Placeholder Family Man

[Caspian]

50 Fall 522

The first sign, when he looks back, that something was going to be off about this day was that when he entered the house his stepfather did not greet him with an insult.

In fact it’s quite the opposite. Zhassel – the Kelvic Hound who has held the title of stepmother for about a decade – is the one who opens the door, and she’s got the strangest look on her face. Like she’d just been kicked a moment ago – not out of the realm of possibility – for saying something snide. And the comment had been particularly acerbic, and the retribution may have been quite seriously hard.

“He’s in the dining room,” is all Zhassel says, with enough of her customary ruefulness that Caspian can rest assured that she’s not, say, terribly and terminally ill. Speaking of, though – he almost double-takes, notices that the gray streaks in her hair are undeniable in the light, that patches are missing from her scalp. And the wrinkles around her eyes –

How long are Hounds meant to live?

He had been assuming, since his return to Sunberth, that her reduced animosity towards him had come from a place of – well, not respect, but begrudging acknowledgment that he’s approaching 30 years old and can’t be demeaned the same way she’d done when he was much younger. Part of him had been hoping that she did appreciate, at the very least, that he’d struck out on his own, without their help or guidance.

But perhaps that vitriol was still there, muffled underneath that sagging skin and behind the sallowing eyes, tempered with passing time. One day she might become too old and tired to feel the need to bite at all.

All of this could be reflected on later. Now he’s stepping into the dining room, where his stepfather Taaldros waits, seated at the head of the table.

Taaldros gestures at the empty chair nearest him. Caspian glances it up and down – what is he expecting, for the seat to be lined with spikes? But he can’t help the reflex – before settling into it.

“You hungry?” Taaldros asks in his deep-dark baritone, and Caspian blinks and has to process the sentence backwards and forwards a couple times to make sure he’s heard right.

Despite how he might have answered, Zhassel reappears, plunking down two plates of bread and cold cuts, and hunks of cheese.

Instinct has Caspian waiting warily again, watching his stepfather dig in first, before trying his own.

“Is this from Smily’s?” Caspian asks. The good butcher, from his teenage memories. The more expensive one, least likely in their radius to mix rat entrails in with the ground meat. And subsequently the one they went to very infrequently, and only on special occasions.

His stepfather grunts in affirmation. “You still remember?”

“There’s plenty I can’t forget.”

But this weird, very unusual, noticeably off – why was a red carpet practically rolled out for him the moment he came in?

The lack of answers dulls his appetite, and he drops the roll of bread he’d been picking at back onto his plate. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Taaldros takes his time, taking a large bite and swallowing before replying, “I’ve got a job for you.”

Caspian leans back in his chair, crosses his arms. “Ahuh.”

“And it’s not in Daggerhand territory.”

Where they’d have, through Taaldros, some sense of security and protection.

Nope, of course it isn’t.

[Caspian]

“So he’s going to get the baby after all?”

Caspian jumps at the sound of Taalviel’s voice, his knee knocking painfully into one of the table legs and rattling the plates. Glaring between his sister and stepfather, he utters with gritting teeth and a sinking feeling in his gut, “What baby?”

Taalviel isn’t a fool; what she is, though, is an apathetic Kelvic whose sense of humor sometimes takes the form of blunt trauma.

“What baby?” Caspian repeats, louder and more crossly this time, when no one replies. He casts his gaze at Zhassel, and behind her aging eyes are the remnants of her old cruelty and mirth.

“There’s a woman in the northwest part of the city,” Taaldros says, his voice a steady rumble, “and she has something of mine. I’d like you to get it back.”

“’It’ being, like, a baby, right?” Caspian feels his voice rise in volume as well as pitch and doesn’t give a rat’s ass. “And this baby is, what – yours? Or maybe it isn’t? Holy shyke. I actually can’t tell which situation I’d prefer.”

When no one responds to this – and this is exceptionally irksome and completely to be expected, that once again in this family he’s last to know and held so far out of the loop – he ekes out a high-pitched, “And after I bring you this baby – you’re going to do what, exactly?”

“I told you he’d have a fit about it,” Taalviel says darkly, taking the seat opposite Caspian, at their father’s right side. “Yeah, it’s Dad’s. We have a baby sister. Isn’t that nice?”

To date Taalviel has never categorized anything as nice, and Caspian highly doubts she’ll start now.
“Northeast, though?” Caspian frowns. “That’s Night Eyes territory, isn’t it?”

Taaldros grunts.

“And you can’t go yourself, because you’re so obviously Daggerhand. But me and Taalviel, your unsigned whelps, can come and go as we please. Well, sort of.”

Taaldros grunts again.

