A Grisly Discovery

We continued on our way, passing through the hallway and entering the main hall of the keep. We began searching the rooms adjoining the hall first, and it was not long before we found what we were looking for. The room had a large stone table and some chairs, although most of the chairs were falling apart, as they were made of wood and had begun to rot. There was an easel set up in the corner with a finished painting next to it, and some small supplies haphazardly tucked in the corner. The hearth had long since burned out. It was the painting that let us know our search for Theocritus was over, since the subject of the painting was the man himself. He looked starved. He was obviously emaciated and his skin had an unpleasant tone. The hearth stood in the background of the painting, filled with a roaring fire, and the table and chairs were much as they we had found them, but in better condition. It was obviously a self-portrait. I noticed that Momus was looking at the fireplace, so I made my way to his side. He reached into the hearth and pulled out what looked like a jawbone. I shivered and asked quietly, "Have you seen the painting?"

Momus looked at it then, and appeared to be quite upset, although he did his best not to show it. "He killed himself."

That much was obvious. I voiced the less obvious question. "Why?"

Momus began pointing to some of the icons around the corners of the painting and explaining their meanings. "Perpetuity is represented by Myrrh. Incense indicates death. He made this to be his final portrait, self-portrait, before he killed himself. I assume from the painting because there's nothing here to eat."

I noticed a frame in the corner and pointed it out to Momus, who started poking around the frame and analyzing it very carefully. "This is very nice work."

I studied it as well, and had to agree. But it made no sense. "Why make a frame if you are not going to put the picture in it?"

As I said that, I saw a flash of inspiration cross his face, but he merely replied, "Why indeed?"

I examined the frame more carefully then, and much to my surprise I found that there was a great deal of Trump magic worked into it. Unfortunately, I had no idea what its purpose was.

Momus looked at me and for a moment his expression almost fooled me as he offhandedly said, "We should bring this back to Steed. I'm sure he'd appreciate such an ornate frame."

I smiled, amused by his attempt to deceive me. "I see. What about the portrait?"

"Oh, of course, we couldn't leave this kind of work here. Although it is a rather unpleasant image. A portrait of a starving artist. How darling. I thought he'd be above that."

Looking at the portrait again, I calculated that it did, indeed, appear to be about the right size to go in the frame. I attempted to hold it up against the frame to be sure, but Momus was not very helpful, even going so far as to turn his shoulder really quickly and exclaim, "Did you see something?"

I ignored him, of course, noting, "I think the portrait would go with rather well with this frame." As I finished lining the two up, I felt the strangest tingle...almost like a Trump contact. I leaned the frame and painting against the wall, as I tried to determine the source of the feeling. Something about the painting was bothering me as I looked at it, though. I started to feel a slight headache, then. Thinking the painting might somehow be the source of it, I moved further away from it, but it made no difference. Instead, the headache continued to worsen, and I began to feel a faint throbbing...such a strange feeling. Holding one hand to my head, I hastily moved the painting away from the frame, and it the strange throbbing stopped...as did the headache.

I glanced quickly around, but Momus did not appear to notice my reaction, as he was ostensibly keeping an eye on the entrances to the room. He seemed a bit unnerved, however. Because of the mysterious watcher, or because he knew what the results of my actions would be? I looked over the painting again, but neither it nor the frame appeared any different than before. I did not feel any different either, aside from feeling a bit hungry. This normally would not have disturbed me, but Theocritus had starved to death... Had he somehow imprinted his dying feelings into his final painting? Or was it something more? I thought back on the sensation I had felt, trying to place it, but it was like nothing I had ever felt before. Certainly it was no kind of mental contact that I recognized. For one thing, there was no mind on the other end.

I knelt and began to study the frame more carefully, trying to determine how placing it with the picture had triggered whatever it was that I had felt. No sooner did I begin to do so, however, then Momus spoke up. "I think we should keep moving."

I glanced over towards the door. "Is someone coming?"

"Yes. We're not alone here, and I think we're going to attract attention if we stay in one place too long."

Perhaps. Or perhaps he simply did not want me investigating the frame any further. Still, he did have a point. We knew that someone else was here, and the longer we remained still, the longer they had to prepare something nasty for us, if they were so inclined. I got to feet and brushed off my skirt, then motioned to the painting. "All right. Do you want to come back for this later?"

"Oh no, we can take care of that now." He unfastened his cloak and laid it out on the floor, then placed both the portrait and frame on it. I noticed that he was very careful not to allow them to touch each other, further confirming my suspicion that he knew more about the connection between the two than he was letting on. At first I thought he merely planned to wrap them up and carry them, but instead he began folding his cloak, making it smaller and smaller until it was of a size to easily fit in his pocket. Of the portrait and the frame, there was no sign. I could only assume they had somehow been compressed as well. I could not help admiring the usefulness of such an object, and said as much to Momus. He merely smiled and commented, "If there's room, let's try to harvest all of the pictures on the way out."

I nodded, having intended to bring at least my mother's picture along when I left. "That would make sense. There is definitely something strange going on here."

He did his best to look clueless. "Oh?"

I gave him a look that let him know I was not fooled by his expression. He smiled and changed the subject. "Upstairs or downstairs, do you think?"

"Upstairs," I replied. That was where Momus has spotted someone watching us before. Perhaps we would gain some clues as to his or her identity there.

Unfortunately, the second floor was in a great state of disrepair. Many of the doors were simply gone, the wood having rotted away and the hinges rusted through. We found the remains of a few bedrooms, and a study in which, unfortunately, most of the books were no longer legible enough to be worth salvaging. We came across a few more paintings, but none of the subjects were familiar to me. One of them, however, caught my eye almost immediately. There was something just not right about it. The subject was a redheaded man, and at first I feared he was yet another child of my father, Fiona or Bleys, but further study made that seem unlikely. It took me a few minutes of careful study before I managed to put my finger on what was so odd about the painting. The man depicted was perfectly symmetrical...a state which simply does not occur in nature. That was what was so disturbing about his face. It looked artificial, not real, like a construct or an automaton. Our mysterious watcher, perhaps?

Reminded of him, I asked Momus, "Do you still think there is someone following us?"

He looked up from the volume he was examining. "I don't know."

He seemed remarkably unconcerned, now that we had left the room where Theocritus had died. A part of me wondered if he had really spotted anything at all in the courtyard, or if he had just invented that story as a convenient way to control the pace of our explorations. I certainly would not put it past him. Not that our explorations had turned up anything interesting so far, other than Theocritus' painting. Much of the place was completely empty, and what was left was in ruins. There had to be something more in Father's keep besides moldering books and rotting furniture. Where was the source of that strange energy I had detected upon our arrival? I had found no sign of it thus far, and that left only one direction to explore. Down.

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Last modified on August 17, 1999 by Kris Fazzari.