Behind the Blue, chapter 22
Although he didn’t get the need for servant corridors (something about “servants aren’t to be seen” and “great houses work like a clock, with parts in the back for the face to be seen” and other crockshit sentences Aubry said when Toivon started), Toivon was certainly thankful for them. They allowed freedom of movement, anonymity, shortcuts and most importantly for him, the chance of eavesdropping without being seen. Hawkcroft’s house wasn’t big enough to have servant corridors in every corridor, just in four strategic places: the long stone corridor connecting the kitchen, laundry room and servants quarters to the dining room, the stairs on the far south end of the house that connected the top and bottom floors (we can’t have common servants going up and down the stairs the good people use, are you crazy?), the smaller stairs that went to the attic, which housed the once Hawkcroft’s nannies’ bedrooms (close to the children’s bedrooms for easy access in case of a night emergency) and the corridor that snaked around the west wings’ rooms and down to the first floor.
When Toivon had first arrived, Sorcise had shown him these architectural secrets, to be used for the daily work without being seen. Most of the maids and footmen used them. Sorcise had confided that the west wing had this longer corridor because Hawkcroft’s personal office and library were in it.
Thanks to these corridors, Toivon had heard the most mudane fucking conversations he’d ever heard (and never cared of hearing in the first place), trivial “troubles” Avelle had with her clothes and her friends, long business monologues between Hawkcroft, his secretary, and sometimes Armellon and Bertraug, and what (in his mind) was Louis’s and Katherine’s dangerously monotonous marriage. They needed help there. As soon as possible.
That morning, Toivon opened the passage, stepped inside and closed the entrance behind himself. Headed down the simple corridor that contrasted with the one he’d just left behind. Down he went, walking past walls that contained faint voices, muffled steps, and even one that had music coming out of it (probably the one where Avelle was at, getting piano lessons from her tutor).
A strong thud on his left caught his attention, as did the subsequent noise that came from the other side of the wall. He should listen to this.
“Maybe something just fell.” He wondered, a fleeting thought that fluttered through his mind.
A blunt, strong noise again, that sounded like a heavy object being pulled on the ground, came from the same place. He should listen to this.
He took a step to the wall, taking care to distribute his weight to avoid any sound from creaking floorboards of the servant corridor. He leaned and cupped the hand next to his ear to listen.
Due to the thickness of the walls, he couldn’t clearly hear what was being discussed on the other side, unlike what novels and theatres liked to pretend happened. Still, just the kind of movement that had happened had caught his attention. Which room was this? He had to find out as soon as possible. There was just some muffled low speech going on at the time, not high enough for him to listen. Let’s see, he’d entered this corridor next to one of the sitting rooms, the pink one. That was between Avelle’s room and the music room, and he’d walked past said music room since Avelle was now practicing. And down the corridor, the other rooms were…
A voice, a sad one, was clear. Another familiar voice replied with just as much feeling, but Toivon couldn’t place who he was talking to. He hadn’t been there this morning to receive any guests; that had been Aubry. He’d been outside cutting logs and pulling the tanks of milk to the cool storage. Toivon silently pressed himself to the wall, straining to hear something, cheek against cool stone.
Footsteps. Someone was pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, while another set of steps travelled to the right (the same direction where Toivon was facing) and then came the sound of a scraping. Something heavy being dragged on the ground, the same noise as before. A chair? Too heavy to be a chair.
“…not the way I wanted it to go”, The sad voice said again
Toivon felt himself get surprised at the fact that he could hear conversations from the other side of this stone wall. Could it mean that there was a hole in the wall, an opening of some sort?
“Nothing is.” The familiar voice replied. Toivon would bet his fingers he’d heard this voice before, but the haughty tone eluded him as to where. It was only when the voice continued talking that it hit him that that was Emmanuel. The first voice said something in a low, pitiful way.
“And you think I don’t know that, Verloin? Do you think me stupid?” Emmanuel hissed, “Of course I am aware of foul play! Damned the gods, do you think I was born yesterday?”
“A dead thief, stolen jewels and the little high elf tramp giving Armellon doe eyes. All in less than a week.” Toivon felt a skipped heartbeat and a face flushed of anger.
“But, she hasn’t been out since Edwinne passed away. She’s kept safe. They bit the bait, this means you know who sent them?” A pause. Toivon held his breath.
“Avelle.” Emmanuel said, this time his voice had sourness that didn’t quite cover hurt, “My own daughter.”
“I could’ve never believed it.”
“I guess I could. I always gave her everything she wanted. EVERYTHING. Why not her mother’s sapphire? But to humiliate me in front of guests, on her party…I don’t see where the piece fits.” Another pause, “Suppose that what hurts me most is that she doesn’t have the decency to wait until I pass.”
“Now, Emmanuel.” The voice chided, “I’ve told you time and time again, you’re healthy as a horse. This obsession of yours with your death is not normal.”
“Told you…you’re healthy” could this be Bertraug, if he knew of Emmanuel’s health intimately?
“You call it obsession, I see it as being a cautious man. I spent years on the sea, battling scurvy, pirates, hunger, thirst and storms, fought the circus that is the Merchant’s Council and their every ridiculous request to amass my wealth and I won’t lose it to some impatient brat or, or…a bunch of dirty, lice-filled bastards and smooching whores.”
“Hmm.” The voice replied, then added in a low volume that Toivon had to strain to hear, “Orsen is very ill. I don’t think he’ll make it. Never again ask me to do that.”
Toivon frowned. Do what? What does Bertraug (assuming it’s him) have anything to do with this person?
