Chapter Eight: The Aristocratic Class

In the morning, Lamia slept beside me, her head resting against my shoulder. She was exhausted from her travels, and now that she had returned to our warm home, she naturally slept soundly. Nothing had happened between us, due to Lamia’s unique physiology. I had no experience in such matters, nor did I mind; in Waterless Village, we abided by strict discipline—more like a band of ascetics, only allowed to break the rules after marriage.

Lamia’s apartment—our marital home—was on the thirty-fourth floor, a two-story unit of seventy square meters. She and I lived in the small attic; Salvador, Betty, and Betty’s parents lived downstairs. This was merely a non-typical example of Black Coffin’s housing shortage. Below the thirtieth floor, I’d heard that four or five people squeezed into less than twenty square meters, which was far more common.

Only by pooling Lamia’s and Salvador’s salaries as Rangers, together with the meager stipend from Betty’s parents, could we barely afford the rent and a modest standard of living. On the surface, Rangers seemed glamorous—at least middle class in Black Coffin—but beneath that veneer, life was tough. The demanding Ranger assignments did not bring commensurate pay. Even someone as outstanding as Lamia often found her expenses exceeded her income. If they were injured on duty, they’d have to move to the lower floors, since compensation wasn’t enough to cover mid-tier rent.

My original plan was unworkable. Not only could I not depend on her, but I needed to support myself and even contribute to the household. I felt a new kind of anxiety, so different from what I’d known in the wastelands; that was physical, threatening my life, but this new fear gnawed at my spirit—I had to consider family, reputation, status, and money. These burdens, shouldered out of love, were like instruments of torment in paradise, designed to wear away the soul.

Not to mention the schemes and betrayals I’d already tasted.

That accursed mask.

Salvador and Betty had departed for the barracks early. Lamia and I, newlyweds, were on leave. When she awoke, we lay chatting in bed, a warmth and happiness for a moment eclipsing all worry. I told her about purchasing the mansion, which necessarily involved the large sum given to me by Faga. I confessed there were only two hundred thousand gold coins left. Lamia was still stunned. “So there are such benefits to currying favor with Faga! If I’d known, I’d have sung her praises to the heavens.”

She’d recovered Yune, but after the various compensation and bills were tallied, the profit was only about one hundred thousand gold coins—insufficient for a year’s rent. And as the population grew, prices in Black Coffin would rise. Only then did I realize how hard it was to earn money.

We spoke of the two Marquises. Lamia said, “Michael is the district chief for these ten floors. He’s passionate about promoting culture and festivals. Le Steel is district chief for the forty-first to fiftieth floors; he’s more skilled in military operations and has the authority to command many Rangers.”

At this, I was delighted. “They’re my patrons now. From this day on, we can sleep easy.”

Lamia shook her head. “Michael treats you as a friend because he sees your value. That value may rise, or it may fall. He’s a big figure—remember, serving a king is like serving a tiger.”

I lifted my chin. “But since he attended our wedding, we’ve gained tremendous fame. I’m telling you, Lamia, in Black Coffin, reputation is wealth. We can’t just look at the present; we must think ahead.”

Lamia laughed. “But if we can’t pay the rent, tomorrow Black Coffin will throw us to the lower floors, which are overcrowded. Fame won’t help then.”

Just then, Betty’s mother called from below, “Lamia, someone’s here to see you!”

We hurriedly dressed. The visitor was a man dressed in unusual—later I learned, fashionable—clothes, his face stiff and expressionless. “Marquis Michael requests the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Longinus at his residence on the eighty-third floor.”

Delighted, I replied, “Please convey to the Marquis that we’ll be there shortly.”

The servant covered his nose and said, “The Marquis asks you to accompany me immediately—otherwise, you’ll not set foot in the noble district. But first, please brush your teeth and wash, to avoid offending the Marquis.”

After a careful wash, Lamia made me wear Salvador’s best suit, which fit passably. We followed the servant, took the elevator to the first floor, then another directly to the eighty-third. Here, every five steps there was a sentry, every ten steps a guard. The houses were magnificent, dazzling in their opulence. It was said that this floor’s total area was ninety thousand square meters, yet fewer than thirty nobles lived here.

We arrived at Michael’s mansion. Even from outside it stood apart—one side in a classic, cozy style, the other somber and austere, the front door split half black and half white, with a blood-red frame.

Inside, the carpet was a vivid red, the air heavy, the colors oppressive. I felt as though I’d wandered into Henry Pez’s old house. I also noticed Lamia seemed tense.

