Cupela
Year 1348 (Thirty Years Prior to Present Day)
Ubul returned three days later. When questioned, he was not forthcoming with information. He had not succeeded in his quest to locate their employer, and he did not wish to speak about his failure after he had left with such confidence. Hrent chastised him until it appeared Ubul was ready for a fist fight, and the others kept their disappointment to themselves.
A day after Ubul appeared, Enfildio himself returned. He, too, had little to say. As for the unguent he had supposedly been searching for, there were no signs. “I apologize that I took so long,” was all he said.
They did not hear much from him again for two weeks, his days and nights passed alone in his private rooms. During that time, Cupela did her best to not speculate, and instead reinvested herself in her work, putting the reward of eternal life into the proper focus.
Even without special healing, Piroska began to make a recovery, though only internally. Her skin would likely never heal, and her appearance remained difficult to stomach, the burns covering nearly her entire body, and all of her face, her visage now that of a scaly brown monster.
Over time, they cleaned the workshop so that most of the indications that a nearly fatal explosion had occurred were negated. Cupela and the others, barring Piroska, who remained bed-ridden, had started working again. They determined the cause of the explosion to have been the addition of jovinun seeds from the golden flower which gave the Jovinun island its name. The seeds were known to give off heat, and it was hypothesized that they could lead to a potential warming agent to assist in the extreme cold. Piroska was in no condition to speak about what she had been attempting, and in fact, Cupela did not believe the woman could speak, the burns on her neck suggesting that her vocal cords had been irreversibly damaged. Well, perhaps not irreversibly, if our research proves fruitful.
Cupela stood at a workstation, measuring out fisilin. Ubul sat beside her, looking through a notebook. In the middle of the room, Jezmavalin lounged in a chair, her feet up on a table. Hrent stood off to her side, arms crossed, looking as surly as ever. At the far wall, Sarah was taking notes on the condition of the score of ferins stacked in cages.
“He did not leave for more than five days for no reason,” Ubul said, unprompted. “Clearly he was not interested in helping Piroska. Then what was he doing for all of that time?”
It was the same question he had raised over and over again since Enfildio’s return. Yet instead of growing weary of the repetition, he seemed more enthused than ever to retrace his same argument.
“Would that you had been able to track him down,” Cupela said sighing.
Ubul grunted. “I underestimated how clandestine he could be. I should have set out after him sooner.”
“Perhaps he was out with a lady of the night,” Jezmavalin suggested, perhaps unaware that she had posited the same hypothesis before.
“He doesn’t need that, does he?” Hrent said. The others ignored the comment.
“For two weeks he has been locked away, only emerging to fetch water or dispose of his waste, and even then, he attempts to wait until a time when he believes he will be able to avoid us,” Ubul said. “I believe he left the laboratory to fetch something, and that upon obtaining it, he no longer has need for us. We were necessary only to a certain point, and now that our usefulness has passed, he will continue the work on his own, using whatever it was he set out to acquire.”
Cupela had noticed Enfildio had held one of his arms tight against the side of his cloak when he had returned, a detail upon which she had thought often, despite her best efforts to ignore it.
“We’re not that close,” Jezmavalin said as she studied her nails.
“Thank goodness you’re working so hard,” Hrent remarked.
“And what are you doing?” Ubul asked him.
To that, the short man simply snorted and walked away.
“Have you all thought about what would happen if Enfildio developed the tonic he desired, and kept the information from us before disappearing in the night?”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Cupela said, but she could hear in her voice that even she did not believe her words.
“Achieve immortality, then slink away without having to pay those to whom you owed a debt,” Ubul continued. “He would only have to evade us until we died, then he would live freely, with no one ever knowing what had transpired.”
“He would not trust us to keep our mouths shut,” Jezmavalin said.
Cupela frowned. “Meaning what, exactly?”
The gorgeous woman shrugged her perfect shoulders.
