"Palace Macabre Ch. 2" by H. Coyne

"The masque?" The word was antiquated, blocky in my mouth, but an unbidden tendril of curiosity crept into my thoughts. An idea was wafting from some ancient catacomb in my consciousness. It was mingled with the in-between, like a dream you try to recall before you open your eyes.

"Yes."

And that was all Karen left me with before she mechanically returned to her task of driving the ferry. She moved with the regularity and finality of Tantalus. Which left me alone to my fears as I settled into a damp bench near the stern.

The boat spit white foam into the water, so deep, so dark, and cold enough to pierce your fingers. I stared into the sea looking for alien faces: blurred dolphins or rolling sea lions but the water only reflected my thoughts back to me with fathoms of mute emptiness.

~*~

"Through me the way that runs among lost."

It was nearing sunset when the ferry floated into the island's single, empty dock. Karen unceremoniously helped me with my luggage, dropping it roughly on the old wood landing. She almost laughed when I tried to tip her, but the gesture softened her angular face a moment.

"I don't take tips, but I will give you one, little Anya." She peered at me, her eyes pressing the importance of her words. "Don't break the masque." With that said, she pushed her bony hands deeper into her coat's pocket, begrudging me any further niceties.

The whir of the engine was behind me, but that was the only sound as I turned toward the land. No seabirds or the soft ringing of buoys filled the silence left in the boat's wake, just the gentle lap of water.

At the end of the dock was a cobbled path, resembling more the way to a villa then a research facility. The road wound and ducked through a precarious tumble of sharp, damp rocks, cutting through the dark stone like a canyon. Beyond and above the high piles of rock I could see the bright edges of a white, rounded structure, but little else. My thoughts turned to my luggage, I would have to take it a piece at a time, or beg help from the facility's inhabitants, the members of this strange "masque" or cabal or club, whichever. With my more pertinent luggage slung across me like a bandolier, I began the slow slope up the hill.

By the top, I was breathless, or so I believed. There was still enough breath in me for it to be swept away by the sight of that place. It sprawled across a rocky hillside blooming organically in crevices and creeping across flat ledges, like some winding Acropolis.

Round, columned gazebos poised on the tips of cliffs. Stairways both open and covered by fornixes, floated impossibly from level to level. Languorously sprawled in the gazebos were vulpine and feline figures, heavy with the weight of marble or even life, I couldn't see through the gentle, purple shadows. More solid structures built like manubial temples were nestled close to the bosom of the hill, further protected by dark tufts of Cyprus trees. All was bone white with decorative traces of black and gold.

The main structure's glassy stairway cascaded to the base of the hill, each step alternating from black to white, leading me towards a manor unlike the rest of the building in its style. The manor was rectangular, and had perhaps been perfectly white before settling on a dinghy grey. It was distinctly British, with rows of tall, dark windows and an ominous set of brass doors.

The doors grew more foreboding, the closer I came and my shoes seemed unbearably loud on the steps. Timidly I knocked on the doors and waited. I had awakened the house, with that tiny gesture. A mechanical hum and click slowly swung the door inward, but ever so softly came the sound of chimes. Gentle bells, like the song of a Venetian clock, pealing simple, layered strains of Delibes' Flower Duet.

My welcoming committee seemed a speck, framed by the imposing doorway, but his small size was not enough to make me overlook him. His stick-man body was comprised of pencil thick antennas that seemed able to lengthen and shorten at "will". His hands resembled my grade school drawings, an open circle pierced by five sticks, but this amazing lightness of form was nothing. Blooming from his back were silver wings. No, not wings, more the bone structure for such appendages. And held aloft by his antenna neck was an empty silver mask. There was a fluid sense of movement to him, and an amazing sophistication in his engineering.

The lips of the hollow mask began to move supplely as a stilted, metallic voice began, "I am Otto, for Automaton. And you are Anya." He spread his arms in a gesture of welcome, "The house is graced by your presence. Come in. I will take your bags."

