Beneath a Bethel Read online

  I sat quietly, watching his fingers shuffle through my sketched observations, his clawed nails painted silver to match the tips of his horns. He seemed more than happy to leave me sat in silence, my unease growing with every passing moment. The rest of the tea shop soon tried to gather their decorum, resuming in consuming their tea and chattering loudly again, though I still felt eyes sliding over my skin.

  “Are these all your own work?” he asked, finally breaking the silence. The tension that had been building around our table evaporated at his words and my shoulders relaxed. I risked shifting back on the chair; the longer our interaction went on, the less fearful I felt about being thrown out into the snow.

  “Yes. I once desired to be a painter, but...” I trailed off, noticing his sharp eyes as they focused on my mouth, realising my mistake. He had seen my bare gums; he knew I had no teeth.

  I was forced to hold his gaze, even as his eyes narrowed and brows arched. It was no use to cover my mouth with my hand now; the damage had been done. At that moment, our tea was brought to our table, the staff placing the steaming teapot in the centre of the table, surrounding it with beautiful slices of cake resting on plates so that it appeared as if each one was worshipping the teapot in its centre. All through this, his eyes never left mine, a deep blush of worry and embarrassment spreading across my pale cheeks, turning them purple.

  “Once?” he ventured, his fine fingers reaching forward to stir the contents of the teapot, the fragrant steam puffing into the air and filling my nostrils.

  “A lot of possibilities have been taken from me now,” I whispered as he poured the tea, mint green liquid filling the teacups slowly, not a drop spilled. He placed the teapot down gently, pouring cream from a pitcher in next and then tossing in a pinch of sugared petals. He stirred it with a spoon before repeating the process with his own cup. His movements were so precise and hypnotising.

  “Have your first sip of hope, Angora.” He smiled, offering me another flash of those green teeth as he held his own teacup with both hands. He waited until I had taken my first sip, the burning tea warming my throat, before raising his cup to his lips, all his focus on me.

  Hope tasted like childhood, the heady days where everything was possible and the future was a spot in the distance, something that never concerned or troubled you. It tasted sweet with an undercurrent of bitterness, because hope could so easily tarnish.

  The emotion filled me in that one swallow, rising over me like a wave, cresting and falling back so that I was forced to take another sip. And another. Anything to keep feeling so buoyant, so full of life.

  My hands were shaking when I finished my teacup, the sugared petals floating in the dregs. I placed it down with a shuddering breath, risking a glance at him with my tear-filled eyes.

  “How was it?” he asked, his own cup still half full as he lounged back in his chair.

  “Wonderful,” I confessed softly, wiping at my eyes. “Wonderful, and painful.”

  He laughed, tilting his head back as the sound echoed through the café, bringing a tentative grin to my own mouth.

  “Indeed, isn't it always?” he replied, reaching forward and pushing two slices of cake towards me. “Perhaps you chose wisely though, as I have a proposal for you. One that might give you cause to be truly hopeful. I can’t help but notice that you are lacking in a way that denotes you as worthless to our fine city, a sorry situation that I'm sure is not your fault. Your talent should not be wasted scribbling on scraps, and I find myself in a position to offer you something more, if you are willing.”

  While he talked, we sampled the cakes, me with fevered hunger and him with reserved politeness, taking a forkful or two before passing it to me, ignoring the crumbs and creams covering my chin. It had been a strange task learning to eat with no teeth, but one I felt adept at now, thankfully, as I no longer had the embarrassment of dribbling in front of others. Each cake was tart in its flavour, so they were in direct contrast to the sweet tea, a different fruit jam held with sponge and a bright mirrored glaze coating the top. Many had flicks of dark chocolate curls or sprinkles of petals on top.

  “I find myself in need of an artist, and as if in answer to my summons, I find one waiting for me in the snow. The position I can offer you is one as my apprentice, a much sought after occupation as I’m sure you know. You would have bed and board with me, though payment would be wavered through the duration of your training. Primarily, I wish to engage your skills to paint the teeth my workshop makes.”

