The house was spick and span as Margorie had been cleaning it. Jack let his eyes wander to the shabby pink curtains none of them bothered to change after their mother left. It was her favorite color. Despite that she left them with an ugly curse that only cursed Jack, there was still motherly sentiment in their hearts. They all still loved her in their own ways, of course. And, they had this talk many times.

He grazed his eyes then across the room to the kitchen. The wooden walls had to be taken down or their forgetful father would burn the house down.

That would have kept the original will without question, Jack thought, not that I want him to die.

The exposed pipes hissed as Margorie busied herself in the kitchen while 'Pop and Jackie, why don't you talk men's things at the table while I get the muffins.' At home, he was always Jackie. It annoyed him. He was a successful businessman in all ways possible. He wasn't Jackie. He was Jack.

He noticed the pictures had been taken down. The place where they hung for many years had left a mark. A clean mark. That part of the wood looked brand new while the rest of it suffered from erosion over the years. The pictures would have been family pictures including their mother. For years, they weren't taken down. It was a recent thing. He wondered why. Jack felt eyes prickling his skin. His father was now looking at him, finally aware of his son's presence.

"How's the gallery?" His father Emmett sat up in his reclining chair a little to blink his eyes, looking at Jack. The middle-name namesake looked like he had been seeing Jack this entire time and not a day had gone by since last.

"Good. There will be another next Tuesday."

"Next Tuesday," Emmett rubbed his chin, feeling for the non-existent beard. "Today is Tuesday."

Jack shook his head. "Wednesday."

"Of course."

"Are you voting next Monday?"

"Tuesday, no, there's no election."

Jack grimaced. The forgetfulness had gotten worse. "The election Pop. Did you decide who you'll vote for?"

"I don't like Norstrom." Emmett furrowed his bushy blond eyebrows. "I like Palestone. The man knows what's good for the country. Bloody bastard Norstrom."

Norstrom wasn't running this time. That was last time. Emmett was getting mixed up with last year when Palestone first became minister. But whatever, Jack sighed, at least he would vote for Palestone who was indeed running again this time.

"How's the farm, Pop?" He changed the subject. "How's—"

"The farm," Emmett's hollowed voice rasped, "do you know how long this farm has been in our family?"

This story again. Jack couldn't even count how many times he heard it, but he knew if he didn't let his father talk, it would make him angry and when he got angry, his heart rate went up. When that happened, he had trouble breathing.

"Tell me Pop. I seem to have forgotten." He leaned forward.

"Pah!" His father spat. "Ungrateful son of mine. The Ogswolds have been in the Stretch for the longest. We have lived in Guther before any other bloody farmer came to Hobbersmead. Generations upon generations. You are the eleventh, Jackie. The eleventh son to live on these lands. You know why it's called the Stretch?"

Jack pretended to ponder. "Hmm, because it stretches between the mountains?"

"Right. Endil has layers of mountains and land stretching between them. Striped. The Stretch we live in, Hobbersmead, is the oldest farmland."

And it was the oldest with lots of history that Jack really did not care about. Nowadays it was all about modernization. More technology, more travel, and a look at the outside world. What were in the neighboring countries and not the neighboring Stretches. Endil was just a small part of the world. It was a big country, but still small compared to the rest of what was out there and aviation becoming popular and fuel becoming longer lasting meant more travelers could venture out into the Otherlands and map it. Navigation schools were popping up now. People were becoming more interested in what went on outside of Endil and they wanted to explore.

And that's why they need airships and pilots. Perfect opportunity. Jack smiled to himself.

Margorie came over with muffins and tea. He hated tea. He was a coffee man. She knew it, too.

"We don't have coffee?"

"No."

"Not even an old bag?"

"Coffee is expensive, Jackie. Remember?" Margorie sat down with condescending in her eyes. "And you never send back money so put up with it, smartbuggle."

"So, the will?" Jack said, trying to be helpful. Margorie quickly scolded him with a 'shush'. He looked at her in disbelief. What did he come all the here for anyway? To talk about the will, wasn't it? And she was shushing him about it?

"I have said before, Margie," Emmett rasped, "the estate goes to the son."

Margorie gasped. "But Pop, you said yesterday that you would consider my name as part of the Ogswold estate and Jackie and I will split it—"

Their father banged his fist on the table. "I said no such things, young lady. You keep confusing me and you're doing it on purpose because you know how easily I forget things, but not this, young lady! The estate goes to my boy Jackie. That is final!" He shouted quite loud for a frail old man. Then followed a fit of coughs. Margorie just sat there with tears in her eyes so Jack got up and helped his father to his feet, guiding him to his bedroom. Once his father was settled in bed, he went into the kitchen. His sister was sniffling.