I cannot recall the last time I saw her do anything other than lay around. She appears to have no energy at all, and her eyes are nearly always half shut. Yet she will be paid the same as the rest of us. Assuming, now, that we do end up being paid.
“It comes down to this,” Ubul said. “We need to know what he is doing behind that door. Enfildio is supposed to be leading us. What type of leadership is this? He takes what we have done without thanks or praise, and then isolates himself, never informing us of what, if any, progress he is making. It is not how I would run things, were I given the opportunity.”
I do not doubt you would do things differently, Ubul. Nor do I doubt that you have thought through every action you would take multiple times. “In regards to his progress,” Cupela said “we have never asked, have we? He has never denied us information we have requested. Our nerves are frayed after what happened to Piroska, and we’re not thinking clearly.”
“Then go ask him.”
“Fine. I will.”
She saw that Sarah and Hrent had turned their attention to her from the other side of the room. Jezmavalin sat up straighter in her chair. I’ve spoken with him thousands of times. I need to trust in him, now more than ever before. For my sanity most of all.
She halted at the door, her tongue moving along her teeth as she considered precisely how to phrase her inquiry. The more casual, the better. We are simply interested in hearing what he is working on so that we can assist. We are a team. There is nothing accusatory here.
Two knocks on the door. Silence from beyond, which was not remarkable. Enfildio’s private chambers were vast, nearly the size of the rest of the facility. Cupela waited for a few dozen heartbeats before knocking again with the same rhythm. Again no response. She did not want to look back so see the expressions on her companions’ faces. A third set of knocks. Still no sounds or answer at the door. Cupela turned to the others, the attempt at keeping her facial expression neutral likely failing.
“Could be the old man died,” Hrent called out.
“More likely he’s ignoring us,” Ubul replied.
“Or he’s sleeping, which is what I’m going to do now,” Jezmavalin added as she stood up and stretched her back in an exaggerated motion.
Sarah did not make a reply and instead looked back to her work. Of course she would not criticize him. Though, even she has not seen him since he returned.
“If he will not work with us, then why should we work with him?” Hrent asked.
Ubul nodded. “For once I have to agree with Hrent.”
Cupela could not muster the will to refute them. “I will follow Jezmavalin’s lead and get some rest as well. I am not thinking straight.”
“I believe you are, but you do not like where your thoughts are leading you,” Ubul said. “Never mind though. Get some rest. Perhaps when you wake our leader will have emerged from his self-imposed seclusion.”
She awoke the next day, or perhaps the same day, she had no way of knowing, and emerged from her room to find the laboratory empty. The workstations had been left cluttered with vials laying on their sides, their bottoms lined with residue. Even Sarah’s table was no longer immaculate.
Cupela walked across the room in silence until she spotted Ubul. The man was kneeling down, his ear against the door which led to Enfildio’s rooms. He noticed her as well and motioned for her to approach quietly.
“There has been movement,” he whispered to her as she knelt down beside him. “More, he has been talking to himself. Alas, I could not make out the words.”
“For how long have you been doing this?”
“I’m not sure. A few bells, though.”
Cupela stood up. “This is pathetic. If he is awake, he will answer us.” She knocked hard on the door as Ubul rushed to stand as well.
“We’ll see…” he muttered as he backed away.
She did indeed hear noises from the other side of the door now. But they were faint, and did not sound as though they were getting closer. She waited a moment before knocking again, this time with more force, anger beginning to well up inside her at the injustice of the situation.
Why are you doing this, Enfildio? Do you believe we will sit by idlily as you ignore us? This can all be solved with a simple conversation. Do not push these people any further…
No response came, and she was too dejected to make another attempt. Instead, she took a seat at the large table in the middle of the room, where she put her head down and sobbed.
It had been a long time coming, this expulsion of emotion. She had denied it for too long, and it could no longer be contained. Her body began to heave with each sob, a tremble to her every breath. Tears poured down her cheeks and pooled on the stained wooden surface. The room around her was silent, even Hrent made no comment, not that she would have noticed, as lost in despair as she was.