  The forkful of cake paused halfway to my mouth, my expression so stunned that it must have been comical. I had thought that he meant to make me his lover, kept safe in exchange for sating his desires. I would have agreed had that been what he wanted, since my dignity was barely in existence anymore, but to be an apprentice? I could scarcely imagine it. I could scarcely understand why he would offer such an opportunity to me. Whether he was pleased with my art had no bearing; chances like this did not come upon people like me. It was unheard of.

  “Well?” he prompted, clearly amused by my lengthy silence.

  I forced myself to move, swallowing the mouthful of cake and nodding vigorously.

  “Yes, yes!” I beamed once I had swallowed, cake crumbs covering my mouth and my bare gums on full show to the whole tea shop.

  There could be no other answer.

  As we left Hendrik's, he slipped his furs over my shoulders, bundling me up in them and moving to his nearby sleigh with no protection from the snow. True to his word, I had been given the flowers, their stems wrapped in bright paper and tied with string, droplets of water dripping onto the path as I tried to shelter them from the weather. Unlike many others, he drove his sleigh himself, the hounds wriggling and batting their tails as he ran his hand over their snow-dusted bodies. I stood by while he pulled the covering off the top of the sleigh, rolling it up and storing it in its compartment at the back. Underneath was the bench that all sleighs had, with straw lining it and the floor for warmth, and more heavy furs waiting to be wrapped around us as we travelled. He shrugged one on, becoming a round indistinct shape once more, only his sharp face peeking out.

  “First time in a sleigh?” he asked, his mouth tugging into a grin when I nodded. “Hop on, I promise not to go fast.”

  I did as he bade, seating myself on the bench beside him, my fingers gripping the edges. I was more than a little frightened of being dragged through the streets by the hounds. I had seen the speed in which sleighs could be raced, and I had heard the tales of when things went wrong. He took my fear for excitement however, gripping the reins and giving them a lash, urging them forward. We shot out into the main street, swaying, so fast that other sleighs were forced to dart out of the way. Seconds later, we were skimming along the snow in a straight line, passing others, turning corners sharply. The thoroughfare sped by in a blur, the shops and people dots of colour as snowflakes whipped at my face. The hood of my borrowed fur coat fell back and he reached over, pulling it up with a deep chuckle, the sleigh swerving when he loosened his grip on the reins.

  “Keep well-wrapped up or you might lose that nose of yours,” he laughed, his eyes on me instead of the road. My fear had slipped away, leaving only delight in its wake, and I couldn’t help the grin that slowly spread across my face. Seeing my pleasure, he urged the hounds on, dashing over snow-drenched bridges, leaving the shops behind and entering streets I had never dared trespass before.

  The buildings reached up to the sky, narrow and gathered against each other for protection in the wind. Round windows glittered with ice and the crested, tiled roofs bore families of chimneys that were breathing out smoke. Unlike the shops, they were more modest, showcasing their wealth by the rich tones painted on their front, the white scalloping, intricate shutters and many balconies that were seldom used. Iron rails protected them from the street, and steps rose to coloured doors, light green or white. Lines of houses, back to back, created the streets, with streams from the Eldwen passing through. Each one had a
retiring room dedicated to their sleigh and hounds, distinguishable from the rest by the heavy double doors at street level.

  The Masters Guild soon loomed close. It wasn't truly a guild, the Floris Masters being too few in number to need such, but instead was called so because it was where one of the oldest known Masters had first lived. It was said that she had been one of the founding Masters that had first fused magic into teeth and she had built her house here, picking an area that, until then, had been populated by the poorest of Elbridge. Of course, once she was here, everyone else clamoured for a plot to build their own house. The poor were forced out and the wealthy built these fancy houses, modelling them after the Master’s own. Quite what she thought of this development, the story doesn’t say, but her house, if it ever was here, was lost, torn down due to water rot and age. The name remained however and it was still one of the wealthiest areas, so it was no surprise that he would live here.

