The Jet Jewel

Chapter 3

Roderick put his glass on the woodworm-ridden table in front of him, playing with its stem for a moment. It would run out in a year or so. Not that it mattered, really. Nothing mattered, really. He picked up the bottle and filled his glass again. It was more habit than enjoyment nowadays. But when it's the only thing you do...

He stared into his wine, the flames of the fire behind it leaping around in the red liquid, dancing like the people at the parties they used to have up at the castle. Now he had only their memories to keep him company. And the wine. For another year or so.

His gaze drifted from the wine and settled on the fire. He frowned, as if he saw it for the first time. Why had he bothered to light a fire tonight? He came here almost every night, but he never lit a fire. What was different today?

He glanced around, casting his eye over the long dining hall tables and benches, lined up and dusty, as always. Nothing new there. The workers hadn't used them in years. The comfortable chairs in the alcove by the tall windows, flowery patterns fading, the little tables in between; they were all there, exactly as they always were. No-one to fill them or move them. No-one but Roderick.

A sigh escaped from his pool of self-pity. He was reaching for his glass when there was a knock on the door. His mouth half open in anticipation of the wine, Roderick froze. That was certainly different. No-one had knocked in years. Staring at the door, he had half convinced himself he'd imagined it, when another knock sounded, louder this time.

He got up and opened the door, eyeing the visitor beneath half-closed lids. Tall, but quite thin, with pale skin and straggly hair, the young knocker would not easily be mistaken for a gentleman. And why this state of undress? Wearing nothing but torn breeches and some kind of undershirt, this man was not merely a stranger, he was strange. And not very impressive.

While Roderick observed his odd dress, he noticed that the strange stranger returned the look.

"Hi. Can I come in?"

Then, remembering some of his past charm and hospitality, Roderick smiled. "Certainly."

Stepping aside, he waved the newcomer to the corner of the long table where he had put his bottle of wine. A visitor, even a peculiar one, was very welcome after all this time.

Sitting down on the bench closest to the fire, the young man looked around. "What is this place?" he asked, "Some kind of factory?"

Roderick scratched his chin. It must be difficult to distinguish the building's purpose after all these years, especially with only the light of a small fire in the capacious dining hall where he had come to drink. The majority of the complex was actually situated on the other side of the mill yard, but there weren't any chairs there. Nor glasses.

He ducked behind the counter that stretched along one side of the hall and came up holding another wine glass. "It used to be," he said as he poured the visitor a drink, "a textile mill. Lace, to be precise. But that was back when my hair was the colour of yours. It has been closed down for years. I come here every so often to reminisce and to drink to good times past."

He handed the stranger the glass, but the boy put it on the table with a soft 'thanks' and tapped the stem with his fingertips.

Roderick sat down opposite, scrutinising his visitor. "Excuse me for asking, but why are you not dressed? Or at least wearing a coat?"

The boy frowned. But whether that was due to anger or confusion was hard to tell. "Well... Where I was before... it was hot."

"It was hot. At the end of October?"

His eyes widened under another frown. "October? It's the middle of July!"

He was undoubtedly a very odd fellow. It took Roderick a while to pick one of the various questions this man's arrival prompted, during which the newcomer kept fidgeting with his wine, and glancing around glassy-eyed. He was making Roderick nervous just looking at him.