Rune Mage [Fantasy/Adventure | Book 1 +2 | Complete]

Chapter 31: Ebanon Fernard

Seiren stared up at the lavish mansion. The runed motor – one of the first of its kind, powered by layers of red runes and released for commercial use merely one month ago after a major breakthrough by a group of state mages in Vigo – chugged away, leaving her alone facing this monster of a house. Behind her, acres of land spread with yellowing, uncut grass and a round pond covered in moss, upon which fat cherubs, their features worn by rain, danced atop a pedestal in the centre. What must once have been carefully-cut topiary now sat as non-specific clumps of dark green plant life around the peripheries. Dirty windows gazed down at her with haughty judgement. It must have looked grand once upon a time with its proud decorations and arches, but only its size and worn-down exterior remained, hinting at its long-gone glamorous heritage.

Gripping the front of her cloak, Seiren took hesitant steps forward and grabbed the knocker with her other hand, only to find it rusted against the door. Wiping the flaked bits of orange and black metal off the palm of her hand onto her cloak, she then hammered, three times, on the main door.

The air was stagnant, as if forgotten by time, just like the building.

Are we in the right place? Madeleine said, taking in the surroundings through Seiren's eyes.

Well, this is the only mansion in Hartley, so my guess is 'yes'. Seems like everyone's dead, though.

Seiren!

Seiren rolled her eyes at the scolding from Madeleine. Just when she raised her fist to hammer again, heavy locks thumped several times behind the thick door before it creaked open. A face so wizened he had more wrinkles than Seiren's most crumpled undergarment peered out at her.

"Can I help you?" Even his voice sounded several centuries old.

"Mage Seiren Nithercott here to see Professor Fernard," said Seiren, frowning. He seemed far too old to be the famous Prof. Fernard. And far too normal. The professor's eccentricities and unpleasantness were infamous.

"Ah. We have been expecting you, Mage. Please, come in."

He struggled with the door. After several seconds' wrestling, he finally got it to open a few more centimetres, enough for Seiren to squeeze through. She took in his crisp black tailcoat and high white collar with a little bowtie. He must be the butler, and took his role with pride. Even his wispy white hair was carefully combed and set close to his balding head. He walked with a stooped posture in odd jerking motions, as if his joints were glued together. He offered to take her cloak. Seiren withdrew the runes from the inner pockets and slid them into those of her tunic before shrugging the cloak off and passing it to him. She wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

The old man was so skinny his butler's uniform drowned him. Coupled with Seiren's black cloak and the dim light in the hallway, all she could see was his tiny head, his wispy hair glowing like a small halo.

"My name is Myrtin. I am butler to the Fernard household."

Seiren wasn't sure if she was supposed to acknowledge that or respond in a particular way. She nodded instead, although Myrtin had already turned around.

The air was heavy here, as if holding secrets centuries old. Dusty pictures lined the wooden walls, their occupants' eyes glazed. Cobwebs strewn in the corners. The old man battled the front door until it yielded and slammed shut. A wide staircase stretched upwards; hazy light struggled through the dusty windows at the top. A small puff of dust accompanied Seiren's every step.

"Excuse the place, good Mage. Ever since the rest of the household's servants left, it has just been me looking after the mansion and it's fallen into a state of disrepair."