Short Story – “Disappearing Act”
It went like this; sometimes, the bard would be with the rest of the party, laughing and scheming away, but most other times, he was only kind of there. It’s hard to explain. It’s like he was there, but you couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t interact. Like he was a mannequin in the background, a part of the furniture some might say. There, but also not there. Recently, it had gotten worse. Ethen was now never there, and any mention of his name was met with disinterest — instantly shrugged off and quickly explained away. The others seemed to remember him as if he had been a member of their group from years back when it had only been a few weeks since they had last seen him.
To the half-orc, that didn’t sit right. One of their closest friends, whom they have shared many an escapade with, just up and sort of fades from time to time with no explanation, and the others don’t even acknowledge it. Something altogether more sinister happening, something magical, and he would figure out precisely what.
That’s how Brodim found himself scaling the castle walls. For the past four weeks, in each town his party had ventured to, he would scout out the local library for clues about what was happening with Ethen. Inside the castle at Tingrop’s Reach was a wealth of forbidden lore. Among that lore was a book that supposedly detailed every disease, curse, or sickness from the arcane world. Brodim had been told about it by an old woman who ran the library in Ropewalk. Her theory had been that if Ethen’s ailment didn’t exist in modern books, it might exist in a magical one. The only problem is that they were rare and valuable, not available in your local library.
Hand over hand, he swung himself to the top of the battlements, gathering up the rope and swiftly harbouring it inside his pack. With hood up, he kept to the shadows, thankful that the spitting rain hadn’t stopped, and concentrated on the task ahead. As a dedicated thief, Brodim was well-practised at this part. He slipped past guards more concerned with the rain than their duties and only really looked up when they heard the retreating creak of the door as he snuck in. The warmth of the inside greeted him, and he took only a moment to gather himself before rushing forward.
‘This is the wrong side?’ Brodim retrieved a piece of parchment from the inside of his black cloak. It contained a drawing of the castle. The half-orc had reluctantly bought it from a merchant in the town below. Directions were littered here and there, but one thing was confirmed. The half-orc had gotten mixed up in the darkness and rain and had managed to climb up the wrong side. Rushing to the nearest window, he peered out across the length of the castle. It didn’t take him more than a moment to confirm his mistake. The tower was, in fact, on the other side.
Sighing, the half-orc rushed out of the door again and into the now battering rain. There must be a storm moving in, he thought. The guards had moved on from discussions of the weather to conversations of the castle. Apparently, they had some grievances concerning the poor state of the building, especially on the south side, which had been assaulted some time ago and still required the work of a stonemason. Sneaking past them was easy.
Following the walkways alongside the battlements, Brodim carefully watched his surroundings. Below him, to the right, was the main courtyard that would, come midday, be filled with merchants and their stalls making their business. There was a small stable, although he couldn’t see any horses. Asleep, most likely. Along with a few more guards stationed at the entrance to the castle proper.
When Brodim had finally reached the other side, he was exhausted and could barely see for the rain in his eyes. Wiping the water away, he tried the handle. It was locked, which was not a complete surprise. The lockpick tools were out a second later, but with the rain making things difficult, he easily went through two of them before he heard the comforting click of the latch unfastening.
Warmth greeted him yet again. Brodim sighed, wiping yet more rain from his eyes before he was off. This side of the castle had little in the way of surprise for him. It was all very generic as far as castles go. Grand hallways lined with the family’s banners, behind great suits of battered armour, between paintings and pedestals depicting some of the great members of the house and their legend-worthy deeds cast upon copper plaques.
It took two flights of circling stone steps for Brodim to find the entrance to the tower. A sign had been affixed to the door which read ‘Library’, making the whole search a little easier. With steady hands, the half-orc carefully pushed the door open, inhaling the settling dust and the familiar scent of old books. The room was dark, which was good; that meant there would be nobody around, and he could see in the dark being a half-orc. Closing the door behind him, Brodim quickly used one of his remaining lockpicks to bolt it. That should ensure I remain undisturbed, he thought.
Even in the darkness, he could see that there was a mountain of books to explore. The library went up in a spiralling pattern and was littered, haphazardly, he thought, with books and tomes of every variety. Brodim had given himself an hour to complete the task, but it could be days to locate what he was after. The half-orc hadn’t the first clue where to start, which was stupid, he knew — he should’ve put more time into researching that.
After the first fifteen minutes, Brodim was about ready to give up. There was no rhyme or reason to the stacking of these shelves. It felt like the books had been thrown together in whatever order seemed the most convenient at the time. It was about when he started to formulate a plan to kidnap one of the guards and hold them for ransom that he heard a key turn into the lock. The half-orc ducked down as a figure strolled into the room.
With his birth-given natural sense of sight in the dark, he could see that the figure was a gallius. A chicken person. With a rooster-like head, long chicken legs, but a regular human’s torso. The mismatched creature came into the room with a set of tomes in his arms and struggled with them as he tried to re-bolt the door.
‘Alios!’ The chicken shouted, and a swathe of bright orbs shot up to the ceiling, bringing the room into full view of the light. The gallius hummed to himself as he went, sauntering from shelf to shelf as he returned the books on the ground floor. Brodim took in more of the stranger. He had the look of a scholar with his half-moon spectacles, but his tattered robes seemed road-worn and thick with dust. On his ankles and toes, he wore a series of golden bracelets and rings that would serve as a prize for any thief. Who was this person?
