Benlunar - Episode 26
Lilian talks with the people’s champion.
The city, like a hive is teaming with life
People crawl over it like insects or parasite
It’s a place you can thrive or die in a ditch
Where you can step on the poor to get slightly more rich
When the mountains are flat and the seas are dry
The towers will stand stabbing the sky
As long as there is freedom and people in chains
Humanity dies, Freedos remains
“There we go, nice warm cup of tea. I’ll just set that down there for you. I’m terribly sorry I don’t have any biscuits or confectionary. Very unlike me. You know my son sometimes brings me back sugared pears from Zandt sometimes. Have you ever had one? Truly remarkable. Now then, what is all this you were saying about a man on the Laga Boulevard? Oh… my good Gods around us.” Had Ryland Twitchett still been carrying his tray of tea, he would have dropped it from the shock. Lying on the ground in the middle of his shop floor, there was a man. He was dirty and had long hair. He seemed to have only just opened the door before collapsing next to Lilian. Lilian! Mr Twitchett remembered that she was there, she was sitting very still. The poor girl surely had been through enough today without this added nuisance.
“Lilian why don’t you be on your way, I think your services will not be required today.” He expected the girl to just walk right out, but she stayed. She even looked up at him to say,
“This is him! This is the man from the Boulevard, the one I was telling you about.”
This changed everything. Mr Twitchett immediately went over to shut the door and lock it. Pocketing the key he turned back to Lilian and gave her instructions.
“Help me get him into the back. You take the arms, I’ve got the legs.” The pair managed to move the collapsed man, but it was slow going. Luckily no one peeked through the window while they were lifting and wheezing. Mr Twitchett threw out several curses as he felt a familiar pain flaring in his lower back. Finally they managed to set him down into a small armchair Mr Twitchett had in his office.
The back room of the shop was referred to as an office, but it was more like a workshop. It stank of chemicals and glue and every surface was a mess of wings, scraps, tools or knives. Sweating slightly, Mr Twitchett turned to his young helper,
“You said his name was Genaro?” She nodded and then looked confused.
“Do you know him?” Mr Twitchett gave a curt tut, a sort of half spit.
“Ts, I know of him. He’s a noble, turned terrorist or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.” There was a pause, Lilian wondered if it would be safe for them to be so near him when he woke up. Mr Twitchett was more worried about dust stains on his nice chair.
“You know what Lilian, why don’t you go and gather a few blankets from that green basket and we can put him on the floor. It might be quite some time before he wakes up.”
It took the man called Genaro exactly sixteen hours and twelve minutes to regain consciousness. Lilian knew this because she checked the clock tower on her way to work the next day and Mr Twitchett had a tall standing clock in his shop that occasionally chimed with the hour. Lilian had already been at work for an hour before he showed any signs of waking, but once he did, she and Mr Twitchett set down their dusters and tools and gathered in the office. They stood a few feet away from man, in case he decided to attack either of them upon waking, but there was no need as he moved with deliberate slowness and discomfort.
“Water.” Lilian didn’t hear him speak at first, his voice was so soft, but she quickly realised the nature of his request and sped to fetch him a glass of clean water. They watched him gulp it down with desperate speed and he asked for three more glasses before he said anything other than “Water.” His voice grew bolder with each request and by the time he finished his third glass, he was able to speak clearly. Although visibly weakened by the effects of the Nightshade, he was able to look around and talk. His head was propped up on an old pink cushion stained with sweat. When he finally saw all of the glass eyes in jars, the tools for stripping fur and half stuffed creatures all around him he began to seem a little panicked.
“It’s alright,” Lilian assured him, “You’re in a taxidermy shop.” This seemed to put him at ease.
“Oh… Which one? The Hunter’s Regret or…”
“The Gilded Garden.” Lilian interrupted him. This put him further at ease.
“How long have I been out?”
“Nearly a day.” Lilian wanted to ask him so many things. During the night she had felt a fire light inside her, one who’s heat had been dimming so slowly that she’d barely noticed it go out. But now it was back. Fanned by mystery and fueled by danger Lilian was alive with the memories of her mission. She had promised Katherine to not go looking for trouble, but how could she be blamed if trouble literally walked through the door and collapsed on the floor at her feet?
