The Partisan Chronicles [Dystopia | Supernatural | Mystery]

Rhian & Andrei

The thing about waking up in a weird room once, is that it's not quite as weird when it happens again. Avis had a strict bedtime for us kids, which wasn't too long after we arrived. And us kids, pregnant already or not, weren't allowed to sleep in the same bed with each other, apparently. But anyhow. When I fell asleep, the bedroom looked exactly like a bedroom you'd expect from a lass like Avis Adler.

And when I woke up, the bedroom was still a bedroom, but it was weird.

First of all, there was breakfast. Again.

Second of all, the door handle was gone, and there was a new mechanism by the door, and two other contraptions on the walls on opposite ends. Those, I'd seen before I'd gone to bed, but I'd been too tired to care. Third of all, there were these odd, small portraits strewn about that definitely hadn't been there the night before.

I stuffed a pastry in my mouth and checked the door with my shoulder.

Wouldn't budge, so I went around the room looking at the small portraits. All of them in this dusty, yellow-brown tone. I picked the first one up and examined it from every which angle. Odd looking, seeing as the pictures didn't seem to have been drawn on. The image looked to be part of the paper itself. The one I was holding was of Avis smiling in front of a caravan. The lettering on the side was cut off, but it would have said THE VONSINFONIE BROTHERS. I could tell. She had a paintbrush in her up-do, which looked great by the by, but was a bit off centre.

She looked happy.

Hells. I set the picture down and picked up another. Avis and Zacharias on their wedding day, I reckoned. The way they were looking at each other reminded me of the way Strauss looked at me. And the way I felt when I looked at him.

You can't make that shit up.

But never mind. I'd have plenty of time for picture-looking later. I collected another pastry and checked the mechanism by the door. Three dials, like little cogs, and a series of numbers along the edges. Some sort of lock, and I'd need to sort out the code. Otherwise, why put a lock on the inside of a door requiring a code? Now, ask me if I felt like sorting out a goddess-be-damned code? No, I really didn't.

Next, the strange contraptions on either side of the room. Looked like the wide end of a horn sticking out of the wall. Beside it, there was a copper lined hole. I peered through the hole. Nothing much. I peered through the wide end of the horn. Nothing much, neither. I turned my ear to the hole and waited.

Nothing much.

I put my mouth to the wide end of the horn, "'Ello?"

Nothing.

"'Ello?" I tried again.

Nothing.

"Do, do, do, there's a horn in the wall and I don't know why," I shrieked into the horn. Look, I was annoyed. Nothing. But then…

Once, I'd given Sinclair an alias—Penelope Singer. She'd said it was a terrible choice because she couldn't sing, though she'd never tried. As it happens, she was wrong and I, incidentally, was not. I'd already been working my way across the wall, feeling my way in the direction from which I'd heard Sinclair's voice coming. A hole. Next to it, an object shaped like… a horn.

"Sinclair?" I said, loudly.

"Strauss?" Her response came from the hole.

I spoke into the horn. "My door's barred."

"Aye, mine, too."

"And somehow, here we are, speaking through prison walls again."

That coaxed a small, echoey chuckle.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked.

"All right, but I missed you. You?"

"Fine, but I missed you, too."

"Say, do you have another horn in your room?" she asked. "I have two."

"I'm not certain," I said. "Where are yours located?"

"Near the bed and the desk."

"Assuming the rooms are designed similarly—hold on, let me go feel the walls again."

While I waited for Strauss to check the walls, I hurried over to the horn on the other side of the room and shouted into that one.

A little while later…

"Enforcer Rhian?" Adeline said, all tinny like.

"Aye, good hearing you, mate. I've got Strauss on my other wall."

"How much fun is this? Are your doors locked by a combination as well?" she asked.

How much fun? Basically zero fun. "Aye. Say, do you have another horn?"

"I don't think so." It was quiet for a moment. "No, only one horn."

"Anything else strange in your room?"

"There are paper products on the desk, but I didn't want to be rude."

"All right," I said. "Be rude, and I'm gonna see if Strauss found another horn."

"Say hello for me, please! I'll be here."

Before heading back over to Strauss's wall, I had a look at another one of the pictures. Avis and Sebastian sitting by a lake. Looked like they were caught by surprise. He didn't have his mask on, but he had his forearm in front of his face, concealing his eyes. Ugh—I did feel it. Just looking at the pain in the arse on that piece of paper, I bloody felt it.

"Sinclair?" I heard, faintly.

I dashed to Strauss's wall.

"I don't believe I have another horn," he said.

"All right," I answered. "I have Adeline on the other wall. She says hello."

"Do you? Tell her hello back," Strauss said. "Does she have another horn?"

"No, it's just the three of us, it'd seem. Also, my room is filled with pictures that weren't here last night."

"Pictures of what?"

"Avis, and—Strauss, can you feel around your room for anything else weird?"

"Like what?"

