Inside was a spacious bedroom, complete with classical oaken furniture and a massive wardrobe. Most of the furnishings had been heavily vandalized, however, the luxurious mattress adorning the bed having been slashed and ripped apart. One of the doors to the wardrobe had been torn completely off and thrown into a corner of the room, the shredded remains of the garments within thrown in a pile on the floor. A wooden desk had been overturned; its contents spilled everywhere, including scrolls of parchment with toppled over inkwells that had dried up long ago.
Thunderclese motioned for Vlishgnath to come in. Once Vlishgnath approached, the reason for being called to the room became obvious; painted in black paint were letters so large they took up most of the northern wall.
TRAITOR
The two men looked at it for a few moments, before Vlishgnath broke the silence. “Traitor. Hmm. I wonder whose room this is.”
Thunderclese shrugged. “No clue. The papers are all blank.”
“Well then, perhaps exploring the other rooms may grant us more insight.”
That said, the two of them turned to leave, but when Vlishgnath’s foot landed on the floor before him, it made an unnatural sounding creak. He came to a sudden stop, as did Thunderclese, and they both stared at the floor. Kneeling down, Vlishgnath pulled back the heavily soiled rug, feeling around on the ground until the tips of his fingers caught the edge of a floorboard. Reaching into his boot, he pulled a broad-bladed dagger from a hidden sheath and used the masterfully crafted knife to pry the offending floorboard loose.
From inside the now revealed nook in the floor, Vlishgnath carefully lifted a brown leather-bound book, wrapped loosely in linen cloth. Delicately flipping open the front cover, he revealed the answer they sought written in well-practiced handwriting on the very first page.
To my dear brother Lucien,
I present you this journal to commemorate
the publishing of your first book.
We are all so very proud of you.
Your sister,
Isabelle
Episode 8
Vlishgnath and Thunderclese leafed through the book for several moments, skipping past early passages where Lucien mostly wrote about how he was only writing in the journal to make Isabelle happy. Their casual scanning came to a halt, however, several pages in on an undated entry.
I can no longer ignore the atrocities that are committed within these walls. Now that Lillith has gone on tour with Forté, Isabelle and I are the only ones left who openly disagree with what father is doing. I know for a fact Vincent doesn’t approve either, but he’d never say anything. We’re supposed to be governing over these townships and ensuring their protection and prosperity, not using them as livestock for father’s sick indulgences. Bartholomew’s disturbing enthusiasm for what’s going on has me worried, and Alexander’s utter lack of interest is of no help either.
Whoever finds this, I must warn you: our father, the Baron LeFay, is knowingly and willingly engaging in acts of necromancy and demonology. Exactly what he does in his study is kept a tight secret, and he allows only our mother and Bartholomew inside it. My sister Isabelle and I have fled the manor for fear that our lives may soon be forfeit. Do not fear for us, for we are safe. If you can, please spare our brother Vincent; he wants no part of our father’s grotesque rituals, but his aversion to the outside world prevented him from escaping with us. On the inside of the back cover is a key to our father’s study; I only hope you have the courage to face what I could not.
May whomever you claim as your god watch over you in this unholy place, and know that it was not always as you see it now.
Lucien LeFay
When they had finished reading, Vlishgnath turned to the back of the leather-bound journal and found a key resting in a make-shift pocket that had been sewn into the inside of the back cover. Sliding it carefully from its pocket, the rather unremarkable looking metal key was very obviously a replication of an original.
Turning it over in his hand a few times, Vlishgnath spoke as he visually inspected it. “I wonder which of them made it.”
Thunderclese thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Hard telling. I’m more curious as to whether or not the thing will actually work. Too bad we didn’t know we might have to pick a lock, or you could’ve brought that little blonde thief friend of yours along with us.”
“Sidonia? Heh, I’m afraid even I wouldn’t have been able to talk her into setting foot on the front porch, let alone coming inside. She’s terrified of the supernatural.”
“I think I am too now, thanks to this house.” Thunderclese shuddered. “What’s our next move?”
“Let’s go through the rest of the bedrooms and see if any of the other LeFay children left us a present,” said Vlishgnath.
Maximus rejoined them from his post as lookout as they continued through the first floor. The southern-most rooms quite obviously belonged to the two girls; large, cushy canopy beds with lace trim and an unnecessary number of pillows resided in each one. A beautiful harpsichord set in a hand-carved frame in the western bedroom indicated that the room belonged to Lillith, and a sturdy oak desk with a comfortable chair in the eastern one signified Isabelle’s. The room directly across from Lucien’s was locked.
Not bothering to stare at the door for more than a moment, Vlishgnath reached over and clapped Maximus on the shoulder. “You’re up.”
Without his usual room to get at least three steps of momentum, Maximus resorted to leaning back and then lunging forward, bashing into the door with all of the strength he could muster. When it didn’t swing open on the first try, or the subsequent second and third try, Vlishgnath looked at the two northern-most bedrooms in the south-west corner of the house.
“Keep at it, Maximus. It looks like it’s going to give eventually. We’ll go clear the last two rooms.”
First, they found a rather drab and boring looking room, the bed of a very simple yet efficient configuration with only the necessary linens. The rest of the space was devoted to more books, carefully stacked in neat columns around a large, comfortable looking chair. Opposite what they presumed to be Alexander’s room, they found a luxuriously furnished room with an enormous bed. Carved from wood and decorated with the horns and antlers of various animals, the bed sat atop an enormous fur of some type. Hanging on the wall was another portrait of Bartholomew striking a dashing pose, with a pair of crossed rapiers beneath it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Thunderclese blurted out upon seeing the painting. “He hung a portrait of himself in his own room.”
“Weren’t you contemplating doing the exact same thing at one point?” Vlishgnath said, silently thanking his helmet for hiding his enormous grin.
“Yes, but I realized how ridiculous it would be and opted not to.”
“Oh, so that makes it alright?”
“According to the church, yes.”
Just then, a loud crashing noise indicated that Maximus had finally breached the locked bedroom door, so the two returned to the hallway.
This final bedroom was very dark inside. The windows were boarded over, and the walls were painted black. Vlishgnath hesitated for a moment before stepping in, Thunderclese following behind him, while Maximus remained outside to stand guard again. The room smelled strongly of paints and clay, and if the olfactory clues hadn’t already told them, they could have deduced by process of elimination that they were in Vincent’s room. For the first minute or two, they cautiously shuffled through the room while their eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Doesn’t anyone in this house like to see where they’re going?!” exclaimed Thunderclese, knocking over an easel.