A
Grisly Discovery
We continued on our way, passing through the hallway and entering the
main hall of the keep. We began searching the rooms adjoining the hall
first, and it was not long before we found what we were looking for. The
room had a large stone table and some chairs, although most of the chairs
were falling apart, as they were made of wood and had begun to rot. There
was an easel set up in the corner with a finished painting next to it, and
some small supplies haphazardly tucked in the corner. The hearth had long
since burned out. It was the painting that let us know our search for
Theocritus was over, since the subject of the painting was the man
himself. He looked starved. He was obviously emaciated and his skin had
an unpleasant tone. The hearth stood in the background of the painting,
filled with a roaring fire, and the table and chairs were much as they we
had found them, but in better condition. It was obviously a
self-portrait. I noticed that Momus was looking at the fireplace, so I
made my way to his side. He reached into the hearth and pulled out what
looked like a jawbone. I shivered and asked quietly, "Have you seen the
painting?"
Momus looked at it then, and appeared to be quite upset, although he
did his best not to show it. "He killed himself."
That much was obvious. I voiced the less obvious question.
"Why?"
Momus began pointing to some of the icons around the corners of the
painting and explaining their meanings. "Perpetuity is represented by
Myrrh. Incense indicates death. He made this to be his final portrait,
self-portrait, before he killed himself. I assume from the painting
because there's nothing here to eat."
I noticed a frame in the corner and pointed it out to Momus, who
started poking around the frame and analyzing it very carefully. "This is
very nice work."
I studied it as well, and had to agree. But it made no sense. "Why
make a frame if you are not going to put the picture in it?"
As I said that, I saw a flash of inspiration cross his face, but he
merely replied, "Why indeed?"
I examined the frame more carefully then, and much to my surprise I
found that there was a great deal of Trump magic worked into it.
Unfortunately, I had no idea what its purpose was.
Momus looked at me and for a moment his expression almost fooled me as
he offhandedly said, "We should bring this back to Steed. I'm sure he'd
appreciate such an ornate frame."
I smiled, amused by his attempt to deceive me. "I see. What about
the portrait?"
"Oh, of course, we couldn't leave this kind of work here. Although it
is a rather unpleasant image. A portrait of a starving artist. How
darling. I thought he'd be above that."
Looking at the portrait again, I calculated that it did, indeed,
appear to be about the right size to go in the frame. I attempted to hold
it up against the frame to be sure, but Momus was not very helpful, even
going so far as to turn his shoulder really quickly and exclaim, "Did you
see something?"
I ignored him, of course, noting, "I think the portrait would go with
rather well with this frame." As I finished lining the two up, I felt the
strangest tingle...almost like a Trump contact. I leaned the frame and
painting against the wall, as I tried to determine the source of the
feeling. Something about the painting was bothering me as I looked at it,
though. I started to feel a slight headache, then. Thinking the painting
might somehow be the source of it, I moved further away from it, but it
made no difference. Instead, the headache continued to worsen, and I
began to feel a faint throbbing...such a strange feeling. Holding one
hand to my head, I hastily moved the painting away from the frame, and it
the strange throbbing stopped...as did the headache.
I glanced quickly around, but Momus did not appear to notice my
reaction, as he was ostensibly keeping an eye on the entrances to the
room. He seemed a bit unnerved, however. Because of the mysterious
watcher, or because he knew what the results of my actions would be? I
looked over the painting again, but neither it nor the frame appeared any
different than before. I did not feel any different either, aside from
feeling a bit hungry. This normally would not have disturbed me, but
Theocritus had starved to death... Had he somehow imprinted his
dying feelings into his final painting? Or was it something more? I
thought back on the sensation I had felt, trying to place it, but it was
like nothing I had ever felt before. Certainly it was no kind of mental
contact that I recognized. For one thing, there was no mind on the other
end.
I knelt and began to study the frame more carefully, trying to
determine how placing it with the picture had triggered whatever it was
that I had felt. No sooner did I begin to do so, however, then Momus
spoke up. "I think we should keep moving."
I glanced over towards the door. "Is someone coming?"
"Yes. We're not alone here, and I think we're going to attract
attention if we stay in one place too long."
Perhaps. Or perhaps he simply did not want me investigating the frame
any further. Still, he did have a point. We knew that someone else was
here, and the longer we remained still, the longer they had to prepare
something nasty for us, if they were so inclined. I got to feet and
brushed off my skirt, then motioned to the painting. "All right. Do you
want to come back for this later?"
"Oh no, we can take care of that now." He unfastened his cloak and
laid it out on the floor, then placed both the portrait and frame on it.
I noticed that he was very careful not to allow them to touch each other,
further confirming my suspicion that he knew more about the connection
between the two than he was letting on. At first I thought he merely
planned to wrap them up and carry them, but instead he began folding his
cloak, making it smaller and smaller until it was of a size to easily fit
in his pocket. Of the portrait and the frame, there was no sign. I could
only assume they had somehow been compressed as well. I could not help
admiring the usefulness of such an object, and said as much to Momus. He
merely smiled and commented, "If there's room, let's try to harvest all of
the pictures on the way out."
I nodded, having intended to bring at least my mother's picture along
when I left. "That would make sense. There is definitely something
strange going on here."
He did his best to look clueless. "Oh?"
I gave him a look that let him know I was not fooled by his
expression. He smiled and changed the subject. "Upstairs or downstairs,
do you think?"
"Upstairs," I replied. That was where Momus has spotted someone
watching us before. Perhaps we would gain some clues as to his or her
identity there.
Unfortunately, the second floor was in a great state of disrepair.
Many of the doors were simply gone, the wood having rotted away and the
hinges rusted through. We found the remains of a few bedrooms, and a
study in which, unfortunately, most of the books were no longer legible
enough to be worth salvaging. We came across a few more paintings, but
none of the subjects were familiar to me. One of them, however, caught my
eye almost immediately. There was something just not right about it. The
subject was a redheaded man, and at first I feared he was yet another
child of my father, Fiona or Bleys, but further study made that seem
unlikely. It took me a few minutes of careful study before I managed to
put my finger on what was so odd about the painting. The man depicted was
perfectly symmetrical...a state which simply does not occur in nature.
That was what was so disturbing about his face. It looked artificial, not
real, like a construct or an automaton. Our mysterious watcher,
perhaps?
Reminded of him, I asked Momus, "Do you still think there is someone
following us?"
He looked up from the volume he was examining. "I don't know."
He seemed remarkably unconcerned, now that we had left the room where
Theocritus had died. A part of me wondered if he had really spotted
anything at all in the courtyard, or if he had just invented that story as
a convenient way to control the pace of our explorations. I certainly
would not put it past him. Not that our explorations had turned up
anything interesting so far, other than Theocritus' painting. Much of the
place was completely empty, and what was left was in ruins. There had to
be something more in Father's keep besides moldering books and rotting
furniture. Where was the source of that strange energy I had detected
upon our arrival? I had found no sign of it thus far, and that left only
one direction to explore. Down.
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Fazzari.
Last modified on August 17, 1999 by Kris Fazzari.