With Genaro now awake the questions bubbled over and came out in an avalanche,
“I saw you in the street, with those men. Did you drink Nightshade? What was it like? Where did you get it?” Genaro simply stared at Lilian with a confused look on his face. It was currently difficult for him to process his own thoughts, let alone this barrage of questions. Finally, he came to one simple conclusion.
“I have to go.” Lilian’s face fell. Was she not going to learn anything useful from this man? He clearly had insight that she needed. She looked around for inspiration, there must be some way to convince him to stay that didn’t involve threatening him… but all she kept seeing was knives and horrible looking hooks. Luckily, Mr Twitchett came to the rescue.
“Oh no you don’t. You’re going to sit here and rest. Don’t worry, no one followed you here, we checked. If you leave now you’ll have half the city itching to report you to the Weardian, while the other half are trying to kill you. Now…” At this, Mr Twitchett pulled up a stool and sat very close to the makeshift bed. Lilian noticed that he was holding a large, serrated spoon which he waved around while he talked. “You gave my young friend here quite the scare yesterday. She came in shaking like a leaf. I think you owe us a story. Or at least that’s what you’ll give us, or else your lot can stop expecting me to keep delivering little notes to each other. That’s right, I know all about it.” Lilian saw Genaro’s eyes widen when Mr Twitchett mentioned the notes. She had no idea what that was about but she didn’t want to interrupt. Mr Twitchett began half talking to himself, Lilian noticed that he did this when he was working sometimes but on this occasion it felt more like he was talking to her.
“This has Sons of Taymar written all over it. It started as ‘love notes’ but you think I wouldn’t notice if suddenly half the city are using stuffed animals to send messages to each other?” Now he actually turned and spoke directly to Lilian, “They’re all fools and they have us doing their mule work. Of course, I had to accept because the shop was losing money but, since they started their little message network we’ve actually been doing rather well. That’s one reason I was able to hire you.” Lilian couldn’t take it any longer.
“Wait, I don’t understand. Who are the Sons of Taymar?” She recognised the name from an old lesson of Brother Thomas’. Taymar was a Goddess of some sort.
“Huh!” Mr Twitchett huffed, “He can tell you, he’s one of them.” Lilian looked at Genaro who was slowly shifting into a seated position.
“First of all, thank you for your help. I’m sorry to have got you involved in all this but as you say, you were partly involved already. Albeit with a degree of deniability.” He turned to Lilian. She noticed that his eyes were still discoloured, the whites were dark grey, almost purple and his hair was ratty from sweat.
“My name is Alexi Genaro, I work with the sons of Taymar, we are a resistance group whose goal is to overthrow the Empress.” He said it with an air of ease that Lilian didn’t think possible when addressing such a serious matter.
“Why?” Genaro smiled and almost laughed but quickly stopped himself, rubbing his head instead, still in apparently quite a lot of discomfort.
“You must be new to Freedos, or else you live with your eyes closed. She’s a tyrant. Her tower on top of the city is like a boot that crushes the life beneath it. We stand against the many atrocities she commits on a daily basis simply by allowing Freedos to be this way. The poor struggle to eat and meanwhile the rich eat so much they make themselves sick. The Weardian float around like angels of chaos and she lets them kill and imprison anyone who crosses them.” Genero paused to take a deep breath, this was clearly a topic very close to his heart. Lilian didn’t want to rush him but was finding it difficult to bite her tongue. He reached over to drink the last drops of another cup of water.
“Gods that’s good. I’ve had hangovers before but this is… this is like ten hangovers at once.” Lilian had never had a hangover, but if they were anything like what she was witnessing, even a tenth, then she was in no rush to try one. “Yes we use stuffed animals to send messages to each other. They’re surprisingly useful as no one ever wonders to look inside them, they can be delivered in the middle of the day and to houses in any part of the city. The notes are also coded but I don’t think we’ve had to rely on the code just yet, I would prefer it if their presence stayed a secret.” Mr Twitchett folded his arms and gave a derisive “Hmph!”
Genaro smiled and turned back to Lilian. “What else was there?”
“The Nightshade. Why did you have it and where did you get it from? Also…” She stopped as he raised his arms to slow her down.