Using his stealth, he slipped over the balcony of the first floor and silently trailed the bannister down, using the shelves as steps of a ladder to reach the floor below. Then, with careful consideration, he snuck up behind the gallius and drew his dagger to the creature’s neck. The stranger squawked in sudden shock and dropped the last of the books he had been holding, throwing his hands up.
‘Oh dear!’ he said. ‘What’s this now?’
‘I need some help finding a book,’ Brodim replied. ‘You seem to know this library well?’
‘I know every library well.’ The gallius snickered. ‘What is it you are seeking?’
‘A tome that details ailments from the arcane world.’ Brodim eased the dagger a little. After all, he didn’t really want to hurt the stranger. ‘Do you know where it is?’
‘I do.’ With two fingers, the gallius carefully forced Brodim to lower his arm, removing the dagger completely from his neck. ‘I’d be happy to help you find what you need.’
Brodim bowed as the gallius turned to him. ‘Thank you.’
‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘Have you come to steal this book? It’s not valuable enough to warrant going through all of this trouble?’
‘I’d rather not say,’ replied Brodim. ‘And I’m not looking to steal it. I just need to learn something from it.’
‘Hmmm…very well.’ The gallius took charge, leading the way towards the fastened metal steps that led to the higher balconies. ‘I’m not so reserved with my name. You may call me Quentin if you like.’
‘Are you related to the Vanderes, Quentin?’ The second after Brodim had said it, he knew he was wrong. The Vanderes were mostly human and half-elven. There wasn’t a chicken amongst them. ‘Sorry, stupid question.’
‘No, it’s quite alright,’ Quentin chuckled. ‘I’m not related, but I have procured for them a great deal of the books you see here in my travels. As a reward for this kindness, they have allowed me unlimited access to the library. I often pass through Grayhood, so it’s really beneficial for me.’
‘Travels?’
‘Yes.’ Quentin turned down an aisle of books on the second floor. ‘I’m a travelling scholar, you see. I’ve made it my mission to learn more about the world around us.’ As they walked, Quentin ran his fingers over the bound tome, skimming the spines of each and muttering to himself. ‘It should be around here somewhere.’
‘I do sort of the same thing.’ Brodim replaced the dagger in his belt. ‘Travel about, although it’s more mercenary work for me.’
‘Ah, here we go.’ The gallius pulled out an overly large book from the lower shelf, one that was riddled with dust. He blew it once, casting a cloud over the half-orc, and double-checked the title. ‘Yes, here we are. A book on arcane ailments. Is this what you were after?’
‘It is.’ Brodim took hold of the tome and moved back towards that small table they had walked past a moment ago. ‘Thank you.’
‘May I ask…’ Quentin rushed after him. ‘What exactly do you need this book for if you’re not planning on stealing it.’
Brodim sighed but didn’t let his gait suffer. ‘A friend of mine keeps, um, fading. Sometimes he’s all there, and then, sometimes, he’s not without explanation. It’s gotten worse recently. Now he’s just not there at all, and the others in the party can’t seem to acknowledge it. It’s like they’ve accepted he’s not around anymore.’
‘Sounds like the Disappearing Curse to me,’ replied Quentin. ‘Nasty business.’
‘The what?’
Quentin took the tome from him and laid it out on the table. Then, working fast, he flicked to a page somewhere in the middle. There it was, Brodim saw, an entry on this curse with a list of very familiar symptoms. ‘You see,’ started Quentin, ‘for thousands of years, people have been disappearing for apparently no reason. Most that knew them acknowledged they had gone but didn’t seem to care that they had vanished. They weren’t missing, not necessarily. It was more like they were ghosts. You could still see them. They were still there in a sense, just empty now. Figures you’d catch out of the corner of your eye. That’s what the curse does, you see, it allows a victim’s presence to continue to be felt, but they’re not really there anymore. Does that sound familiar?’
‘Yeah, it does!’ Brodim exclaimed. ‘So, why is it happening?’
‘Alas, no one knows. It could happen to anyone at any time, although it is exceptionally rare.’ Quentin shook his head solemnly. ‘There’s no real cure either, although sometimes they do turn up again. Out of the blue.’
‘So, there’s nothing I can do for Ethen?’
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ replied Quentin, closing the book with a dull thud. ‘Would you like me to see you out? If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you’re my guest.’
‘I suppose there’s nothing else for me to do here?’
Brodim left the book on the table. There was no reason for the gallius to lie to him, and deep down, he knew it was the truth already. For some unknown reason, Ethen had slowly started to fade into the background of their escapades, and now, he was simply gone without a trace worth following. Although, if Quentin was to be believed, there was some hope of him coming back if fate allowed it.
Quentin was generous enough to lead him to the drawbridge that crossed the small moat around the castle. They passed guards along the way, but with Quentin at his side, they didn’t pay the pair much mind.
‘If it’s any comfort,’ Quentin spoke in the moments before they departed, ‘it may take a week, or perhaps a month or two, but eventually, you’ll feel the same as everyone else. This friend of yours will fade, and you’ll care nothing for where he went. That’s how it always goes with the Disappearing Curse.’
Brodim thought on that for only a moment before giving the gallius a curt nod and making the long way back into the town of Grayhood below. It was curious. In the time since he had realised the truth behind the bard’s disappearing act, the half-orc had begun to care less and less about it. He didn’t know why, but it felt less important now. Like focusing on it would somehow get in the way of his life moving forward. Perhaps he was just accepting that the bard had disappeared and that some mysteries in life weren’t there to be solved.
Or perhaps it was the curse.
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