The Pearl Key by Lisitsa ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Before reading this story, it is recommended you read The Description of the Pearl Key. Chapter One ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "You need a vacation," she had told him. Michele Homais was beginning to wonder if the map, the pass, the whole thing had been another one of Jocelyn's sick jokes when the Palace loomed into view down the road. He could only assume it was the Palace Joce had told him about, a sprawling marble mansion out in the middle of nowhere. It seemed so close now that Michele wondered how he could not have spotted it earlier with nothing between him and it but the road and open fields. It had risen like a cloud castle suddenly into view. As Michele approached, the road under his car changed from dirt and gravel to paving stones. He pulled up at a massive wrought iron gate. Though the palace was far back from the gate, there was a man standing there as if he had been waiting for him. The man was tall and impossibly thin. He wore a black uniform and the dark colour against his white skin made him look positively gaunt. The wraith man, as Michele dubbed him, came to the window and tapped on it with one long, black-nailed finger. Closer up, the gate-man seemed even more cadaverous with lank shoulder-length black hair and equally flat black eyes. Michele shivered, but rolled down the window. "Yes?" he asked, his voice cracking nervously. "May I see your pass, sir?" the wraith man asked, his voice incongruously soft and slick as oil. "Of of course," Michele stammered, fumbling for the pass Joce had given him. "Here." He handed the pass to the man, forcing himself not to jerk away in revulsion when the man's spidery fingers brushed his. The wraith examined Michele's pass with expressionless eyes and, seemingly satisfied, handed it back. He smiled, a truly disturbing expression on his white face, and waved Michele on. "Welcome to the Palace, sir," he said smoothly. Michele, eager to leave the weird gate keeper behind, continued up the driveway which was now made of tile patterned in rose and beige. It seemed almost wrong to drive over something so beautiful. Beyond the gate and the high stone wall that closed off the Palace grounds were lush gardens full of creeping plants and bright flowers Michele had never seen before. Here and there, he saw men and women walking among the flowers accompanied by boys or girls, he wasn't sure, who looked very like Michele imagined nymphs would, beautiful, graceful and full of vigorous youth. Another servant was waiting for Michele at the front door as he pulled up. She was much less intimidating than the man at the gate, appealing even, tall and poised, round of limb with skin like warm honey and coppery red hair. She wore a filmy green dress that didn't leave much to the imagination. The woman beckoned to Michele and he got out of the car and joined her on the front steps. "Come inside," she said, taking his arm. "Your car will be taken care of." She smelled like spice, cinnamon or nutmeg, maybe. Michele followed the woman. She led him down an empty hallway to a foyer that opened up like a ballroom with a high domed ceiling and mosaic floors. The whole place was very impressive. He tried not to gape open-mouthed as the woman led him up to what he guessed was the front desk. She left him there at the desk and drifted back down the hall. Michele watched her go, unable to turn away until she was out of sight. He turned to the desk. The woman sitting there looked quite ordinary, almost out of place with everything Michele had seen so far. She was dressed in plain white, her dark hair tied up demurely in a bun. She looked like one of Joce's secretaries. "Hello sir. Welcome to the Palace. I will assign you your room. Do you have a Key preference?" Something about the way she said 'Key' gave Michele pause, like he could hear the capital letter in her tone. "Um I guess not," he said. "I don't know. What have you got?" he asked, thinking of theme rooms. "Well, let me check the database," the receptionist said. She turned to her computer and began pulling up menus. "It seems that the Diamond and the Pearl Keys are the only ones available right now. We are in our busiest season. Will that be acceptable? You may wait for another Key to free up if you wish." "No, that's fine," Michele said. "I'll take the Pearl Key." The woman nodded and reached under the desk. She pulled out a wooden box and laid it on top. Carefully, Michele opened the box. Inside was a long, old-fashioned key with a simple shape, made of some kind of metal, steel or silver, maybe, inlaid with mother of pearl. He picked it up. The metal was cool against his fingers. "Return it when you no longer need it," the receptionist said. She waved to another woman in white who gestured for Michele to follow. "I will take you to your room," she said. * * * The Pearl Key held the elegantly curved sword and ran a testing finger along its edge. It was habit. He knew the sword was an ornament, a prop like everything else in the room. A prisoner would never be allowed a sharpened blade. There were times, like now, that he considered plunging the sword into his own body and getting free of the glamorously disguised jail, but then he would think of how much he would rather spit his masters The Pearl Key hefted the sword in both hands, ignoring the burning in his abused muscles. He had taken far worse without complaint. He launched himself into a kata, thrusting the sword at imagined targets, the blade swiping in vicious glittering arcs. A knock at his door interrupted him. The Pearl Key spun around in a storm of flying lavender hair, dark wings and flashing metal. "Come," he said shortly, fighting against his shameful breathlessness. A white-garbed Palace servant, a diminutive woman he was all too used to seeing at his door with a first aid kit, stepped in. But there was no little white box in her hands today. A new master, then. "Karnage," she murmured, "prepare yourself." The Pearl Key didn't answer. He wasn't expected to. He turned away from her and drew his black wings tightly about himself like a cloak, the only comfort, the only retreat he would allow himself. The door shut softly behind the Palace servant. For a long moment, he simply stood there, then the sword clattered from nerveless fingers. To be continued... ________________________________________________________________________ Go on to Chapter Two or Return to the Carven Key page