“Yes yes. The Nightshade has recently become a large part of my work. We don’t know where it’s come from but suddenly it was everywhere. I needed to investigate it and the Sons of Taymor needed money to finance the investigation. I went to a certain, unsavoury individual to get a loan and I have yet been able to pay it back. I put it to good use though, I found a Nightshade supplier and managed to steal a bottle. I had it in my head that I would drink it and take out my debtor.”
“Is that Bried?” Genaro looked surprised but then must have remembered the events in the street the day before. He nodded at which point Mr Twitchett interjected.
“You’re an even bigger fool that you look. As if investigating that stuff wasn’t bad enough, you had to borrow money from someone whose job relies on putting people in her pocket.”
“Yes well as your young friend here saw yesterday, that plan didn’t go very well. Her thugs stopped me on my way to see her and my hand was forced. I do feel like a fool, and perhaps you’re right to call me one. I’ve made it practically impossible to wander the streets and worse, my Nightshade source will have gone into hiding.” This last sentence sparked an idea inside Lilian. SHE knew where he could find Nightshade. SHE knew more about how it was delivered. Should she tell him everything she knew? Once again the voice of Mr Attorcop spoke up in her mind.
“When one has power, one has the advantage.” She allowed herself a moment of sadness when recalling his manner. And she decided to listen to the voice and keep her cards close to her chest. She needed to know if this man could be trusted and what his intentions might be if he found a new supplier.
It was at this point however that Genaro asked for food. The request suddenly made Lilian aware of her own hunger pangs. She left the shop with some coins and travelled a little further than her usual lunch spots. The regular places might ask questions about who the third lunch might be for and Lilian was trying to think several steps ahead of anyone who might be working against the resistance. Did this make HER part of the resistance? Like it or not she was involved now. And if she reopened her investigation against Mr Attorcop’s imposter in order to help them, surely she was doing something good? She wondered past a flower stall, deep in thought. She would not exactly be putting herself in the line of fire. She could work with Genaro and let him take down a Nightshade supplier. And if that Nightshade supplier happened to be ruining a man’s reputation by using his name and address to commit crimes then that was just an added benefit. Lilian finally found a baker in a small courtyard. In the centre of the space was a big tree which was shielding the court from the effects of the dust. The baker’s bright red sign was therefore clearly visible and Lilian came out minutes later clutching three warm cheese rolls.
By the time she returned to The Gilded Garden, Lilian had resolved to tell Genaro about her experiences with Mr Attorcop’s imposter. She would leave out the bits about gloaming but still warn him that she suspected the man to be dangerous. She walked into the shop brandishing the rolls and found Genaro to be sitting on the stool, chatting with Mr Twitchett and holding a steaming mug of tea. They both turned to look at Lilian when she walked through the back door of the shop, Lilian wondered if she had interrupted a serious conversation.
“I got some rolls.” She reached into her bag and unwrapped the rolls from a cloth. She handed one to Mr Twtichett, who thanked her and one to Genaro who just eyed her in silence while accepting the bread. He sniffed at it and then took three big bites in quick succession. He threw his head back and closed his eyes.
“Mmm still warm.” Lilian smiled and bit into her bun. It had a delicious texture that made it crumble in her mouth and a strong smoky flavour, as if the cheese had been ever so slightly burned in the baking. The three chewed in silence for a time. Lilian felt herself grow nervous. How would she reintroduce the topic of Nightshade? Or explain how she knew about Mr Attorcop’s imposter? It was Genaro who broke the silence, interrupting Lilian’s train of thought.
“Ryland tells me you’re from out of town.” Lilian suddenly became aware of the silence in the room. With all the drama of Genaro waking before, she had failed to notice just how quiet this back space was, especially when all eyes are on you. His tone was familiar enough, but Lilian couldn’t help but detect a note of accusation. Thinking little of it, she nodded.
“I’ve only been here a few weeks.”
“Where are you from?” Lilian considered making up a place, but these men already knew her real name, it didn’t seem worth risking a lie here.
“I grew up in a town called Benlunar.” Turns out she needn’t have worried because both men looked at her with blank expressions.
“Is that in Benicost?” asked Mr Twitchett.
“No. It’s in the mountain range to the East.” Both men gave a sound of understanding.