“Who is she?” Caspian asks. “That woman whose life you made a whole lot harder. Why isn’t she here right now? Wait, was she before? Where was she the whole time she was pregnant?”

Taaldros pauses; Caspian wonders if he’s readying himself to lie, but when it matters he’s not really the type. “She’s no one,” he says. “Just another part-time lockpick.”

“And part-time whore,” Zhassel says, the first words she’s uttered out loud in a long time. “Picking up the extra in her own apartment.”

“Well. That seems, potentially, a lot nicer than being indentured to some brothel,” Caspian replies. But that detail only really matters to Zhassel; it does, however, mean he might be able to easily locate the woman, if she’s not one to tend to leave home. For what feels, perhaps, like the very first time – he feels a bit sorry for his stepmother. “That being said, though. You’re entirely sure this baby is yours?”

“She wasn’t seeing anyone but me for several months,” Taaldros says. “I made sure of it.”

Whether or not that’s completely possible to guarantee – with the dark, death-knell way the words had been declared, he’ll take his stepfather’s word on it.

“Tell me exactly where she lives,” Caspian says. “And tomorrow, I’ll – “

“Tonight,” Taaldros cuts in.

Caspian looks to his sister, who unsurprisingly offers no sympathy.

Word count: 550

[Caspian]

“What does a three-month old baby look like?” Caspian casts a glance towards his sister, who’s gliding softly beside him, her hood and locks of dark hair obscuring her expression.

“Small.”

“Small,” Caspian repeats. “That’s it?”

“Ugly, probably.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, neither do you,” Taalviel retorts.

“Oh holy shyke,” Caspian says for what might be the dozenth time in the past hour alone. Pausing, he exhales and grabs his chest, pressing his head against a streetlamp. “This is batty, Taalviel. Absolutely off the mark. Petching hell. I feel like my heart is going to explode.”

“That impossible,” Taalviel says calmly, watching him without any flicker of emotion. “People don’t just blow up from the inside. The closest was that time we saw that slaver take a knife to the back, and the tip pierced through the other side. And everything came gushing – oh, are you going to vomit?”

“Excellent bedside manner, you ought to become a nurse.” Caspian stares down at his boots. If he throws up on them now, it wouldn’t be the first time.

--

There’s no signpost to tell them they’ve passed from the unclaimed lands into that of the Night Eyes, but Caspian feels a change in the air right away. It’s late afternoon and growing darker already, with it being the winter season, but the growing shadows aren’t what’s spooking him. From behind shutters, the cracks of doors, quick rat-like rustles in alleys – he can feel eyes upon him, more searching and seeking than the denizens of the uninterested in the faction-less neighborhoods. They know he doesn’t belong, that he’s an other. They do the same towards Taalviel. Silently it makes him feel closer to his sister, their imposed camaraderie, though he won’t admit it to her now.

Fortunately for the both of them, any interest from strangers’ watchful eyes is cursory at best. They aren’t dressed very loudly, which helps; he’s limited himself to the barest traces of his old gold eyeliner habits, and his swirled, magical Obfuscate dagger is tucked into his jacket, out of sight. It’s almost too pretty for a place like Sunberth; he’s going to have start properly killing anyone who gets a look at it, or people might come poaching.

The woman in question is named Tarima. They find the blacksmith at the foot of her apartment building exactly as Taaldros had described it. The structure is just a couple blocks from an open air café known to be frequented by the Night Eyes, and Caspian’s thankful they aren’t heading there, right into the bowels of a ready enemy.

According to Taaldros, the woman, when it comes to sex work, prefers the day shift. After the work is said and done, she usually heads to the aforementioned café or a local tavern for a bite to eat, before either turning in for the night or heading out on a light larceny mission. If all goes according to plan, she should be exiting her apartment by the next hour, with the setting of the sun.

“She’s not Night Eyes herself, is she?” Caspian asks.

“No, but her brothers are. They don’t talk much, though, so I don’t think they’ll be hanging around,” Taalviel replies.

They nip into a nearby alley with direct view of her apartment complex’s door. Out of habit, as he usually does in the moment when he’s watching and waiting, he digs into his pocket for his tobacco pipe. Once it’s in his hand, though, he loses all interest, in favor of the matter at hand.

“What’s Dad going to do with the baby? Is he actually going to – I don’t know, raise it?” he asks.

“Well, it’s his.”

“It’s hers.”

“I don’t think she’s very interested in being a mother. She wasn’t exactly happy when she found out. And from what I’ve seen, she’s apathetic about it now.”

“From what you’ve seen,” Caspian repeats. “So you’ve been on this mission for a while.”

