A Serious House

Pacing back and forth along the chamber walls, Iscarius impatiently waited for the call he knew was coming.

The chamber was dark except for the low amber glow of the communicator crystal resting on the desk before him. Its light pulsed in long, steady intervals, heartbeats fading in and out.

He stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, every line of his body locked in restraint. The silence stretched, and the room held its breath waiting for the call.

Always keeps me waiting, even after all I’ve done.

The crystal flared, and the EYE’s artificial voice cut through the heavy air.

“Patching it through now, sir,” the EYE announced.

Iscarius bowed his head before the voice even emerged.

“You executed the plan well,” the Amber King intoned, his voice smooth in its certainty.

“Yes, my lord,” Iscarius replied. “The auction concluded without disturbance. The Curator proved most cooperative, just as you said he would be. Lucius has been handed over, as promised.”

Iscarius paused, deliberately, before continuing.

“The Gnomon served as the perfect lure. Just as you foresaw, it drew him and his group into the open, and the poison succeeded as a trap. Ultra, Umbra, and Caesar were able to get away, but regardless, all is exactly as you designed it.”

The crystal pulsed faster, the glow tightening the shadows in the chamber. The silence lingered, sharp as a blade.

Iscarius did not dare speak again until the Amber King allowed it.

“I presume you have him in the asylum?”

“Yes, he should be waking up very soon. At your request, Xallarap has been waiting for your word. What do you command of me now?”

The reply was immediate.

“Break him.”

The words struck the room, final and absolute. The crystal dimmed as the EYE ended the call, its glow withering until it was nothing more than a dead stone.

Iscarius remained still, the command hanging in the air around him.

Slowly, he straightened, eyes gleaming in the faint residual light. A thin smile ghosted his lips.

“As you wish, my King.”

***

The mahogany doors thundered open. Lucius staggered through them, though he hadn’t meant to.

“The chosen son has arrived.”

The words left his mouth, though the voice wasn’t his.

The office stretched high above, the ceiling splitting and twisting like a maze, corridors of plaster shifted whenever he tried to follow the lines. He blinked, and suddenly he was on the python leather couch, its skin cold and unwelcoming against his palms. He blinked again, and his father, no, not his father, stood at the window, back turned, the glass swallowing the city whole.

“Mr. Quarterworth is more than capable of fetching you...” The voice reverberated, too large for the room.

Paintings on the wall stirred, Saturn’s jaw flexing, the head of Medusa with gnashing teeth, eyes rolled to follow Lucius as he looked away.

He was sitting again, staring at the ceiling.

He was standing, fists tight, shouting words he didn’t believe in. “I’m not some pawn you can move around your board.”

The air quaked, the office narrowed like a throat about to swallow him whole.

The figure at the window turned. The face was shifting, sliding between stone and flesh.

“Do you recall the reasoning behind your given name?”

Lucius tried to answer, but the sound came out in someone else’s voice.

Then the scene bent sideways.

Rain pressed against his hood. He was outside, though he hadn’t left. Water poured through the streets, rivers in the cracks of the pavement. His shoes splashed in puddles, wide and deep.

Crouching over one staring into its silver skin, his reflection began to form. But it wasn’t his face, it was someone else’s.

Another drop struck. The image vanished.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Each ripple erased him again and again, until there was nothing left to recognize.

Yet still, he couldn’t pull away.

Lucius, -sbd-svbhw-vbvedb-ygydg- strong. We -fteyd- see you -cdfc-bdwgw- soon. -hbnsbdj-hvds-wssvq-gufnt-nof- fight.

Something was thumping at the doors of his mind, trying to barge into the surreal domain.

Lucius, if you -yuf-heww-ehwve- stay strong. We -egvgrfe- see you very soon. -fdev- not give up -h-efvev- fight.

It echoed, pounded, again and again, the door cracking more and more.

Lucius, if you can hear -b-vfygvf-, stay strong. We will see you -ywqyv- soon. Do not give -wbf- your fight.

Until finally, the message broke through.

Lucius, if you can hear me, stay strong. We will see you very soon. Do not give up your fight.

It cut through the scenery, splitting the seams of surreality in two, and brought Lucius back to consciousness.

His eyes were now opened.

He woke with a jolt, breath ragged, the dream still dripping down the walls of his mind like rain. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if the ripples were still there, if he was still staring into that puddle.

His head pounded, every beat of his heart like a hammer driving into his skull. The poison still lingered in him, coiled tightly around his nerves, but he could tell some of it had been absolved, just enough to keep him alive.

His memory was shattered glass, faces, voices, flashes of light. He tried to pull them together, but they slipped away before they could form.

Where... am I?

The room swam into focus. A cell, large but suffocating. Pale stone walls stained with streaks of damp gray. Rusted steel beams overhead, their shadows crisscrossing the floor like bars of a cage. The sterile light buzzed cold and white, bleaching everything into a sickly pallor. It hummed loud enough that he felt it vibrating in his teeth.

Lucius shifted, only to hear the rattle of iron. Straps bit deep into his wrists and ankles, locking him to the heavy chair bolted to the floor.

He looked down at himself, his white tuxedo still clung to his frame, torn and covered in grime, a mockery of its former elegance. The flower at his lapel drooped, the once red petals bruised and rotted, as though it had shared in his poisoning.

Who brought me here? Was it... the Curator? No. No, it was further than that. Someone higher. Someone who planned all of this.

The straps burned against his skin as he tugged weakly, metal clanging. No give. No escape. His chest tightened, panic pressed against the edges of his ribs. Shutting his eyes hard, he whispered into the silence.

“Ultra? Are you there? Caesar? Umbra? Anyone...?”

Only the hum of the light answered him, cold and constant.

Lucius let his head fall back against the chair. The flower trembled with him, shedding a single browned petal to the floor.