  The snow was becoming a blizzard, snowflakes no longer playful but biting, and my face hidden in the furs was already growing numb, the rest of the journey lost to me. The wind raged around us, bellowing and tugging at our furs, making it difficult to drive. Barnaby stopped suddenly and I raised my head, hardly able to see the tall, dark house we had stopped before. He jumped out, struggling through the snow to unlock the wide double doors to the sleigh’s retiring room, before returning briskly and leading the hounds forth. Once inside, he wasted no time in locking the doors, the wind blissfully muted. The hounds shook their shaggy bodies as he unhooked them from the sleigh, letting them rush forward towards the bowls of water and soft beds waiting in their open pens. I realised suddenly that had I not met him and been brought here, I would likely not have survived the night, as the storm raging outside was the fiercest Elbridge had seen since I had been cast out. It was a sobering thought, one that chased the thrill of the sleigh ride from my thoughts.

  “I'll deal with this later, come,” he gestured for me to get down, offering me a hand.

  I took it tentatively, his fingers as chilled as my own. Once I was out of the sleigh, he released his hold on me, instead turning and going through the door leading to the rest of the house and up a short flight of stairs. Our footsteps echoed along the halls as he lit candles hanging in elaborate brackets along the walls, bringing light to the dark passages. It appeared that the lower rooms of his house were designed for receiving clients, our journey taking us past two grand withdrawing rooms, the open doors offering mere glimpses of their glass cabinets and cream chaises. The main staircase to each floor was spiral with a dark wood banister carved with snowflakes, and it took us to a kitchen and living room.

  These rooms were slightly more modest but still wealthier than I had ever seen, plush armchairs overflowing with cushions, and shelves full to the brim with books and oddities from different cities. Here, he lit the fires in the hearth, the flames quickly raging and consuming the firewood. I stood, watching the shadows flicker over his crouched figure, feeling so misplaced. My unwashed and unkempt state did nothing to make me feel at place but even without it, this wasn’t my world. How was I supposed to act? What rules were there that I had no idea of?

  “Go up one flight and you’ll find the bedrooms and wash-room. Beyond that is the workroom and it’s locked for the meantime, so no need to snoop. I will show you it in time. The bedroom on the left shall be yours, the red room, so go make yourself comfortable and I will be up with refreshments,” he instructed, keeping his back to me as he piled more logs into the hearth.

  I felt at a loss, cast off from him in this narrow twisting house, but I did as he asked me, slowly making my way down the hall again to the stairs, my movements seeming too sudden and loud in the quiet house. It was silent here, only the chiming of a far away clock and the crackle of the fire audible.

  As he had said, the stairs revealed two doors, set slightly apart from each other on either side of the corridor. I opened the left as he had instructed, finding it aptly named. It was indeed a red room, the walls and furnishings appearing like blood, hues of fresh and clotted. A four poster bed dominated the space, the white draping and bedding contrasting so starkly that it made it appear even larger. A wardrobe and dresser of dark wood rested against one wall and before the tall hearth sat a ruby armchair and a small, circular table. The air smelt of damp, a room not often used, and whilst feeling like a thief I tiptoed forward to touch the draping, my fingers coming away thick with dust.

  I moved towards the hearth, delighted by its golden finishing and the carved swirls running along it. The top bore a golden clock, though the hand had been stilled at some significant time unknown to me. I busied myself with piling the logs into it, finding matches in the narrow drawer in the table. Once the fire was roaring, its flames slowly taking the musty smell from the room and casting light about the furnishings, I felt more cheered. There were no windows due to the way the buildings were squeezed together, though I knew Barnaby’s own room would host a huge bay window, as every room on the front of the building did.

  It felt safer somehow to be without them, any peering eyes and the weather kept away, and only the door to keep a vigil on. Now the task of lighting the fire had been dealt with, I didn't know what to do, twiddling my fingers and peering around again and again.

  After what felt like an age, there was a knock at the door and in he stepped, carrying a tray laden with a steaming glass cup and a platter of bread, cheese and fruit. He placed it on the small table, looking around the room as if he hadn’t seen it for a long while, despite it being in his house.