"I don't exactly know."

"Very well. Hold on—"

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
"Wait, Strauss?"

"Yes?"

"There's breakfast."

I found breakfast, but I wasn't feeling particularly hungry. Our lives had taken a turn into what was feeling more every day like a waking dream, and yet—there we were. Everything about the bed felt ordinary, at least. I got on my knees and swept an arm underneath from different angles, but there was nothing—not even a dust bunny. I rose from the ground and took a moment to sense the airflow around me. There wasn't much in the way of furniture.

Like Sinclair's room, mine had a desk. I made my way over to where I knew there was something on the surface. A large, metal device with another horn-like apparatus protruding from the side. There were what felt like five buttons, four aligned together and one at the top left. Otherwise, there was a dial.

I returned to the horn. "Sinclair?"

"Did you find your breakfast?"

After telling her I had, but that I wasn't hungry, I described the object I'd found on the desk.

"Did you press the buttons?" she asked.

"Not yet," I said. "Could you ask Adeline for her thoughts on the device?"

"All right," Sinclair replied. "Hold on."

While waiting for Sinclair to return, I searched the room for my bag, but from what I could tell after a few tours, it wasn't there. If Avis had our bags, she would know what we were planning.

"Sinclair," I said into the horn.

Nothing for a time.

And then, from the hole, "Strauss, Adeline says—"

"Is your bag in your room?" I asked.

A delay before she answered, "No. That's bad."

"Yes, bad. But there's nothing we can do about it now. What did Adeline say?"

"That your mysterious device sounds like something her mum kept in her bedroom. Her mum's could play music."

"Play music? I don't understand."

"Me neither, but the point is: it won't kill you by the sounds of things."

"I'll go press the buttons."

While I waited for Strauss to press the buttons, I went back to Adeline's side of the room. "Strauss is going to press the buttons. What did you find out from the papers?"

"For starters, there are clippings from what appear to be a news publication. This one's announcing Avis's marriage to Zacharias. They were expecting over two thousand guests! There's a portrait alongside the article. They look so sweet."

"Is it one of those paper portraits?"

"I've never seen anything like it."

"What else?"

"Another clipping. This one's a death announcement for their son, Jakob Adler, who, according to the article, died at birth."

Poor Jakob. "Fuck—all right, what else?"

"Vonsinfonie show tickets, a paper bird, what appears to be a collection of personal records, let me—oh, ah—" Adeline clicked her tongue.

"What?"

"Sebastian's medical history, from all those doctors Zacharias brought him to."

Ugh. "All right," I said. "What else?"

"Should I read the letters?"

"Let me know what they say when I get back," I said.

"I'll be here!" Adeline squeaked.

Over at Strauss's wall, "Did you press the buttons?" I asked.

"The first one resulted in a repulsive noise, so I pressed it again to make it stop."

"I told you it would make noise, Strauss."

"I know, but—hold on."

"Wait, can you bring the thing over here? Put the horn up to the horn?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking. I'll be right back."

Another lap around the room and I chose another picture to look at. Avis in her work clothes with two other lasses: the first was a far bit taller than the others, with short hair and spectacles, the second was itty-bitty for an Amali. The Tinkerer wore a pair of goggles around her neck, had a doohickey in her hands, and had a sweet smile. The Writer, holding her quill, stood in the centre with her arms around her mates.

Avis had paint on her nose and had been caught in a laugh.

A high-pitched screeching and crackling sound came pouring through the hole from Strauss's side of the room. I plugged my ears with my fingers.

"What the hell is that?" I said through the horn.

A click, and the painful sound stopped. "I told you."

"Doesn't make sense to be a bunch of weird noise. Try pressing it again."

A sigh through the hole. Crackle, crackle, crackle until…

"—tian, come over! Look what your brother gave me for my birthday."

"What is it?"

Pop, crackle. "—cords sound."

"Does it? Is it rec—" crackle "—me now?"

"Yes, so make sure you say something inspiring for the world to remember you by."

"Ah," a chuckle.

"Don't be shy, Bastian. You're the most inspiring person I know. Take off your mask."

"Someone might see."

"No one's going to see!"

Crackle, pop.

"There he is. My best friend."

"We're going to change the world one day, Avis."

"If you say it, I believe it."

Crackle.

"Will you play a song for me? So I can listen whenever I like?"

"Do you have a preference?"

"Surprise me."

Sinclair and I listened to the recording three times once we discovered the button that allowed us to restart from an earlier point. Though he could play many, the violin was Sebastian's favourite instrument. It was the most beautiful melody either of us had ever heard, even behind the poor quality of the sound. Steady, calm, and yet, something bubbling under the surface. The tempo lulled us into a sense of peace, and then—a burst of rebellion. Avis laughed joyously. Nothing but the feeling of a thousand truths revealed.

"I love you, Bastian."

Crackle, pop. The music stopped.

"I love you too, Avis."