The Fallen Mason

"Darien..."

Gabriel stared for a few seconds before he closed his mouth. He shut his eyes, swallowed, and gathered the strength to stare his brother in the face again.

"You just ate..."

Dr. Mason set the platter stacked high with cracked beef ribs aside, and dabbed the edge of his lip with a napkin. It was a stark contrast to the savage hunger he had just exhibited.

"Thank you. I needed that."

Gabriel pulled up a chair, finally daring to sit across from him. He looked behind him for a moment, up through the window where the silhouette of the Bazaar loomed uncomfortably close.

"So do you mean it this time? You've given up on that Well business?"

"Yes, Gabriel. I...I reached the precipice where Science could no longer..." He rubbed some of the grease off his fingers. "In the third cabinet..."

"I already had a look." He grinned as he reached under the table and set the two large brown bottles on the linen. "I always thought you preferred wine, brother. Is this some new venture of yours? Like the acid mints or the spore toffee?"

Darien shook his head. "Open one."

A flick of his ring, and the cap spun onto Darien's pile of bones. Gabriel held the neck of the bottle under his nose. He grimaced, placing it arm's length from him on the table.

"Are you KIDDING me, Darien? That's VILE! I've smelled better things in the Rookery!"

Darien gazed back through eyes reddened from lost days of sleep. "I took a sample of what they used...He wanted me drink it all in one sitting. Drink to oblivion. And that was the least repulsive suggestion."

"And what made you stop?"

"He wanted me to betray you. Or to be more exact...arrange for you to betray me..."

Gabriel leaned back and shook his head, covering his eyes. "What kind of Biblical nonsense...!"

"We promised after we saved Wren..."

"We would never betray each other..."

"Not for the Game. Not for the War we never fought. Not for the devils." He pointed towards the swirling cloud of bats that obscured the lights of the Bazaar. "And especially not for them."

Gabriel looked up, and chuckled as he cracked a weak smile. "And that goes double for Mr. Eaten!"

The brothers jumped from their seats at the sound of the shrieking bats and flapping wings, just on the other side of the window.

Wren ran into the dining room to Gabriel's side. He coddled her as the terrified black-and-red kitten in her arms arched his back and yowled.

"Hear, Hear..." mused Darien as he closed the curtain.

Dearest Brother,

"If you are not satisfied with the quality of service in this hotel, Dr. Mason, why don't you simply leave?"

Four months? I spent FOUR MONTHS at the Bethlehem Hotel? That's what I get for becoming head of the Astronomy Club! My friends, I would tell you about the interesting guests I met there. There was Dr. Howard When, a mild-mannered Chronomantic Archaeologist from the Sixth City. He had the most fascinating tales of the future. I would tell you about Lord Edward Chauncy (and Raucous Haunches), but the less said about him, the better. And then there was poor Mr. Anthill leaping down the hallways, convinced he was an antelope. Poor bastard. Chauncey said he didn't even taste like venison!

However, as a Doctor (and Surgeon) I would not intrude on the privacy of my fellow patients. I can tell you about how happy I was when I saw Ama and her Clay companion waiting for me in the main lobby! Now, why was the crowd applauding as well?

Oh yes. Apparently my dear brother Gabriel (he goes by his middle name now, his stage name he tells me) was rummaging through my things and found a draft of the scientific fiction I was writing before I was detained. The literati has been devouring my Tales of the Clockwork Caravel, thinking the novel all the more valuable because I was lost for dead in the Marshes. Apparently the price of the book shot up twice again upon word of my postponed demise due to the irony.

What was supposed to be a moment of peace and fresh sanity had turn into the frenzy of a book signing! Seeing as how I hadn't finished the tale yet, I now have to read it through to see what liberties Gabriel has taken with it. He had the audacity to show up at the end of the line with a copy of the book for my own perusal. Inside as a bookmark were two tickets to his next performance at Mahogany Hall, a topical comedy called The Inconvenient Aunt.

I decided to lay low for a while in my pied-à-terre, a room above a lively gathering place in Spite called the Sixes and Sevens. I was intercepted by a postman as I touched the doorknob, who forced me to sign for a package. So this is how my adoring public thanks me, I thought. A cat in the box?

My room was as spartan as I had left it, but still dusty. I noted the package had been bounced between here and my Watchmaker's Hill address. Something had been in the box for five days. Oh dear. I sliced open the top of the box carefully with an extra set of surgical tools I had stashed away. I winced as I peeked in. It was a kitten. The poor thing was half-dead! Such an unusual breed...sleek black fur and red tips on its ears, paws and tail.

That was a week ago. After a steady diet of milk and rubbery lumps little Koen, as I've called him, is now quite healthy. He's already begun to speak, and seems to have picked up my Baltimorean accent. With his unique appearance and speech, I wonder what kind of secrets he'll be able to gather.