The Oswald family owns two-thirds of the land in Amity, which earns them a fair share of proceeds from many of the businesses. The arrangement was initially set up by Sir Archibald Oswald in the fourteen-hundreds, as is known, but the community relations have never been better than they have been with our Cornelius, and to me, that means all the world. He is a wise man, and a good man, rolled into one.

Every time I visit his estate, one of the oldest and grandest buildings in town, I swear it gets better. This time of year, the flowers are bright and colorful. The sweet smell of them is nearly enough to cover up the stink of my strange companions.

In the orchard, which runs up the left side of the hill, I spy the red of apples in season. A gardener emerges from the trees with a bulging sack over his shoulder and starts up the path to the kitchen, a building separate to the main manor. With any luck, the bulge would be from a ripe harvest of juicy fruit.

Greedy as I am, and I'll scold myself for it later, worry not, my mouth waters. Perhaps I could expect some apple crumble, or apple dumplings. Apple fritters, apple pies.

"Oh, you pig," chide I to I. Yesterday, I ate nothing at all. Could you blame me for being hungry? Not rightfully, I'll say.

Thenshie blinks her gaping eyes at me. "Pig, who?"

"Nothing. No one. Never mind."

She returns her attention to Rootwig and carries on rattling her foreign tongue. Thank Laod.

I dangle my feet over the back of the cart and place a hand on my rumbly tummy. If I think about it, I reckon I wouldn't have eaten yesterday, even if I'd been given the chance. I'd had a lot of things on my mind. Things that left me reeling.

My mother didn't have eyelids. My mother didn't have eyes.

My stomach churns violently, and my interest in dessert washes away. I must discipline myself not to think of it, else how will I ever eat again? As a man, I need to eat.

"Master Avery! Dear boy, the doctor will be so relieved to see you."

I sit up straight and search for he who hailed me. Mr. Jeffreys, I think, is his name. Although, I'm not sure, so I don't address him properly. I wave. "I'll be even more so to see him, sir."

The stableman smiles and strokes the muzzle of the Aquian's horse. He releases her from the cart's burden, and peers back at me with a sad look about his features. I feel something unpleasant come over me right away.

"We've all heard what happened."

It's like one moment I was in the sun, and the next, beneath a stormcloud—in the bad kind of shade. It's a feeling like the light and warmth of the world is taken away, out of my control. It's just... cold. And I don't know why, and it must be in my head, but it is real.

"I'm... very sorry."

"Yes..." I'm not sure what to say, and I don't think he is, either. It's puzzling. "Thank you."

It seems right. I lower my eyes. I catch his solemn nod in my peripheral, and awkwardly return it. He doesn't say anything more to me but mumbles a gentle praise to the horse. With a slow gait, he leads her towards the stables.

"You may leave your cart here," he grunts to Rootwig, our driver.

Thenshie translates, and I lower myself to the cobbled stone driveway. The warmth of the surface feels good on my battered feet. I wiggle my toes, and let it calm me. The eerie coldness lifts with the heat, and I'm thankful for it. With a deep breath, I tuck my rusty safe under my arm and clear my throat.

Thenshie and Rootwig eyeball me. This would be the best way to describe it.

"Thank you for your help. I really appreciate the ride," I say. They stare. Thenshie clicks to Rootwig. I frown, and add, "It was very nice to meet you," it wasn't, I'm glad I can be rid of them, "but, now that I'm safe, I don't think I'll need any more help from you. Again, thank you so much."

I smile, out of courtesy. They click to each other. My smile turns to a grimace. They pay me no heed.

I wonder why I bother. I don't think they listened at all.

No matter. The heathens were a point to an end, weren't they? I turn away from them and start my strut to the front door. The bruises on my soles sabotage me from beneath, and my strut quickly becomes a cautious tiptoe.

As if I were stepping over puddles.

What a wimp you are, Walter Avery.

With a huff and a shake of my head, I stand before the tall double-doors and lift the aged gold knocker. I had always liked the knocker; a solid metal ring held in the teeth of an intricately carved lion. I pound it against the wood three times, and lace my fingers behind my back.

Wait.

My face contorts involuntarily.

I assure you, it isn't my own filth that's offended my senses- though I'll be plain and frank that I am in a dire state.

"Thank you for your help, again, but I really don't need you to..."

The door opens behind me with a heavy chink, and I swivel to face it. It drags some on the patterned red carpet of the foyer. Mr. Merylee, the head of house staff at the estate, greets me with a bow.

"Dr. Oswald will be pleased to see you alive and well." His expression takes the same turn as Mr. Jeffrey's. I clench my jaw and study my toes. Pity, is it? Is that the expression? Sad eyes, drawn, pinched lips. Brows turned up, as if surprised, but with an entirely different emotion.

"Thank you," I return.

"Did you find him?" Mr. Merylee asks, over the top of me. There's a different note in his voice, as though his politeness is covering something else. I'll tell you what I think. I think he thinks the same as I; these women are outstandingly queer. Especially the old one, with a hunch so prominent that she appears doubled-over. She carries something at her chest, but I haven't given it my attention.

"Yes," answers Thenshie. "We would like to meet Dogtarr Owswauld."

The two most complex words she's uttered so far. I sigh.

"Then you shall," Merylee assures. He beckons us inside. Us. As in, not just me, but the fish people, too. How disappointing. He closes the door. "Dr. Oswald is in the library. I am sure he will offer you some recompense for bringing Master Avery safely to the estate." The man pauses and narrows his eyes down the hall. I follow his gaze, but see nothing.

There's a problem with that. Merylee gestures for the Aquians to stay put.

"Await me here," he orders, authoritative but humble. "Master Avery, with me."

Briskly, he strides down the hall. He stops, and peers back at me.

"Master Avery."

I hadn't registered. I jump, and scurry after. The heathens follow me. Rootwig drags her peculiar object, a thick glass ball in a deteriorating net, on the floor as she comes.

They are like animals! Sit, stay. Disobey.

"Madames, please stay in the foyer. I will retrieve you in a moment."

Poor old Mr. Merylee bore his duty well. How he managed to be polite to the idiot fish, I couldn't fathom. Truly, I respect it.

My tolerance of them has run thin.

Mr. Merylee steps again, as do I. Rootwig and Thenshie, blank-eyed, shuffle behind. I grit my teeth and look to Merylee. He purses his lips and furrows his brow and moves on.

I understand. It is fair to give up. Trying to communicate with the foreigners is a waste of time and breath, after a point, I find.

He brings us to a door and raps his knuckles upon it. Out comes a heavy-chested maid. Her nose wrinkles, and I am positive that it is because of the fish people, and not because of me. Maybe I give myself too much credit, but I need the comfort.

With a glance inside, I can see that we stand at the entrance to a washroom. Tears well in my eyes, against my will. I can smell the soaps! Civility!

My arm is prodded, and I release my safe, without thought, into Mr. Merylee's presented hands. "When you're more comfortable, you'll be taken to Dr. Oswald."

"Huh?" The door is closed in my face. I blink. I look to where my safe should have been, and gasp. I missed something.

"Alright, sweetheart," says the maid. I whirl to face her as she pushes her sleeves past her elbows. My back presses against the door, and I start to sweat. "Undress yourself."

"Good heavens!"