Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability Chapter 1 - 1: Foreigners
Chapter 1: Foreigners
A price is always exacted for what fate bestows—adapted from Zweig’s Mary Queen of Scots.
“I am a nobody, someone without the luxury to appreciate the sun's radiance.
“Lacking both parental support and a high education, I was forced to survive in the city by my own wits.
“Despite applying for numerous positions, I was never hired. Perhaps I lack the gift of gab or am simply a poor communicator. It seems I failed to demonstrate any real competence.
“There was a time when two loaves of bread had to last me three full days. The pangs of hunger prevented sleep. At the very least, I had secured a month’s shelter in advance, sparing me from the biting winter winds outside.
“Eventually, I secured employment at a hospital morgue, tasked with watching over the deceased.
“The hospital at night was chilling beyond my wildest nightmares. With the corridor lights extinguished, a heavy shroud of darkness descended. I could scarcely see the ground beneath me; the only illumination came from the faint light bleeding out from the rooms.
“Mon Dieu, the stench was overpowering. The aroma of mortality hung thick in the air. Occasionally, we were required to assist in transporting the corpses into the cold storage.
“The work lacked prestige, but it kept me fed. Furthermore, the nocturnal stillness provided a chance for me to study. Visitors to the morgue were rare, appearing only to drop off bodies or collect them for cremation. Lacking funds, I had to manage without books, as saving for them felt like an impossible dream.
“I owe my position to my predecessor, whose abrupt departure created the vacancy.
“I longed for the day shift. Living in reverse—sleeping while the sun was up and waking for the night—left my body frail and my head throbbing.”
“One day, a fresh corpse arrived.
“Word reached me that it was the body of that same predecessor who had suddenly vanished.
“Driven by curiosity regarding his mysterious exit, I waited for the others to leave. I then slid out the drawer and silently unzipped the body bag.
“He was an elderly man, his skin a pale bluish-white and his face a map of wrinkles. In the flickering, poor light, his appearance was unsettling.
“He was balding, with only a few white strands remaining. He had been stripped completely bare; not a stitch of clothing remained on his frame.
“Since he was a man without kin, the orderlies hadn't passed up the chance to profit from his meager belongings.
“A peculiar mark caught my eye on his chest. It was a dark, bluish-black stain. I cannot properly describe it, as the lighting was far too dim.
“I reached out to touch the spot, only to find it felt like nothing out of the ordinary.
“Staring at my predecessor, I couldn't help but wonder if this was the same fate awaiting me in my old age…
“I made a silent vow to his remains that I would accompany him on his final trek, ensuring he reached the crematorium and then a proper free cemetery. I wouldn't allow the clerks to toss him into the river or some wasteland like common refuse.
“I knew this would cost me my rest, but Dieu merci, the following day was Sunday. I could make up for the lost sleep then.
“With that promise made, I closed the bag and pushed the cabinet back into its slot.
“The room grew even darker as the shadows stretched out…
“Ever since that night, a dense fog swallows me the moment I close my eyes.
“A feeling persists that I am not alone. Something inhuman is approaching. Yet, no one will heed my warnings. They claim the job has broken my mind; they tell me I need to see a doctor…”
A male patron at the bar looked toward the storyteller, who had suddenly trailed off, and asked, “And then?”
The narrator’s sudden silence had piqued the interest of a man at the bar. This individual, appearing to be in his mid-thirties, was dressed in a dull duffel coat paired with pale yellow trousers. His hair was slicked back, and a weathered dark bowler hat rested beside him.
He looked like any other common customer in the tavern, possessing dark hair and sharp blue eyes. He wasn't exceptionally handsome, nor was he ugly. There was nothing about his presence that demanded a second glance.
In contrast, the storyteller was a sturdy youth in his late teens, boasting long limbs and a sharp, handsome face that would easily attract a young woman’s gaze. His cropped black hair and vivid blue eyes only enhanced his charm.
The young man stared longingly at his empty glass and let out a heavy sigh.
“And then?
“Then I resigned and came back to the village so I could tell you this nonsense,” the youth replied, a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips.
The foreign guest was stunned.
“Was that whole thing just a prank?”
“Haha!” A wave of laughter swept through the tavern.
The amusement died down quickly, however, as a middle-aged local looked at the embarrassed customer and noted, “You’re new here, aren’t you? Lumian tells a different lie every day. Yesterday, he was a broke fellow dumped by his girl; today, he’s a guard for the dead!”
“Aye, he claims to have spent thirty years east of the Serenzo River and another thirty to the right of it. He’s nothing but a windbag!” another regular chimed in.
These men were all local farmers from Cordu, dressed in simple, drab tunics.
Lumian, the black-haired youth, leaned against the bar and stood up. With a cheeky grin, he declared, “You all know I’m not the one dreaming these up. My sister writes them. She’s a columnist for something called Novel Weekly.”
Turning around, Lumian opened his arms wide and smiled brightly at the visitor.
