He found me...
England was nothing like he imagined. People, dogs and beggars everywhere, and there was a stench in the air that made everything look the same. There were not numbers nor words’ telling which street was which, or at least none that he could see. He walked around aimlessly for an hour before he found his place. The cab he had taken wouldn’t go into that part of town, though, so he had to walk.
After finding the address and entering the premises, he found himself in a small home, barely bigger than his own room at home. This is my house, he questioned, Where’s the bathroom, kitchen? Dropping his belongings, Irial closed the door, a cold draft making its way into the small shack as he did. He shivered at the sensation and pulled his jacket closer around himself. Wouldn’t want to catch a cold now that he had so little money to support himself and his studies.
He’d decided on studying medicine, a noble and praised profession that would not only get him recognized but a long time to complete. He didn’t want to finish his studies and return to the house he’d only just left. His mind made up firmly to take the course that would take up not only most of his time but the most time to complete. Being a doctor took skill and discipline, both of which he sorely needed.
Sorting out his papers, he headed out. He knew not where to go and so, as he walked the lonely streets of London, he asked for directions but to those who looked honest enough to tell him the correct way. After going the wrong direction a couple of time, he finally arrived at the Winchester School of Medicine.
Its grand door way gave the impression of a highly pricey place but, if his information was correct, it was anything but expensive. Legit enough to get him certified yet low in budget that he could afford, just what he was looking for. He entered the hall, where a young man met him with a wicked grin and told him to follow him.
“Quite an accent you got there,” the young man said. “Where you from?”
“Italy,” he replied. The young man nodded and continued to lead the way, their footsteps bounced off the walls.
Irial looked around the hall they were walking through, his eyes memorizing every inch of it. It had glass cases with paintings inside. Beautiful paintings some of which he recognized as an artist from back home. He couldn’t quite place his name though; he’d never been one for art. It was Leonardo something... but he wasn’t that famous and so it puzzled him as to why his paintings were in England.
“You know,” the young man began. “Your uncle is scary. He had the minister all riled up and told everyone to bugger off while they spoke. Not that that’s odd but the way he said it, the voice he used scared the pants off of me.”
“Scusi? My uncle?” Irial asked stopping, no one knew he’d come here, no one.
“Yes, your uncle.” He pointed to his left and bowed before leaving Irial, confused, to stare at the grand door in front of him. He shook his head trying to clear it before gripping the door handles and opening the door to his new future.
After an excruciating first week of studies, Irial crashed onto his bed exhausted and drained. All energy left him as the day progressed, his hands trembled from all the writing he’d done and his brain all but shuts itself off even if he still has so much work to finish by daylight. He sighed loudly and rubbed his face before, unwillingly, pushing himself off the bed and back to his desk covered with theses and terms that he not yet understood.
He’d thought, on the ride over, that it would be difficult, sure. He, after all, had to speak in a whole other language as well as writing and reading but he never imagined that it would be this hard. Everyone in his classes had parents from families that were riddled with doctors. Irial’s had merchants, servants, and bankers but no doctors of any kind. That, in its own way, gave him a handicap in the eyes of the other students who seemed to pick on him whenever they could.
Even the teachers, who were supposed to keep order, paid little attention to him and his needs. The English language was difficult, so many letters that when put together could form words and, if pronounced just slightly different, could mean another thing. The teachers, even his own English tutor, left him to his own devices and were no help whatsoever.
So, at the week’s end, after dealing with English mistakes and constant hand raising, his teachers decided to just hand him the work and let Irial go to his room. The due date was the same however, why let the foreigner get special privileges for being ‘slow’. And that is how he ended up in his room, hand cramped and homework pilled on his desk, his brain all but gone at the sigh of the load.
But he wasn’t going to give up. No, he was doing this for Alecxa or was it in spite of her? He couldn’t remember which... but it didn’t mattered now. What mattered were the papers in front of him, the writing in English that bothered him so much. Writing that, to him, looked more like random letters placed together. Words that looked and sounded unfamiliar in his ears, words that, unlike Italian, had no rhythm, no hormonal sound. It was all just gibberish to Irial.
But even then, he’d try to learn the language. On his left, as he sat on the desk chair, was a pile of letter, written in English, to Alecxa. He knew she wouldn’t be able to read them but in those letter, never to be mailed to her, was his heart written in the new language. He’d done no draft before plunging his pen into the ink, he wrote what came to mind and didn’t read it. After finishing, his mind emptying of the strange and unfamiliar words, he sealed the letter and set it to his left with the rest. Perhaps one day they would reach her but in all probabilities they wouldn’t, not with him still breathing.