His arms stretched out to me, wrapping around my shoulders like creeping vines as it lifted my bags with its spindly arms. I had seen AI before, but nothing so whimsical as Otto.

"Oh- well Thank you and hello, Otto. But I left the rest of my luggage down..." I turned to point only to be confronted by the rest of my baggage in a squat pile on the porch.

"Nevermind then."

"Others will bring that, Anya. I will show you to your room and then to dinner with Dr. Stradi. Follow me."

I stepped through the doors into a high ceilinged room with stark floors of chessboard tile, and crowded with colonnades that created a simple maze. It made me dizzy at first, but Otto led me slowly through identical rooms and halls. The walls were punctuated by pieces of art, glass cases of armory or butterflies, tables festooned with elegant and exotic orchids and the occasional brightly painted door.

Otto stopped in front of a pale blue door decorated with a minutely detailed silhouette of a bird in flight.

"This is your room. Please let us know if you do not like it. Pull the bell rope near your bed if you need help. I will get you for dinner in an hour."

It was strange to me, who would produce such an advanced machine as Otto but still reply on bell pulls for communication? In time, though, I would understand the incongruence of the house. There was a rhythm to it that the inhabitants adopted like a traveler becomes accustomed to new food. My memories of pangs of confusion over this are isolated to only the first two weeks or so.

"Will someone bring me the rest of my luggage, Otto?"

He computed the question, "Yes," and pressed the door open revealing my chambers.

There were three rooms, the first was for sitting and had two thick, ox blood colored wingback chairs on either side of a tall coffee table. The cozy setup faced a grand fireplace with an emerald and yellow tapestry on the floor in front of it. The walls were lined with partially filled bookshelves that glinted faintly with gold and leather bindings.

In the second room was a massive canopy bed resembling something from Versailles for all its fabric and pillows. It was accompanied by a looming armoire, a chest of drawers and fainting couch. The third room was my bathroom complete with a shower and a freestanding porcelain tub, but tucked away in the corner was a delicate vanity covered entirely in mirror. Around the bright edges were etchings of creeping honeysuckle or jasmine, I couldn't tell. A milk jug of fresh lavender was on its table, desperately trying to lend a provincial simplicity to the scene. I liked this vanity best, for it reminded me of femininity, of loveliness, things so far removed from my life then.

Otto had vanished leaving me in the sumptuous, foreign world that I had to color with my own influence. A scrittering at the door signaled the arrival of the rest of my things. I ran to the door and stuck my head out hoping to catch my phantom helpers. Barely at the edge of the hall I saw a small, swift bunch of dark brown and gray fur darting around the corner.

It made me start at first, but another detail distracted me from fear. The dog or rat, thing trailed on the tiled floor a long satin ribbon of a pale peach color tinged with a blush of pink. I knew the ribbon sort, my pointe shoes had trailed perfect replicas. Wrapping a pet in satin ribbon? Such child-like whimsy pervaded here.

Unpacking allowed me to re-gather my thoughts. Something was slowly beginning to wedge itself between the world I had known and the moment I was experiencing. Things were far away, but my heart did not long for them. I saw my post box filling with unanswerable postcards, in my brother's excited scrawl. It was the only thing I would miss, but even in those cards, he was far from me.

As I was still in the midst of nesting, a quiet moth fluttered in, at least that was the way I felt when I saw her leaning in the doorway of the second room. Her white hand rested gently on the doorframe, displaying a scene on the wide sleeve of her ivory kimono robe of gold- scaled koi swimming under pink cherry blossoms.

I spoke softly, somehow fearing I would scare her away, "Hello, I'm Anya."

Blue black hair, loosely tied back, encircled an oval face, naturally pale as an Icelander's but powdered as well, and her demure mouth was painted a coral red. Shimmers of a rose color created depth on an almost kabuki like face devoid of expression, but not unpleasant in its demeanor. Her lined brown eyes fluttered over me before she answered in a soft, dulcet tone.