"I can't believe you did that." He condemned her.

"I-I thought he did mean it. He did say—"

"His first word was final, and he even said so. You're lucky you get the money and I get the estate. Don't have to deal with goat's dung for the rest of your life." Jack took the glass of water to his father. On his way back, he slipped into his father's work room and took out the will from the special drawer underneath the desk. Estate was for Jack. He made sure and headed to bedroom.

"Ah, thank you, son. I know I can count on you. I don't know what's come over the girl. She used to be 'yes, Pop, yes, Pop'. I think it be the city that's giving ideas in her head. And hasn't she found a man yet? I can't die until I've seen a grandchild. You, too."

Jack nodded. He knew, at his age, he should settle down soon. But business life was far more interesting, and he couldn't think about being tied down to a wife and kids.

Not too long, his father thought. Jack cursed himself for touching his father's left side.

Contract, yes. Contract. Sign the contract. It's best. No old useless land.

His father's eyes started to close. Jack took the glass from him, and tip toed out of the room. He drank the rest of the water down himself.

Contract, yes. Contract. Emmett's thoughts faded away as he fell asleep.

* * *

That night, back in his office's sleeping quarters, Jack thought about his father's thoughts. Something about a contract, but it could well be about the will. The will was signed, but maybe he was being confused at that moment.

Light from his gas lamp caught the dragon's breath necklace and the green and yellow sparkled. Jack sat up and took the necklace down from the hook.

What if I sold this and gave the money to Margorie?

During dinner, she had told him that their father's medical bills were making them poorer by the day. If he would be put on permanent ventilators, the Ogswolds would be in debt. Jack, although quite wealthy on his own, didn't want to give his money to anyone. It was his hard-earned money that he wanted to use to buy some land and build an airship factory, or just build his own airship and be a pilot for other people.

Need to catch the business while it's still ripe. He rubbed his thumb across the stone's surface.

Smart decision, came a thought voice. It was the woman's voice again.

Jack looked down at the stone. He put it to his ear. He didn't hear anything. Of course, he wouldn't. His cheeks began to warm. What was he doing listening to a pretty rock? But now he couldn't sleep. Margorie's deception, tricking him to come home because the will might be in danger, trying to trick their father into reconsidering it, and then his father's forgetfulness, it was all a lot.

And then that about a contract. Jack wished he would have said something about it, but his father had fallen asleep soon after. It was probably nothing knowing how forgetful his father was. But something told him it wasn't. Something like a sixth sense.

He laughed in spite of himself. Am I turning into a Seeker?

He hung the necklace on the hook, got dressed in his dark clothes, put on his fancy mask, and head on over to the Goldfish. Of course, he wouldn't drink. He just needed a little bit of fun.

Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the Goldfish's backdoor and rapped three-one-two. The speakeasy slid open.

"Finnegan," Jack said.

The door unlocked with a click and opened inwards. Jack slipped in.

"Room Six, sir," the man at the door said, hidden in shadow.

"Thank you."

Jack went down the narrow, dark hall and turned the corner. The jazz music went from low to high volume as he neared the main floor. But he didn't go out to the main floor. He turned down another dark hallway, disappearing again into the back. The music died out. He arrived at Room Six. The usual woman was waiting there for him as she did every night. Just for him.

"I was wondering when I would see you again, Mister O."

He caressed her cheek in his hand. Her pale blue eyes pierced his as she gazed up at him. "Lady, do humor me."

In the dim room with only one lantern in the corner, he saw her white robe fall to the floor and pool around her bare feet. Then she took him to the bed and lay next to him while he remained clothed. She lay on her left side. Although he never told her his reason for wanting her to face away from him, she obliged. 

Of course, he would rather face her, but he knew he couldn't face her truly with the mask. If he was going to face a woman naked, he wanted it to be when he didn't have to hide himself.

"They came just moments ago," she whispered, "asking for you."

He grazed his fingers across her bare shoulders. "Let them come. I fear nothing."

She giggled.

"What?"

"No, it's just like you to say that. You fear nothing. Not even possible death."

"I will not even come close to it, Lady. I am good at what I do."

"I know. So am I."

He never knew the meaning of what she said, for she snuffed out the candle and left them both in pitch darkness. There, he took off his clothes, but as always, no further than a cuddle.