Chapter Three
The Room of Forgotten Memories was, in fact, a bathing chamber, with a massive porcelain soaking tub on golden feet.
The walls were entirely mirrored, and the chandelier trailed strings of crystals to further reflect the light of the candles burning atop it.
Alora turned slowly, absorbing her reflection from every angle.
It was far more of herself than she needed to see, and she didn’t dare imagine what it must be like to be bare before them.
“How…stimulating. I’m curious at the decision for so many mirrors,” she said, trying not to offend, but wondering why? Why would anyone choose such a thing?
“Eyes are a window to the soul, would you not agree?”
“I suppose so. In a poetic way.”
“And the soul is where our memories reside, molding and remolding, until we become the person you see standing here, mirrored back at you. Look closely, and you will see every moment having shaped you.” When Alora made to step before such a mirror, he stopped her with a light touch to the arm.
“Not now. Not with another present. This sort of thing is best done alone, unadorned. And, if one decides something to be too painful, too heavy, to continue allowing its mark on their soul, to bear with them through the entirety of this lifetime and even into the next, they may climb into the bath.”
“To rest and ease the burden?”
“In a sense, though I can tell you are thinking of basic needs. No, Miss Pennigrim, this bath is part of Opulence Mansion and so it is much more. The tub will siphon one’s bad memories away for eternity.”
“Oh my. That is—”
“Spectacular?”
Alora wasn’t so convinced. She stared at the bathtub as if it would surge, taking every memory until she’d become nothing but a shell, unfeeling, not knowing what made her. Good gracious…
“Come along. There is more to see.”
Twenty-four numbered doors made up Opulence Mansion’s second floor. Alora soon visited them all.
Not once throughout her tour did Master Merridon ask for her opinion again.
There were rooms designed for unique entertainments, like the Room of Fire behind Door Eighteen, and rooms designed to evoke peculiar sensations such as the Room of Lightness beyond Door Seven.
The corresponding doors on the first floor offered changes of attire, if applicable, and special refreshments, if desired.
By her leave of Door Twenty-four, Alora’s legs protested loudly and her mind just as much.
One didn’t live in Enver without expectation of enchantment, but Opulence Mansion defied normal existence. She couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed.
“Master Merridon,” she began, hand pressed to her forehead. “I’m afraid I still do not understand your specific requirements. Are all rooms to be redone? Or a few?”
Master Merridon paused in his descent of the final staircase.
“Only one, Miss Pennigrim. I simply thought you’d like to see the rest of the establishment before encountering the project I plan for you.
Many people wish they had the chance to step into the mystery of our world, but unfortunately, never will. Life can be unfair that way.”
Alora lowered her hand at his choice of words. “Does this mean there are no other applicants?”
“None I would entertain,” he replied, bright smile returning. “I knew from the moment we met that you were the one I wanted.”
Something twinged inside her at his declaration; Alora decided it must be hunger. As of one hour ago, this appointment had become the longest interview to which she’d ever been subjected. “I’m certainly eager to learn of this project,” she said, managing to do so without gritting her teeth.
Two hours ago would have been preferable, you showboat of a man.
“Allow me to show you our final room then. Door Twenty-five.”
“I thought there were only twenty-four numbered rooms in Opulence Mansion?”
“Not anymore,” said Master Merridon. Face alight, he gestured her to follow, and around and around they descended. “Just there.”
Returned now to the first floor, Alora squinted down the remaining corridor. For all its shadows, it may as well have ended there. “I'm not sure I can make out a door.”
“But it is there, at the hall's end. The soon-to-be greatest offering of Opulence Mansion.” He studied her reaction closely. “The Room of Desire.”
“Room of Desire,” she repeated, returning his intense stare. “What sort of desires does it promise?” Her thoughts whirled from more accepted forms, such as money, to the more clandestine, such as—
At the blush having risen to the apples of her cheeks, Master Merridon chuckled. “That is the wondrous thing about desires. They are particular to everyone, and so long as a member can recall theirs distinctly, they might experience it. Perhaps even leave here with it.”
Alora frowned. “How can that be possible?”
“The impossible thrives here, haven’t you noticed?”
It was a non-answer, of course, but when she frowned deeper, he only winked at her, unbothered.
It was a well-practiced wink, she could tell.
One that probably charmed others into giving him precisely what he wanted.
In this particular moment, his desire was clear: silence.
“Enter it now if you like. Take your time, take notes, or whatever your process may be. As far as the remainder of the terms, you will be allotted one month to design the room to its fullest potential, a generous expense account, naturally, and payment of 100,000 evergolds by the end.” Alora choked on a gasp.