"Hello, Anya, I'm Tama. I live down the hall from you in the room with the red door that has the shell on it. Dr. Stradi instructed me to see if you were doing well."

"A little overwhelmed, but I think I'm alright." I ventured a little more, "Do you work with him in the labs?"

"Sometimes. But I am here mostly for treatment."

"Treatment?"

"Yes."

My question had broken the spell, in a rustling of silk she began to float away saying, "If you are well then I will leave you to your things."

Odd, how she just came and went so quietly. I sat stunned on the floor beside an open suitcase, a shirt still gripped in my hand. Treatment? What sort of treatment would that perfect flower need on this lonely island? My physical position had not changed much by the time Otto came to lead me to dinner.

The wire angel and I wended our way through more silent black and white halls until we reached a long covered stairway that curved like a dolphin's back, before descending sharply to our destination: A lovely outdoor affair in a small gazebo that perched near the main structure.

A snowy-haired man in an equally white suit and a powder blue tie sat at a small table, his hands folded contentedly in his lap. His bearded face was turned away from me towards the electric pink and gold sunset radiating through the columns. He unabashedly sighed and marveled at the scene like one who had been trapped indoors for too long. I felt a nuisance for tearing his eyes away from such a pleasure, but his cornflower colored eyes held only a sparkle of welcome at my interruption.

"Ah, Miss Anya. Do have a seat. Forgive me for not standing in the presence of a lady. I have a bit of a knee injury at the moment and those stairs quite took it out of me. I am Dr.Atticus Stradi. You may call me whatever you assemble from that assortment."

He waited for me to timidly settle into the open chair, looking at me with a grandfatherly expression all the while.

"Good to meet you, Dr. Stradi."

His face crinkled warmly, "The pleasure is mine." As he gestured to the platters of salmon, potatoes, brie, and salad, his manner became more animated.

"Come, come. Let us eat, do not be shy! We will be keeping company at many dinners I hope. My granddaughter is not always the most attentive creature, as you can see by her absence at the table, so it will be pleasant to have some conversation."

"I was hoping, Dr., to find out what exactly I will be doing here, and to ask about the 'masque' the ferry driver Karen mentioned."

"Oh, of course, in due time. But I make a rule of no business at the table."

He leaned back in his seat as I began to serve myself, "Anya. A dancer's name if I ever heard it. Do you dance at all, Miss Anya?"

I blushed, still surprised at his geniality. "Ballet, as a side interest. But I stopped when I went to nursing school."

"My instincts have yet to fail me. I told myself you move and sit like a dancer."

I was all demure smiles at this, and in a pleased mood I began to eat, finally aware of how hungry I was.

"After dinner I shall introduce you to my major domo, who you will be working with most often."

"Oh? What is his expertise?"

"That, my dear, is a broad question. Vivaldi can and does do many things, but he mostly runs the household and often oversees things in the labs. Very bright, but a little cool at first. Don't be daunted, he just takes a little getting used to."

The dinner continued with all lightness and smiles. The Dr. asked questions that flattered benignly and told charming anecdotes about all but the serious aspects of his life. Minutes were eaten up and not a single useful fact was given to me, but I didn't mind. My table rarely had such a sparkling quality, it was like sipping sweet champagne. Only over the delicately wrought dessert did he hint at any coming responsibility.

"Now, Miss Anya, tomorrow I hope to find you a guide for the day to take you through the house and labs. Preferably, you will have a fairly easy time of things and be in the house for most of your time here so you can interact with the inhabitants. Which I am sure you have gleaned that they are far from the usual." He smiled a bit, "I was told that was your specialty, brightening things for those in your care. Giving little bits of hope."

I rustled through my words for a proper response to this praise but came up empty.

Graciously dismissing my moment of awkwardness, Dr. Stradi ebulliently continued.

"As soon as you are finished, but do take your time, we will go find Vivaldi!"