“Ahh. And what brings you to the city?” Lilian paused for thought. It would be from here on that she would have to choose her words carefully. She knew that every lie needed to be peppered with the truth in order to stay believable. She knew that offering too many details was a mistake as truths tended to be short due to the fact that the speaker doesn’t feel the need to justify them. She always thought herself an accomplished liar and she had picked up a few extra tips from Mr Attorcop on their journey.
“I travelled to Freedos with my uncle. He lives here and needed some help with his work. I had never been to Freedos so I was excited. We got separated on the journey though.” Lilian paused, baiting the question out of her audience. This was how one controlled both sides of a conversation.
“Did you organise a place to meet in the city?” Genaro asked. Lilian almost smiled.
“Yes. And I’ve been going there every day to check but he hasn’t arrived, what’s worse is that there is a man living there, claiming to be him!” This got quite a reaction from her two listeners. Lilian thought Genaro was going to let a piece of bread fall out of his mouth.
“Whatever do you mean?” said Mr Twitchett.
“I mean he’s using my uncle’s name, he’s living in his place and I haven’t told anyone because, well, he’s quite scary.” Mr Twitchett and Genaro shot each other concerned looks. Lilian was happy to have diverted the topic of conversation away from her and on to something she wanted to bring up anyway.
“What makes him scary?” Genaro asked, popping the last morsel of roll in to his mouth and talking through half chewed bread.
“Well… it’s funny.” Lilian paused, looking away so as to build tension, “The reason I was interested in the Nightshade is that I think I saw that man with some.” Genaro’s eyes widened and Lilian knew she had him on the hook. Now just to reel him in.
“You saw him with Nightshade?”
“Not just him. I saw him get it from some Weardian.” Genaro almost choked on his roll. After spluttering for a few seconds, his eyes red from coughing, he leant close to Lilian and spoke softly.
“Tell me everything.” Lilian smiled, the hunt was back on.
The rest of the afternoon involved a lot of arguing, mainly between Genaro and Mr Twitchett. Both men had valid points. Genaro waxed lyrical about how he was a defender of the people and it was his sworn duty to eliminate any and all threats to their safety. Mr Twitchett would counter with a reminder of how Genaro had nearly died trying to fulfill that dutyr. Lilian was reminded of her argument with Katherine but slowly came to realise that unlike her, Genaro would not back down. He was a strange man, full of bluster and righteousness. Every sentence sounded like a proclamation, he talked the way a hero might talk in a story while saving a village from a dragon. He swept his arms in large gestures and pounded his fist on the table when making a point, which seemed to be quite a lot of the time. Lilian told him everything she knew, sticking as close to the truth as possible. She even informed him of the manure bombs under the floor, claiming that she recognised their smell from her work with her uncle, which was very close to the truth. He left the shop after an hour, thanking her and Mr Twitchett for their kindness. As he was leaving he even turned to say,
“If ever the Sons of Taymar can repay your kindness, do not hesitate to ask.” This pleased Lilian greatly as she had managed to earn a favour as well as have someone else deal with her problem. Mr Attorcop would have been proud.
She left the shop shortly after with a smile and a hope. But by the time she reached her small room and climbed the many stairs to unlock the rickety lock, she was worried again. Fritha greeted her with a loud clang and a happy wagging tail and Lilian put her on her lead and took her straight out. There was a small park nearby where Lilian enjoyed walking her. She tended to avoid the larger parks and river banks as many people walked their dogs there and often people were curious about what breed Fritha was. Lilian needed time to think and walking Fritha always cleared her head. She was having the same worry over and over play out in her mind. By the time she reached the small park it had had fifteen different variations and Lilian couldn’t wrestle a solution from any of them. She worried that Genaro was going to get arrested. Or caught again by Bried’s men. She worried that he was all talk and that he would go straight home and fall asleep for the next five days. The past twenty-four hours had re-lit the fire for justice inside her and she could not handle going back to ignoring its heat. And so she took inspiration from Genaro, and made a resolution. Tonight she would go back to the false Mr Attorcop’s house and watch, just to make sure that Genaro went through with his promise. Lilian was looking at Fritha chase a squirrel up a tree as she made the vow. Fritha looked dismayed but padded back to Lilian with her head held high. It was then that she made the decision. A task as important as this one could not be left up to chance. Tonight she would watch Genaro and if he encountered any danger, she would intervene.