“Just a day or two ahead.”

But that’s how their father sees them; that’s where the rankings always lie.

Word count: 677

[Caspian]

When night falls, a dark-skinned woman approaches the apartment, carrying a wrapped bundle in her arms.

“There,” Taalviel says, though she’s staring straight ahead at the opposite wall of the alley he’s leaning against. “That’s her sister.”

And that must be the baby, in her arms.

Taalviel had mentioned that Tarima’s sister took care of the baby at her own apartment, while Tarima worked.

“They’re not going to sit and chat, are they?” Caspian says quietly. The floor directly above the blacksmith is Tarima, and the room is aglow now with candlelight. If the women end up drinking and gossiping, he and Taalviel are going to be stuck in the alley kicking at pebbles all night.

“Highly doubt it.” Taalviel looks up at the moon. The light is wan here, as if like all things in Sunberth, by the time it reaches them on the ground it’s immediately covered in a layer of filth. “They don’t get on very well.”

“Does anyone in that family get along? You know what, never mind.” It’s not like he can’t relate.

They wait a minute. Then another. Caspian impatiently shifts from one foot to the other.

“But raising it,” he says. “Dad, at his age? And Zhassel? I mean, she didn’t exactly raise you and that was when she was at her prime.”

“Right, she didn’t. Because Mom was still alive.”

“Mom was alive, and getting old.” And once Kharis had started getting old, Taaldros had moved on to a then-young Zhassel.

And with Zhassel withering, here’s Tarima. The pattern continues.

He doesn’t finish the thought out loud, but Taalviel doesn’t press him. And across the street, the door to the apartment is opening, and Tarima’s sister exits with her shawl pulled tightly around her face.

They move towards the mouth of the alley. But a drunk elderly man stumbles past down the street, only one of his suspenders still fastened, his trousers slipping far beneath his waist. Caspian presses himself back into the shadows of the alley, holding his breath and crouching in the dark. Just because the man is clearly inebriated doesn’t mean he won’t potentially cause trouble, and it’s not worth the risk.

When the coast is clear, the siblings head out into the street, swiftly crossing towards the apartment.

“Locked,” Taalviel muses, though they both predicted as much.

Three handles on a pulley system hang by the front door. Glancing upwards, Caspian sees that they’re attached to knockers, one for each level. So the building must be one entire unit per floor, and with the handles visitors can announce their arrival.

“As much as I would rather prefer a good old-fashioned burglar, a snatch and grab…” Caspian sighs. “I have an idea.” He jerks his head off to the left. “Make yourself scarce for a second.”

He pulls on the handle meant for Tamira’s apartment. It knocks against her wall above their heads. She doesn’t answer right away; he isn’t surprised. He knocks again, more insistently.

Above him Tamira’s window opens, and a dark-skinned woman with voluminous black hair appears, peering down at him.

“We’re closed,” she calls down.

“Are you sure?” Caspian says beseechingly. “I can pay double. Look, if you don’t believe me…” He reaches into his pocket, holds out a few pieces of gold. Even in the muted moonlight, no one could mistake their glint for anything but coin.

He can see her thinking. What will she do with the baby? Her sister’s already left. But she sees the money, and finally nods.

“I’ll come down in a second.”

Word Count: 593

[Caspian]

At the sound of Tamira’s steps, Caspian signals to Taalviel, holding up one finger. Taalviel nods, disappearing back into the gloom.

Tamira gives him a quick up and down when she opens the front door. Evidently she finds him clean enough; in any case, the gold in his hand is real, and she nods, letting him follow her back up the stairs. He can appreciate her principles; from behind, he can appreciate a lot more than that, and admonishes himself when he remembers he stepfather must have followed this same path countless times.

He wonders if she even likes Taaldros; possibly not, if she’s been avoiding him and keeping his newborn child.

“You get half a bell,” she says, eyeing him one more time before letting him into her apartment.

The kitchen immediately follows the door. She brushes past, the sleeves of her gauzy robe trailing behind her, like the wings of a butterfly, or a ghostly bird. The baby isn’t anywhere to be seen. He glances down a hallway with three doors – one most likely a bathroom. Are the other two bedrooms? It’s a rather big apartment for a single woman in Sunberth, but he supposes she may be good at her craft.

Enough to keep his stepfather coming around.

He suppresses a shudder.

“Well?” She turns around, loosening the sash on her robe. “Are you ready to start?”

She leads him towards the couch.

Caspian supposes, then, that she’s hidden his half-sister in one of the other rooms.

“Wouldn’t we be more comfortable on a bed?” Though he’s hung around plenty in brothels before, mainly because so many of his friends have plied the trade, he’s never actually paid for sex. He has no idea whether she takes the question as a normal one, or can tell immediately that he’s here to deceive her.

