

"Sebastian, too."

Funny enough, the non-surprise was still surprising.

"Where are we?" Strauss asked.

"You are in the bowels of the underground."

"The underground what?" I asked.

"Beneath Amsteg—Istok," Zacharias repeated, as if that was any actual help. He stepped away from Strauss and tap, tapped his way over to the portrait of his brother.

"Everything connected. Even Sebastian's place—the place you've been calling home."

Strauss shifted on the piano bench, turning toward Zacharias. "Are you suggesting we're in some manner of underground city?"

"Correct," Zacharias replied. "They exist throughout Auditoria, those to have survived the Divisi, anyhow. Or the Divide, as you know it."

All right, so the man was spilling beans.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it was a time of progress and production when the Anima ruled the world. Immortal and no need for sleep. No problem with the sun underground. Topside filled with cattle. Things had gotten out of—I'd lost control of my children. My mistake."

Seeing as Jakob hadn't described anything like that when telling us about pre-Divide Amalia, I had to figure it all happened after he was turned. That meant a couple hundred years of whatever the fuck a world ruled by the Anima must have been like. "That's one hell of a mistake, mate."

Zacharias stepped in, locking his amber eyes on to mine.

"Yes," he said. "It was."

And he meant it. I could tell.

When Zacharias started pacing, I wandered over to Strauss, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I've done everything I possibly can to make up for it. But these are still my children. They deserve clemency—twice, thrice—as any other children do."

Right, so: we'd been so busy looking at the Vonsinfonies as legends come to life, but they were once people as any other. Anima as any other. Old, but just as likely to be fucked up by their pasts. They all had a loop, and I wondered if Zacharias hadn't quite gotten over his yet.

"The experiment in Leberecht began with the intent to produce less volatile children. We chose Leberecht because its design suited our purpose, simply."

"We, as in, you and your wife—the Artist," Strauss clarified.

Zacharias stepped in front of Jakob's portrait. "Yes, we always wanted a big family. Avis loved children."

Aye, but did she?

"Why keep Jakob in captivity?" Strauss asked.

"Because we were looking for a cure. A way to erase or suppress his urges. Ours—all of theirs. Our boy was a danger to himself and to others, but we were determined."

"So the experiment started as a way to help Jakob?"

"Essentially. A slow-moving track. But I lost control of this situation, too, when Lidia Roska failed to awaken me for four centuries. She was one of our most troublesome."

Strauss's shoulder tensed under my hand.

"Didn't think to notify others about your nap?" I asked.

"Well, it seems the others also preferred me out of the picture. Not uncommon, to resist the love of a parent. I hope neither of you should have to experience the pain."

I shifted my weight.

"In any case," Zacharias continued, "In my absence, I fear Avis and her colleagues have increased the scope of their efforts in Leberecht."

"Haven't you spoken to her since you've been awake?" Strauss asked.

"No, no," Zacharias replied. "The way she hated when Sebastian and I would go on tour—one, two, three months at a time. Imagine four hundred years? I'd never hear the end of it."

"But not even to check on Jakob?" Strauss wondered.

"I could no longer feel him. I believed he was dead."

Made sense, seeing as Jakob would've been in captivity at the lair. Reckoned it was a lot like Everleigh and Sebastian.

"So, what, you were Jakob's maker?"

"In both senses of the word, yes. But we didn't fully comprehend, and he was dying. What would you do, Rhian Sinclair?"

I thought of the life growing inside. If they were dying, and I could help, what would I do?

What would I do?

I didn't bloody know.

Zacharias understood.

He said our friends wouldn't be coming round for another few days, what with travel and whatever else.

"As you may one day discover with your own, I've come to the conclusion that our story cannot be told apart."

"We'll wait for Sebastian," Strauss agreed. "You've given us enough to think about."

"Not so bloody fast," I said. "Will you at least tell us how to open the door?"

"Wouldn't it be more rewarding to find out for yourselves?" Zacharias asked.

I squeezed Strauss's shoulder and he responded with a shrug. And so, while Zacharias Vonsinfonie played piano for us, we searched for the hidden mechanism.

Hint: it wasn't the bookcase.