Setting the letters aside, he reached for the first of works, something about the Thoracic Cavity and its functions, before, with a huff, clearing his desk unceremoniously, and thumping his head on the wooden counter. It wasn’t until then that he noticed a sealed envelope, not one of his own, stuck to the bottom of his shoes. He reached down, plucking it from the sole, and turned it this way and that. No visible name was on it so, out of curiosity, he slipped his finger between the fold and opened it. A paper emerged from within.
Found you, it read in bold cursive letters. Irial looked around the room, his body tensing. Perhaps another joke from the Englishmen, he thought. He turned back to the letter and gasped at its ending.
Alecxa sends her regards. Don’t wander off, I’m watching.
Even after walking the entire way back to school and searching, finding nothing, Irial couldn’t let it go. It was all too od Eventually he found the Englishman who'd showed him around the first time.
"You all right, mate?" the Englishman asked him as he flew by, chest heaving and eyes searching the halls. "Anything I can I help with?"
"Was anyone around asking for me?" he asked in the most proper English he could manage. The Englishman seemed impressed for a moment before scratching his head in though.
"Besides your uncle, you mean?"
"My... U-uncle, he was here today?" Irial asked confused.
"Yes, gave me a fright again he did!" The young man cried out. “It’s the eyes, I figure.”
"Thanks," Irial told him after a moment.
"No problem, mate."
"Hold on wait," Irial yelled out as the Englishman began to walk away. He turned and waited for Irial to speak and at that moment it occurred to Irial that he didn’t know his name. But that didn’t matter now. "I have so many uncles, can you describe him?”
"Well let's see, he was tall and had long hair and scary eyes, cold and they changed color, I swear."
“Oh, really?” Irial said as the color all but drained from his face. If the young man before him noticed, he said nothing of it. “Uncle Marckus was here...”
“Guess so.” He left with a wave turning the corner and leaving Irial to his sort out the confusion on his own.
What could he do but return to his loft, his thoughts riddled with unholy thoughts of what he was going to do if he was to find Marckus. How had he found him, would be his first question followed by a sharp punch to his jaw and a kick once he was down... or so he imagined in his head. But the more likely scenario would be that upon finding him, Irial would ask calmly and Marckus, although totally illogically, would find an answer that would satisfy him because the man had a way with words.
But if he'd found him did that mean that Alecxa knew his location as well? If she did she clearly didn't care since she hadn't come for him, had she even came with Marckus all the way here? He doubted it. Alecxa didn't want him anymore that much was clear and it didn't matter to him anyway since he was over her, right? Scratching at his head, Irial, for the second time that night, threw himself on the bed and sighed loudly.
"What a bloody nightmare," he said to himself out loud. "First, the Englishmen tease me then the work load and now this!" He threw his hands into the air and waved them erratically, the way his mind was moving in his head. Alecxa usually calmed him when he had one of his moods, but she wasn't here anymore... "Ugh!"
A soft knock on the door startled him. Sitting up and fixing his hair, he stood to get the door. He half hoped it was Alecxa waiting at the other side of the wooden door and even held his breathe as he turned the knob. He breathed out when the door opened and a short, slim girl was seen on the other side.
The girl smiled, her eyes wrinkling and her dimples showing, as she looked at Irial expectantly. He had no idea who she was and stared back, studying her as he would any other girl who’d come to his door so late at night. The girl waited, not saying a word just standing there, her hands tucked into a fold in her long dress, a bag dangling over her shoulder.
Finally, Irial budged. “Who are you?” he asked. “Do you need something?”
“Your uncle sent me to help you with your studies,” the girl told him, her voice soft and rich. “he said you were struggling with English and that the bastards at the school were not helping you.”
“I-I’m doing alright,” he protested. ”My English is good.”
“Nevertheless, I was paid to tutor you,” the girl pushed him and entered his little stingy home, a look of distaste in her face before turning to him and saying, “and that is what I intend to do.”
With a nod, he closed the door and waited for the lesson’s to begin. Perhaps this girl will help me figure out what Marckus wants from me, he thought as he sat down with the girl who was introducing herself.
“I am Virginia,” she told him. “Virginia Addams.”
“Irial,” he responded outstretching his hand as he’d seen other do. “Irial Shaw.”