Michael sat in an antique study, heavy curtains blocking all light, torches the only illumination. The walls were lined with cabinets, making it more a museum gallery than a study.

Michael wore sunglasses and a thick robe, blowing his nose and dabbing his eyes with tissues. He stared fixedly at a display in the center: the statue of the goddess Ix.

Lamia led me in a bow. “You’re still awake, Marquis?”

I thought, “Why would Michael sleep in broad daylight?”

His voice trembled. “I can’t sleep, Mrs. Longinus, I can’t sleep. Yesterday, I understated it. The statue of the goddess Ix is the jewel of my collection, the crowning gem. The secret it harbors haunts me—it’s robbed me of appetite and sleep.”

I said, “You mean sleepless nights?” Lamia quickly covered my mouth.

Michael went on, “The goddess Ix was worshipped by the Maya as a sacrificial goddess. They offered young women on a stone slab before her statue, exchanging blood for good weather and national prosperity. What a sacred, solemn, ancient scene that must have been.”

Lamia asked, “How did the goddess’s statue end up in Henry’s old house?”

“Exactly! That’s the mystery! The statue is no fake—I’ve felt its power myself, nearly at the cost of my life. Who was the lady in the mansion? Was she a sacrifice? Why did everyone who entered Henry’s house—except Longinus—take their own life? Did they offer their faith to this goddess? That mansion hides another dimension—who cast the spell? These questions, if left unanswered, will drive me mad.”

I said, “You’d best keep your distance, lest you absentmindedly pick up a knife and hurt yourself.”

Michael replied, “No, I have self-control. Its power is weak now—no match for one as strong and ancient as a bloodkin.”

Bloodkin? Had I misheard? Was he, like Vasilisa and Abel, one of those blood-drinking creatures?

Lamia shot me a glance, warning me to keep silent.

Michael said, “The barrier I set ensures my faithful servants are safe. This is truly a crown of thorns, a dragon-guarded golden apple—enchanting and maddening, robbing one of all appetite for food… or blood…”

I said, “You mean food,” and Lamia lightly rapped me on the head.

Michael said, “Oui. Yes, yes. I won’t leave this statue’s side now. Longinus, return to Henry’s mansion and uncover its secrets. Do you hear me? I must know how this statue ended up with Henry. And that painting—you must bring it back to me.”

I feared I’d die in there, but fortune favors the bold, as I’d always believed. “But I’m strapped for cash, forced to scramble for a living. It’s hard to find the time.”

Michael cried, “You only care about money! Have you no regard for my friendship and kindness? I am tormented—can you not lend a hand?”

“But I fear for my life, Marquis. After all, without you and Le Steel at my side, there are few so brave in this world.”

Michael cursed and barked, “Bring me that painting and the full story, and I’ll give you five hundred thousand gold coins.”

Only five hundred thousand? What a stingy friend.

I was about to haggle when Lamia interjected, “No, it is our honor as Rangers to serve the Marquis. How could my husband and I accept a single coin?”

I was thunderstruck, but Lamia had settled the matter. I dared not contradict her—she was not only my wife but also my superior.

Michael smiled. “That’s more like it. I’m not a miser, but I don’t want my friends to value my gold over my noble and charming character. Now go—bring me good news soon. I must rest. Enduring daylight is, after all, harmful to my kind…”

I thought his so-called charm was limited; hard cash seemed more real. But as he rambled on, I only hoped he wouldn’t become so deranged as to be led to his death by the goddess’s statue.

Jean Valen and the servant waited for us outside. Jean Valen’s dark circles were even deeper, as if he, too, hadn’t slept. “The Marquis’s health is at stake—please make haste,” he said.

Lamia suggested, “You’d best send for Marquis Le Steel, lest Marquis Michael do something foolish.”

Jean Valen suddenly understood. “I’ll notify him right away.”

The servant escorted us back to the first floor, cautioning us repeatedly before he departed. Lamia and I returned to the thirtieth floor.

I couldn’t help but complain, “When men are talking, why must women speak out of turn?”

Lamia asked, “What? Say that again?”

I instantly lost heart. “I just said… ‘You’re so wise, my dear commander.’”

Lamia smiled. “That’s better. Didn’t you just tell me that money isn’t important, but reputation is? That was quite enlightening. Besides, he’s our main patron now—risking our lives for him is only natural.”

“But five hundred thousand gold coins would cover five years’ rent.”

“But you already have a mansion. We needn’t worry about rent anymore.”

That house? Fit for living?

Lamia said, “As long as it’s no longer haunted, I wouldn’t mind living there. With you by my side, anywhere is home.”

Her words nearly melted my heart—I had no objections at all.