Once dusk had past and night had taken hold of the city sky, when most citizens had finished their nightcaps and crawled into sleep, Lilian Lausanne prepared to focus. She sat down on the floor in the only patch of light. The moon was high and full in the sky and past through the glass in Lilian’s window like a welcome guest. This had been one of the reasons she had chosen to live in this little room. The window was positioned directly in the angled ceiling and her first night there she had gazed in amazement as the light of the moon illuminated the cramped space. She was sitting beneath that window now, her red hair shimmering in the silver light. The carpet was rough beneath her heels, but she found softness in the fur of her feinhound. The creature from legend was lying behind her and Lilian found she could lean slightly back to be more comfortable. Fritha didn’t seem to mind, having drifted into a dream as soon as she hit the floor, exhausted from the lengthy walk. Lilian closed her eyes and brought her breath to her attention. She slowed it down and her heartbeat slowed with it. Gradually the world shifted into a dark canvass splashed with the light of an occasional sound. Fritha’s low breaths shined brightest but there was a conversation happening two floors down which gave off an occasional glimmer. Lilian had considered using her flask of essence to expedite the process but she was so practised in gloaming now that getting the desired result never took too long. The light of the moon seemed to help as well. Lilian had not stopped practising since the night she left William’s house to stalk the imposter. She had yet to leave her little room, but each night she would go through the routine of gloaming, filling first dead and dull things like her carpet or a cracked mug with the golden light inside of her. She had been itching for an excuse to go out again and tonight she had one. The night before she had brought home a flower from a stall, it had been a clipping the stall holder had let her keep and she had used it as a focus for her gloaming. The flower was long dead but even reabsorbing light from a fraction of a petal filled her with the same amount of energy as a large rock. It had been a little too much if Lilian was being honest with herself. She felt quite sick afterwards and had trouble falling asleep, although that could have been the excitement from the events of the day. Tonight Lilian did not want to risk using the flower, even though it would have taken less time, Lilian didn’t want to lose another night’s sleep, not to mention the head spinning and nausea. She instead focused on the carpet and tried bringing her light to meet the threads touching her feet. They were stained and sorry looking things, but they slowly accepted the touch of the light and within twenty minutes she had filled an area equivalent to the size of her palm. She was about to stop persuading the threads and take the light she had lent them back, when she noticed something strange about two or three of the strands. They were glowing with a slightly different colour. In fact, they were glowing many different colours. Lilian sharpened her focus on them and saw that these particular strands were first red, then a bottle green followed again by twisting into gold and copper. She was reminded of… Fritha. And then fear crept into her dark and quiet world. Had she not sensed the difference? Had she not noticed the hairs before sitting down. Or had she known all this and fooled herself into proceeding regardless. Lilian quickly came to terms with the possibility that she had filled several strands of Fritha’s hairs with the golden light. She tried to reassure herself that they were old hairs and there would be little life left in them but fear still pressed into her heart. She wished she had asked Mr Attorcop about how to not reabsorb the light from certain places, she even tried to exclude the hairs while taking back the light from the carpet but it was no use. The light from Frithas fur got mixed in with all the gold coming back, staining it with ever changing colours. Lilian gave up trying to exclude it and simply prayed for it not to make her sick like the flower had done. A few seconds later, Lilian opened her eyes. The moon was as bright as she had expected it to be and the room around her appeared once again clear as if in sunlight. Lilian was used to this sensation by now. She breathed out slowly and was thankful for the familiar scene. She found that she could stand up and jump and crouch as normal. The conversation coming from the floors below was loud and clear now and Lilian picked up several sounds besides. There was a family of birds living in the gutter. Someone had roasted fish that day, most likely the man living across the street. Lilian prodded her stomach to see if she felt any pain or nausea, but there was nothing. Everything was normal. Or, as normal as to be expected in the circumstances. Lilian breathed a sigh of relief. Lilian shifted focus to her immediate surroundings and readied herself to go. She put on dark clothes and comfortable boots and once she was ready she opened the window and scampered over the tin rooftops and away into the night.