  “Take your fill. I will prepare the bath for you. It is just down the hall, the door at the end,” he instructed me, waving a hand at the tray and armchair. “Afterwards, you should retire for the night; tomorrow, your training will begin in earnest.”

  He looked at me finally, his eyes moving over my thin form before rising to my face. He was waiting for a reply, I realised, some sign that I had understood.

  “Of course, master…” I stammered, bowing my head and gazing at the floor.

  “None of that; call me Barnaby. We will be working closely together; such honorifics will grow tiresome, believe me,” he chuckled and I risked looking up, pleased to see that he was smiling and not frustrated.

  With that, he left the room, leaving me to my supper. Now, when I had no one to see my shame, I fell upon the platter, devouring the contents between large gulps of scalding coffee. In my haste to fill my belly, I hardly tasted it, but the full satisfaction I felt afterwards was worth it. I waited, sitting stiffly in the armchair for awhile, until I heard the wash-room door close, enabling me to gauge that his preparations were done. I slunk down the hall, turning the knob of the door and stepping inside.

  If the red room was dark and oppressive then the wash-room was like a shining pearl, the walls completely tiled in bright white, with touches of blue drifting over them in a delicate floral pattern. The centre of the room was once again dominated but not by a bed; instead a clawed bath took pride of place, a sweet scent emanating from it, filling the steamy room. A water closet and sink were also present, along with a huge gilded mirror, but I ignored those features, instead moving towards the bath. At home, we had washed in a battered tin tub before the fire, quickly and with rough soap. Everything about this room spoke of luxury, of lounging in hot water and relaxing.

  Grinning with excitement, I stripped off my rags, leaving them in a pile on the floor and quickly lowering one foot into the water. I hissed, pulling it straight back out due to the heat, only to try again, slowly this time. In no time at all, I was acclimatised to the warmth and deep in the water, the bubbles around my chest.

  The water soothed my tired body, making my cheeks glow brightly as I kicked my feet lightly in the froth. How delightful this was, to think that others bathed like this each day. I stayed in the bath until the water became too cool, first simply revelling in it before I began the task of cleaning myself, scrubbing my furred skin until the dirt and grime had tur
ned the water murky. I felt flayed when I rose from the bath and wrapped myself in the fluffy towels waiting for me, like my skin was fresh, new and sensitive. The chill from outside seeped through the walls, making me shiver as I dried, so I hurried back to my room and the fire waiting there. I finished drying and dressed, pulling on the shirt that had been laid out for me while I bathed.

  Feeling relaxed, I began to slowly move through the room and touch the furnishings, disbelieving. How had I come to be here? It had all happened in a rush, as if it was a dream I would wake up from. I could hear Barnaby moving around the house, soft bangs and cracks alerting me to his presence.

  Finally, I slipped under the covers, warming them slowly with my body heat as I tried to quell my speeding thoughts. I could hardly quite believe it despite the soft bed beneath me and the warmth of the boiling water still seeping through my limbs. My tongue moved over my empty gums, caressing them, reminding myself that this was real, not merely a vision brought on by the intense cold as I slept in a dirty alleyway. I thought of Eve suddenly, of her delight and jealously of my new position, but it only made my heart ache so I pushed those thoughts away. It would be a long time before I could reveal this to my family, if that chance would ever come. Regardless, here I was, within a master’s house, being offered a dream I hadn’t dared to wish for, even in my youth.

  To be an apprentice, to craft teeth, for others and perhaps one day, for myself. To discover the secrets I had never thought would be mine to explore.

  4

  Due to the lack of windows in my room, it was Barnaby himself that woke me, not the rising of the sun. Not by shaking me or calling my name, but by bringing in a tray of breakfast, placing it on the table and removing the platter and mug from last night. The gentle noise woke me, my eyes flicking open to watch him through the thin, white drapes of the bed. He sensed that I was alert, turning to smile reassuringly at me with the dirty cutlery in his hands.