“Oh, please. The lad is young, he’ll be fine. At his age- what, how old is he, 21?”
“They’re fit as a fiddle at that age. He’ll live.” A nonchalant answer for a topic that was setting off alarms in Toivon’s mind.
A shuffle from the men in the room.
“Anyhow-” Emmanuel began, but was interrupted by the visitor.
“I think, if you truly wish to protect your money, you should listen to Armellon’s advice.”
“Why would I listen to advice from an elf with his tendencies? You know I have a deep gratitude for him, you know how close we are, but his request…this request…is irrational to me.”
Heh, tendencies. Toivon nodded to himself. He knew that one.
“He believes that to be possible, just because of his, his Isles upbringing and how he did it. He just assumes it’ll be normal!”
“But that’s not just in the Isles, Emmanuel. People could talk. He wants-he wants, see, he’s your lawyer. He-that is, we- are looking to minimize risk…to avoid a scandal. Plenty of people would jump at the first chance to grab your bones if you fell from public favor. And you know how he prides himself on his discretion, in professional and personal matters. He kept the whole issue of the ba-”
“Shhh!” a pause of silence. Never before had Toivon wished houses be made of thinner material than at that moment, “Didn’t I tell you not to discuss that topic here?!” Emmanuel whispered angrily.
“You have, I’m sorry.” Again Toivon had to strain to hear.
“The less people know of this, the better for everybody. You saw what happened when Edwinne…” and the voice quieted until they were a murmur, despite Toivon’s best effort to listen. But slowly, the volume rose again.
“-been taking a fancy to him.”
“Do you think so? I never thought Armellon would go for someone so young.”
“While he talks about being discreet. He’s lucky nobody knows his expressions like we do.” Emmanuel laughed, “Armellon, you old fox.”
“He would-” whatever Bertraug was about to say was suddenly interrupted by a loud CLACK! of an object falling to the wooden floor of the servant’s hallway, mere meters away from Toivon. He felt his face turn cold and looked around himself. Had he dropped something?! His floor was clear. A dead silence got settled.
“What was that?” Bertraug asked
“It came from the servants’ passage.” Two sets of footsteps and the sound of a door opening. Quick, Toivon separated himself from the wall and looked around. Empty. He decided to go around the corner and see who had ruined the eavesdropping for everybody when he heard the passage’s door open and someone step in. The force of his steps made Toivon almost fall, but some comical arm-flailing kept his balance. He turned around and started down the dim hallway, as quick as possible in soft steps so as to not make much noise. Though the passage was dark, these were Bretons and it was a sure bet that they’d have a light spell. He had to get out of here. By the time the two Bretons came to the hallway he was in, he was a silhouette against the dark.
“Someone’s there!” Bertraug cried out, and now the footsteps ran after him. Toivon sped up.
“Stop!” Emmanuel ordered, but Toivon kept going. Left, right, jumped up the three steps in one part, left, left, now right.
“Stop there!” they kept up with him, he could tell. The blue light of a spell they produced by magic to guide them danced at the edge of Toivon’s periphery, behind him like a nagging ghost or a guilt that never goes away, no matter how hard Toivon ran.
Don’t turn around, no chance for them to get his face. Could they see his ears? His skin tone? The blue hue told him they were close but not enough to see him. Was he sure of that?
The narrow, curved staircase with its 8 inches of tread and 9 inches of rise, was right ahead. Placing a hand on the wall and another on the banister, risking getting seen by the light and his pursuers, Toivon ran down them. Easy considering the shortness of the tread, hard in the event that a fall would break his hips, get him caught and ruin the mission.
Taptaptaptaptaptaptap, his feet ran down
Creakcreakcreakcreak, the wooden stairs replied under his feet
ToptoptopPORORORORMPOMPOM went, at first, the Bretons’ feet until th
ey, with a strangled gasp and an “Augh!”, fell down the stairs, rolling in themselves and each other, hitting step after step, a human boulder barreling to Toivon as it released cries and curses.
Toivon ran down the stairs to avoid joining the rolling boulder, his breath in gasps burning his throat, tempted to look back in a panic but also frozen into dashing down in the same feeling. The human boulder crashed behind himcursing and groaning and banging on every step, and Toivon could now hear it approach his ankles (and only hear, since the minute they lost their footing, the Bretons’ spells died down, leaving them in darkness). The lack of light seemed to amplify the speed of everyone involved, or so Toivon felt the chase. The boulder was coming closer, his thighs burned, he was getting dizzy, PROMPOROMPORMPOM faster coming to him, run Toivon run!
A landing straight ahead! And a wall! If he hit the wall, the boulder was sure to follow!
In a desperate move, Toivon turned to his right, in a movement he’d done a thousand times and had taught Marcello a thousand more, and separated his left hand from the wall to place it on the bannister. He jumped, pushed himself up and tucked his knees into his chest and his feet above the bannister. Then he stretched them forward to pass the other side, now releasing himself, as the boulder passed him and continued to the landing with a strong, dry hit. Meanwhile, Toivon landed on the narrow stairs, which didn’t provide him much of a proper landing space. Toivon felt his feet touch wood for a fraction of a second, then air, and then it was his body the one that touched the step.
Well, steps, since the fall caused Toivon to keep falling down in a vulgar speed, up until the next turn, where the Dunmer was able to get back up and keep running down, without looking back. He heard Emmanuel’s sharp tone of voice and Bertraug’s groans fade as he went on. He left the servants’ passages at the first chance he got, drenched in cold sweat.