Gloaming made rooftop navigation very easy. Her nose could tell which moss clumps were wet and probably slippy and her keen hearing meant she could tell if anyone was stepping too close to any windows with rooftop views. Her elevated eyes made full use of the abundant moonlight and Lilian even stopped once or twice to admire the view. She had not come up here at night while gloaming before and Lilian felt a special privilege when looking out over the glistening tin rooftops. The occasional lamp or candle shone brightly in a window, like a beauty spot on the city’s silver face. It was a clear night, even without Lilian’s keen eyes, and in the distance, beyond the city walls she once or twice thought she caught the glimmer of moonlight on water. This world felt separate from the other. The world of daylight with its boring jobs, frustrating crowds and meddlesome reminders of past mistakes. That world felt alien and strange when she recalled it. But this one, this rooftop playground lit by shimmering moonbeams, this was where she felt at home in Freedos. Lilian jumped over an alley gap and felt the thrill of danger spike in her heart. The jump was a big one and she had had to take a long run up but somehow she cleared it with ease.
The journey from there to Mr Attorcop’s attic was quite straightforward. Lilian's room was uphill and west from the attic so she approached the building from the back. Mr Attorcop’s building was a little taller than the houses on either side of it and it was not separated by alleyways. Lilian elected to climb up the back to the roof as opposed to finding a vantage point like she had done before. This meant digging her fingers and nails into small cracks in the brickwork, exploring the surfaces and reaching for the smallest ledge or grip. The wall was sheer but somehow Lilian knew that she could climb it. Besides, this approach on the building meant she could avoid the larger windows overlooking the street.
She began the ascent.
Slowly at first but gaining speed as she grew in confidence. She found her fingers slipped easily into cracks in the brickwork and gripped as hard as a vice. She avoided passing directly over any windows, in case any curtains were open. She did pause before reaching the actual roof, just to listen closely if there was any movement in the attic space. She had been half listening all the way up, but was making this final check just to be safe. When nothing out of the ordinary stood out, she gripped the lip of the wall and pulled herself up onto the roof. The surface was made of tin, like many of the other rooftops in Ziedmont, and Lilian had to grip the angled top where the two halves met at the peak tightly in order to avoid sliding down one side. This became tiresome after a while so she instead decided to straddle the roof and sit with her legs dangling either side. It was not a comfortable seat, but she could at least focus her attention more easily on what was happening in the flat and down on street level. Lilian shut her eyes and dropped her attention down beneath the ceiling, past the layers of tin, wood and straw and into the attic apartment. Being this close illuminated certain details she had missed from street level. She could smell stale bread inside a desk drawer. She could hear the bubbling of some unknown liquid slowly cooking over a woodfire stove. She even found the imposter breathing deeply and rhythmically, asleep on cotton filled cushions. She then examined a hollow space in the south wall that seemed to be filled with little objects stacked on top of each other. Lilian had to really focus to understand what was hidden there so when a knock at the front door boomed through the house she had to grip the roof tightly or risk falling off it from the shock. In her focused exploration of the apartment she had ignored the activity on street level but now she could smell the sweat and anger of a man standing by the front door. It took a quick glance over the roof's lip to see that it was Genaro. He had come.
He was alone which was foolish but very much in character for the selfless noble turned people’s champion. Perhaps he hadn’t quite got all of the Nightshade out of his system and had some residual strength, or perhaps he was just an idiot. Lilian could see his long hair and stubbled chin, she also noticed that one of the big windows overlooking the street was open. Lilian closed her eyes once more and found the imposter's heartbeat, it was quick and fearful. The knock had woken him and he was walking towards the staircase. He paused and held his breath, presumably questioning himself as to whether there had been a knock at all. But then came a second, louder hammering of the front door and he was jolted into action. He muttered something under his breath but Lilian only caught the end of it.
“Foolish beggar’s going to wake the whole building.” By the time he’d reached street level, Lilian had tuned her focus so that she could hear their conversation as easily as if she was standing next to them. A latch was slid and the door clicked open.
“What is it?” The imposter spat.
“Are you Attorcop?” Genaro’s voice replied.
“Yes.” Lilian winced at the lie.
