#introducing:

“You look like something is troubling you.” he said turning away from the small table and the tall mirror.

Thibault set the jacket carefully on the coverlet and folded his arms. “We’ve got problems.” He said. “Below stairs.”

Achille drew himself up to his full height and took a deep breath. “Tell me.”

“The maids say it’s a bad place, this house.” Thibault said, his grim face making him look more like a thug than ever. “And the footmen and such don’t like it much either. They’ve been talking about it ever since we got here last week. The maids say the place gives them the chills and the men say there’s something happening down in the low levels when they’ve been down there. The wine cellar and such. They hate being down there.”

“And of course my mother’s had them down doing a full inventory of that and looking for the lost Fleursanglante gold or something.”

Thibault nodded, and the light of the candles made deep shadows in the vicious scars around one of his golden eyes. “She has.” He said. “And I don’t mind telling you they’ve hated it. There’s been rumblings. But now it’s worse.”

Achille swallowed. “How much worse?” 

“We’ve lost one of the footmen.”

“What do you mean you have lost him? Did he give notice?”

Thibault shook his head. “No. I mean he’s gone. If he’d given notice his being gone wouldn’t hardly be surprising now would it, my Lord?”

“What do you mean he’s gone?! Where can he have gone? This bloody place is in the middle of nowhere. It took ages to get here and it was cold and that was when the weather was clear. It’s been blizzards for days. No one would try to make their way down that hideous mountain road and back to Ishgard in this.” Achille glanced at the window as he spoke. But the weather had not mysteriously seen fit to clear and he could see nothing outside it save a hideous bounty of snow swirling down and a chunk of nearby wall so nearly obscured by it that he wasn’t certain where the top was.

“I mean that he is gone.” Thibault said. “As near as anybody remembers he went down for something or another yesterday and no one has seen him since. He missed supper and he also didn’t turn up for breakfast this morning.”

Achille took this in for a moment in silence, then ran a hand viciously through his hair and swore in a way he wouldn’t have if there had been anyone but Thibault to see him. “Halone’s frigid fucking knees!”

“Aye, my lord.” Thibault agreed. “It’s a right fucking mess.”

“You sincerely mean to tell me that someone went down into the basement of this bloody place and got lost?”

“As far as anybody can tell, aye.”

“I suppose… they’ve looked for him?” “Aye. And not a damn trace. His lantern is missing too. P’raps he stole it and went to hock it for the money to start a new life in Ul’dah as a merchant prince.” Thibault said.

“She did not actually suggest that…” Achille said, a horrible sinking feeling in his chest.

“If the maid who overheard it is to be believed she said something of the like, yes.”

“I see.” Achille wondered yet again how his mother could be so very good at making people of their own class like her and so horrible with everyone else. “So how bad is it? How many are looking to give notice as soon as we can get out of the storm.”

“At least half.” Thibault said. “They really don’t like this house. It’s nothing but eerie stories of a night. They say the place is haunted or cursed or both.”

Achille frowned. “And what do you think?”

Thibault lifted a hand to his chin, running his thumb thoughtfully over a small scar there. It was a big hand, calloused and scarred, for Thibault had been a soldier before ever he was a valet. Achille sometimes thought one of his parents must have been a giant. “I think there’s something wrong with this place.” Thibault said at last in his calm matter of fact way.

Ice settled into the pit of Achille’s stomach. He had not thought anything could really unsettle Thibault, but the look in the valet’s eyes as they met his own was decidedly uneasy. “What do you mean?” He whispered.

“I mean I think there is something wrong here.” Thibault said. “I don’t know as I believe in ghosts or spirits or curses, but I do know when I’ve come into a place where something wants to kill me. And this place feels like it is hungry. Way down in the low levels there’s something that shivers in your bones… and I don’t mind telling you my nights are bad. Bad like in the war. I keep hearing dragonsong in my dreams, like when they were massing for battle.”

“I haven’t noticed anything like that.” Achille said, and then at the look in Thibault’s eyes hastily added. “Which doesn’t mean I don’t believe you. A footman doesn’t just vanish into nothing, and no one would steal a damned lantern and flee out into that.” He gestured toward the window. 

“No. They wouldn’t.” Thibault agreed. 

Achille glanced at the snuffbox, frowning just a little. “Perhaps we can learn something about the place.” He said. “The storm should blow over soon. I’ll send a letter then. The last lord that held this place is gone with all his family. But the one before that… There’s one person left who lived here from the family before that. I’ll write a letter to him, see if he’ll speak to me about it. And I’ll go talk to them downstairs myself and have a look… if you think that would help.”

“I do think it would help.” Thibault said. “People like being taken seriously when they’re afraid.”

“Well before I go down you can let them know I am taking it seriously.” He said. “I suppose you’d better get me into that coat for dinner. And then I’ll write a letter.”

Thibault raised an eyebrow.