When the wave of emotion died down, and she had wiped her red eyes dry, she stood up. The others adverted their gazes and gave her space as she headed to her room. Despite having woken less than one bell earlier, she felt sluggish and in need of a respite only granted by the unconsciousness of sleep. It would be a relief from the pain and disappointment, the only way she could briefly escape the feelings she knew would rise up again and again.
Perhaps it will all be better when I awake.
She did not know how much time had passed when she woke up in the darkness of her room. The windowless laboratory forever kept the time of day a secret from those within, as it did with the weather and the mood of the city. Enfildio’s facility was a world of its own, a world with seven residents who were on a course to cross a threshold where they could no longer coexist.
Cupela sat on her bed, her mind taking its time to adjust to reality. If she had dreamed, she did not recall what those dreams were about, and it took a few moments for her to replay the events of her last period of wakefulness. That, I wish had been a dream. It feels as though I am trapped in a living nightmare.
She spent her day attempting to distract herself with work, but failing. Ubul, Hrent, and Jezmavalin passed their time moaning and arguing, while Sarah stayed out of their way, and Piroska remained hidden in her room. As she strained a pot of boiled herbs, she heard a new sound cut through the complaining. The door to Enfildio’s quarters had opened.
The elderly man strode into the shared workspace at a brisk pace. “Greetings,” he said. “Please come to the center table. I wish to speak with you.”
Cupela looked to Ubul. His expression showed confusion, and then cynicism. Jezmavalin remained nearly on her back as she sat. Hrent and Sarah walked slowly to the table and took seats on opposite ends.
“I must apologize,” Enfildio began as Cupela and Ubul sat down next to each other. “I have not been myself lately. The accident with Piroska shook me, and I should not have let it affect me so. I know I have been silent over the past few days, and that I have not been acting in a way befitting to the comradery I wish to promote. For all of that, I need to apologize.”
When no one spoke, he continued. “That reaction is justified. I have not earned much more. I would ask for forgiveness for my impolite behavior, but cannot expect to receive it until I have shown with my actions that I deserve to be forgiven.
“Well,” he said after a long pause, “let us return to work. I will check on Piroska and rejoin you shortly.”
When he had disappeared into her room, Ubul grunted. “Does he take us for fools?”
“He would have to, to expect us to believe that rehearsed speech,” Jezmavalin said.
Cupela was too afraid of being overheard by Enfildio to speak, but she shared their sentiments. Enfildio was a brilliant man, but he did not know how to speak with people, or what it meant to truly relate to someone. For the first time, she wondered if that too played a role in his desire for her to deliver his gifts to his grandson. As though he is afraid of handling the interactions the wrong way, and thus tarnishing Richard’s opinion of him.
“Who could not believe he cares deeply for our poor, charred Piroska,” Hrent added. “It only took him a fortnight to acknowledge she still lives.”
Only Sarah did not speak. Her eyes remained on the table, her head cast down. Cupela wondered how the young woman felt now. It had seemed as though she had been developing a close relationship with Enfildio, but since his return, he had not given her a second thought. Likely he has whatever he needed from her. He was kind and attentive to her until she unlocked a mystery he was working on, and then he discarded her. Only, now he wishes for her forgiveness. Pathetic.
Enfildio returned shortly and spoke in a lowered voice. “Asleep still,” he said, as though the others were unaware of that fact. He seemed to read the mood of the room then, as he took a step back. “Perhaps a gift, as another sign of apology. I have a few bottles of wine in my quarters. I will fetch them for you. We can begin work again tomorrow.”
Pathetic in every sense of the word. This forceful attempt will backfire, Enfildio. How can you not see that?
Until then, she would drink with the others, though she was not looking forward to the direction the conversation would doubtlessly take.