“My name is…”
“I know who you are.” The imposter interrupted Genaro, “I heard all about what happened yesterday too.”
“Then you know what I want.” Genaro spoke with calm confidence, unnerved by the recognition.
“Listen, it’s late and I’m busy, come back tomorrow and we can talk.” This was it. This was when punches would start flying and Lilian would finally see justice. She waited for Genaro to shove past him, or to kick the door down and clean the place out. She waited for a slap, or a punch or a kick. Lilian waited with baited breath. Lilian waited and waited. But nothing happened. Finally she heard Genaro say something in a low and pitiful voice.
“Fine.” He said, followed by, “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I shall return in the morning.” And with that, Genaro walked away. Lilian couldn’t understand. Where were the fireworks she had seen in him the day before? Where was his passion and anger? Lilian opened her eyes and looked over the edge of the roof and caught a glimpse of Genaro walking away dejected as if he’d just been turned down for a romantic date. Lilian began to feel her own anger and passions boil and bubble inside her. Her champion had failed, too weak from speaking strong words all day. But this night was not over, Lilian was here now and the window was open. She had the opportunity to finally put an end to this man’s corruption and lies. He was still at the bottom of the stairs so Lilian leant over the edge of the roof and gripped the window. She sensed where to put her hands, testing for weaknesses in the frame or glass. She found it strong enough to support her weight and so Lilian swung herself down and into the attic apartment. She looked around quickly to find anything of value that she could either swipe or break. She considered surprising the imposter and attacking him when he walked through the door, but she remembered what lay beneath the floorboards and thought better of it. She elected to hit him where it would hurt most. His business.
Lilian quickly tiptoed across the carpeted floor. She was heading for the south wall, she knew which panel was false, she knew there would be something precious behind it, she just had to figure out how to open it. She stepped over piles of discarded cloth, stained and stinking of chemicals, moved round behind a large wooden table and knelt down beside the fake panel. She explored the edges with her fingers, praying that she could open it before the imposter returned. She could hear footsteps coming slowly up the circling staircase. Lilian began desperately prodding, sliding and pushing the panel in every way she could think of. It was not a large section of wall, only coming up to her knee, but still it managed to evade her efforts. The panel did move if she slid it but she couldn’t work out the correct sequence of directions. She had hoped a button or a simple shove would do the trick but she was having no such luck.
The sound of footsteps was getting ever closer amplified by Lilian’s heightened hearing. She glanced back and realised she would only just have enough time to reach the window and climb back out before the imposter was back inside. Muttering a curse under her breath Lilian stood up and started rushing for the window. She had her hearing focused on the steps, her eyes focused on the window and the rest of her senses navigating the strange and dirty terrain in the apartment, so naturally she missed the rusty nail that protruded from the large table. So as Lilian went around it, her shirt got caught, fixing her in place. Her head whipped round to find the problem as panic started to set in. Lilian scrambled with the material but found the nail had ripped a small hole and the shirt had managed to spin and rip the material around it. She briefly considered yanking it and ripping the shirt but somehow her fingers found the solution and she was able to loop it round and over the nail. Her eyes went straight to the window as the footsteps were approaching the attic door. Lilian felt her stomach drop with the terrible realisation that she would not have enough time to make it to the window before the imposter opened the door. She looked around for a hiding place, but there was none. The handle of the door was being turned. Lilian held her breath and knelt down beside the pile of old rags she had passed on her way over from the window. It was in direct view of the door and not tall enough to hide behind. Lilian accepted her fate and tensed her body as she watched the door open.
The imposter stepped inside. Lilian readied herself for a fight. But the fight never came. The imposter looked around the flat, turned and shut the door behind him. He then went over to the window to close it before walking up the few steps to the raised section of the space. Lilian stared at him in fear and amazement. He must have looked straight at her several times. He even had to walk within a few feet of her to get to the window and yet he said and did nothing. When he was out of site at the other end of the large attic, Lilian finally let out a small breath. What was happening? How had he not seen her? That was when Lilian looked at her hands, only to find that they weren’t her hands anymore. They were pale and grey, they had taken on the colour and texture of the discarded rags all around her. She looked at her legs and body, they had transformed in a similar way. Lilian let out a long sigh and realised that she was invisible.