“It seems her story was quite effective. My apologies for the misunderstanding.”
The plain-looking man in the brown tweed shirt smiled back and rose from his seat.
“A fascinating tale indeed. And what might your name be?”
“Is it not polite to introduce yourself before asking others?” Lumian countered, his smile remaining fixed.
The stranger gave a polite nod.
“I am Ryan Koss.
“These are my associates, Valentine and Leah.”
He gestured toward the man and woman seated with him.
Valentine was a man in his late twenties with powdered blonde hair and striking blue eyes. He wore a white vest under a blue tweed jacket and black trousers. His meticulous appearance suggested he had dressed for a formal meeting.
He maintained a cold expression, not bothering to acknowledge the farmers and shepherds in the room.
Leah was a beautiful young woman with light gray hair styled in a complex bun, topped with a white veil.
Her eyes shared the color of her hair, and she watched Lumian with a visible smile, clearly finding the situation entertaining.
Under the tavern’s gas lamps, Leah’s sharp nose and elegantly curved lips were highlighted. In a rural place like Cordu, she was an undeniable beauty.
She was dressed in a tight white pleated cashmere dress, a short off-white coat, and Marseillan boots. Small silver bells were attached to her veil and her footwear. They chimed softly as she moved, capturing the attention of every man in the room.
To the locals, such a fashionable outfit was something only seen in major cities like the provincial capital of Bigorre or even the great capital, Trier.
Lumian nodded to the three outsiders.
“I am Lumian Lee. You can just call me Lumian.”
“Lee?” Leah echoed suddenly.
“Is there a problem? Do you have an issue with my surname?” Lumian asked, looking curious.
Ryan Koss answered for her, “Your surname is quite intimidating. I almost lost my composure just now.”
Noting the confused looks on the surrounding farmers, he explained, “Those who deal with sailors and ocean traders have heard a rumor circulating the Five Seas:
“It is better to face pirate Admirals or even Kings than to cross a man named Frank Lee.
“That individual also carries the name Lee.”
“Is he truly that terrifying?” Lumian asked.
Ryan shook his head.
“I don't know for certain, but if such a legend exists, there must be some truth to it.”
Changing the subject, he said to Lumian, “Merci for the entertainment. It deserves a drink. What would you like?”
“A glass of La Fée Verte.” Lumian didn't hesitate as he sat back down.
Ryan Koss frowned slightly.
“‘La Fée Verte’… Absinthe?”
“I should warn you, absinthe is toxic. It is known to cause madness and hallucinations.”
“I didn't think the fashions of Trier would have reached this far,” Leah added with a smirk.
Lumian gave a short reply.
“So the people in Trier also drink La Fée Verte…”
“For people like us, life is already hard enough. A little more harm doesn't matter. This drink helps settle our minds.”
“Very well.” Ryan leaned back and signaled the bartender. “One glass of La Fée Verte and one of Cœur épicé.”
Cœur épicé was a well-known, high-quality distilled fruit spirit.
The thin man who had called out Lumian’s lie spoke up again. “Give me a glass of La Fée Verte as well. I’m the one who told the truth, after all. I can even give you the real story about this boy!” He glared at Lumian, challenging him. “Foreigner, I can tell you’re still wondering if that story was real.”
“Pierre, you’d do anything for a free drink,” Lumian snapped with a scowl.
Before Ryan could reply, Lumian added, “Why shouldn't I get a second glass for telling the story in the first place?”
“Because nobody knows if they should believe a word you say,” Pierre smirked. “Your sister loves telling the kids the story of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf.’ A constant liar eventually loses all trust.”
Lumian shrugged as the bartender placed a glass of pale green liquid before him. “Ça va,” he said, looking unconcerned.
Ryan looked at Lumian.
“Is this acceptable?”
“It’s fine, as long as you can pay for it,” Lumian replied casually.
“In that case, another La Fée Verte,” Ryan agreed with a nod.
Pierre beamed with a wide smile.
“Generous traveler, you should keep your distance from this one,” he said, pointing at Lumian. “He’s the biggest troublemaker in the village.”
“Five years ago, his sister Aurore brought him here,” Pierre went on. “He’s lived here ever since. Think about it—he was only thirteen at the time. How could he have been a morgue watchman? The closest hospital is in Dariège at the mountain's base. Walking there takes an entire afternoon.”
“Brought him back?” Leah asked, her tone showing interest.
She tilted her head, making her bells ring softly.
Pierre nodded.
“Aurore moved here six years back. A year later, she went on a trip and returned with this boy. She claimed she found him wandering, a starving orphan. She decided to adopt him.”
“He took Aurore’s surname, Lee. Even his name, Lumian, was her choice.”
“I don’t even recall my old name from before Aurore named me,” Lumian said, completely unbothered as he grinned and took a sip of his absinthe.
It was obvious his mysterious origins didn't trouble him at all.