“What’s wrong with right here?” Her voice oozes like honey, and she takes him by the hand, pulling him again towards the couch.

He thinks wildly. “Wait. Are you wearing perfume?”

“Don’t you like it?”

Honestly, he does. But that’s not important here. “It’s just… a bit strong. You know? Sorry, I’m a bit sensitive.”

She pauses. Raises an eyebrow. “Yes. I can see that.” But the smile, as of a professional, is back on her face once more. “I’ll wash up. Give me a moment.”

The second she’s in the washroom, Caspian unlocks her apartment door. Taalviel should be creeping up any moment; now he just needs to stall.

He cracks his neck. Exhales. Puts a mirror of her smile on his own face, ready for her when she returns.

This time he doesn’t pull back when she tugs on his arm. He positions them so that she has her back to the door. “Slowly,” he says when she begins unbuttoning his jacket. “I like this part to last.”

Her slim fingers trail down the side of his face. The rouge on her lips – she took the opportunity to reapply while in the bathroom, and it’s a deep bloom against her dark skin tone. “Ah. So do I.”

Word Count: 515

[Caspian]

Where in shyke is Taalviel?

Caspian’s got one eye on Tamira, one eye on the door. But he supposes the best version of this is if he doesn’t hear Taalviel coming and going at all; because if he doesn’t perceive any noise, most likely neither will Tamira.

The woman is kissing his neck. It’s not bad at all, but he’s too anxious to enjoy any of it. Still, isn’t that the best version of this too? The one where he isn’t actually distracted. It’s hard to stomach any of it knowing his stepfather’s hands have been where his are now.

“Keep going,” he says when he feels her pulling back. “…please?” It’s very awkward, but he giving orders isn’t something he’s used to. He wonders how many of her clients are this obviously awkward.

In any case she hums, complying. And that’s good, because her eyes are most likely shut and not on the door. Her hands are moving inside his jacket, across his chest, around his waist.

Then she pauses.

Moving on instinct alone, lightning fast he grabs her wrist – the wrist attached to the hand that had just bumped the pommel of his Obfuscate dagger.

“Sorry,” she says, freezing.

Once, he used to wear more makeup than she is right now.

He feels the strangest urge to tell her this; who, in turn, would she reveal this information to?

“It’s alright,” he says, smiling assuredly to try and smooth the moment over. “Really,” he insists when she hesitates. He slips his jacket off his shoulders and sets it over the arm of the couch. The moment being broken, and needing desperately to salvage it to keep her occupied, he surges forward, kissing her deeply. She falls backwards onto the couch, and he on top of her, one of her legs wrapping around his waist.

He’s still listening intently for the door behind him. He thinks he hears something, but he can’t be completely sure, too jumpy and wanting too badly for Taalviel to make her move. But Tamira does – she pushing herself up on her elbows suddenly, then flipping them so he’s the one on his back.

Her dark hair shrouds them both. She’s still smiling.

He tries very, very hard, and fails very much to think of his stepfather in this same position.

The bulk of Tamira’s hair, though – it can’t be that dark –

Tamira senses a presence behind her a second too late. There’s a dull strike, and Tamira gasps, her body dropping.

Above them both stands Taalviel, holding a plank of driftwood.

Caspian wriggles out from beneath Tamira. A trickle of blood seeps from her head.

“There better not have been a nail in that,” he says, frowning at the plank and suddenly feeling very sorry. He arranges the limp woman on the couch in what he hopes is a peaceful position and pulls on his jacket. “You didn’t kill her, did you?”

“Let me find out. Go get the baby,” Taalviel says, scrutinizing Tamira’s unconscious form.

Wasting no time, Caspian hurries to the hallway with the three doors. One is indeed a bathroom; the other is actually a linen closet, and the third is the bedroom. In a corner of the bedroom is a bassinet, and in the bassinet is a baby, fast asleep.

When was the last time he’d held a baby?

Was it as far back as his early childhood, two decades ago in Avanthal?

He reaches into the bassinet, peering down at his half-sister. Supports her head with one arm as he carefully scoops her up.

He’s never stolen a baby before.

But is it stealing if their blood is his own?

“Let’s go,” Taalviel says, appearing in the doorway. Digging through Tamira’s closet, she draws out a long dark cloak, throwing it over his shoulders, and shielding the baby from sight.

Caspian glances once more at the unconscious woman on the couch. Wonders how much she resembles his mother Kharis, if at all.

Not daring to speak, he and Taalviel take their sibling back to their father’s house.

Word Count: 678