“Oh, and a membership. Paid in full for one year. Are you all right?”
Alora could only continue to blink rapidly, her brain a delirious whirlwind amassing around one central thought. 100,000 evergolds! Well over twice what she earned in a year, all in a single job. She was most certainly not ‘all right’.
“I think so. I’m only— A month?”
“Once I have my mind set on something, I like to see it to fruition as quickly as possible. I'll await your answer.”
Yes! Alora wanted to exclaim. A hundred times over. But she pulled herself together at last, brushing back the pieces of hair having escaped from the top of her head during her overextended tour, and turned toward the dark corridor. “I won’t be long.”
It wasn’t far before even the vestiges of light remaining from the main hall’s chandeliers could no longer mark her way.
Alora walked in total darkness, and in a slight downhill, too, if she wasn’t mistaken.
The flooring hadn’t changed, however, as her short heels continued to clack against it as before, and the air smelled no different, though the temperature might have dropped a fraction.
But that could be nerves. She wasn’t in the habit of wandering into dark spaces without a light source and was surprised Master Merridon hadn’t offered one.
A note for her refurbishment of this space, to be sure.
“Is there even a Door Twenty-five? Maybe this tunnel burrows on forever,” she grumbled, moments before her outstretched fingers touched wood.
Her rushed breath of relief was loud in the dark—too loud—and before she could help it, a bout of nerves overtook her.
She didn’t know what might be down here: spiders or snakes or someone lurking who might hurt her.
As minds were prone to do, an unwelcome memory of the running man surfaced.
Did many attempt to break into this place?
Had any succeeded? And where might the hairy-armed giant have gotten off to with their quarry?
She needed light and she needed it now, and when the flickering candle materialized in her hand, she couldn’t be upset by her lack of discipline.
All she felt was quick relief. Door Twenty-five.
There it was, marked as all the others, and the doorknob was the same—gold and ornate.
She turned it quickly and sent it inward.
At first glance, she noted the bare floors; no marble or rugs or furs as she’d seen prior.
She stepped slowly in, careful, so as not to disturb anything that may be lurking.
But there was nothing. Aside from an unlit lamp sitting alone on the floor, there wasn’t so much as a window, furthering her suspicions she was indeed below ground.
The walls were bare white plaster, and the ceiling held no adornment either.
It was a plain, average-sized room with nothing to mark it but her imagination.
A dangerous thing.
Moving toward the lamp, she used the nearby matches to light it, snuffing her imagined candle and placing it in her satchel once the other flared.
“A room of desires. Hmm. What to do with you?” She pulled out her notepad and a pencil, tapping its length.
Master Merridon had said desires were unique to an individual.
An obvious statement, but it was one she’d latched onto.
She couldn’t very well decorate a room to call upon every natural desire.
Love, money, long life, health— No, what a nightmare.
If a person sought out this room, they must already have an idea of what they wished for, and so needn’t be swayed.
Simple furnishings, then. No—inviting. Some people, not her, but some people, were skittish over admitting their desires for a host of reasons. This room should entice them to do so.
Pulling a measuring tape from the bag’s depths, Alora moved about the room, jotting notes and lengths and ideas, everything else forgotten.
She could picture it clearly: a thick wool rug, a chaise lounge, and soft lamplight rather than an overwhelming chandelier.
The chaise would be crimson, a nod to Master Merridon of course, with thick cushions, and perhaps gold, but not much—
Alora cut off the image not a moment too soon. What a disaster it would be for an unexplained piece of furniture to materialize with no way to be rid of it or to explain it. She’d lived twenty-four years with the secret, and she wouldn't let it free now. 100,000 evergolds were on the line. 100,000!
Stashing the notebook and dousing the lamplight, she left.
“I accept,” she announced upon her return. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Master Merridon turned toward her as the stranger did.
Though Master Merridon’s face revealed his pleasure, the stranger’s revealed nothing, as it was hidden beneath a dark cowl.
Alora appreciated the tall height of the newcomer.
How his broad shoulders rivaled that of the proprietor’s, how he was entirely enshrouded by a high-collared black coat that brushed his knees.
It didn’t take any particular skill to ascertain that this was a person not meant to be seen, though Master Merridon didn’t seem too put out about it.
If anything, given her announcement, the shadowy man ceased to require his attention.
Alora was an unfortunate sap for mystery, especially when said mystery involved tall, darkly dressed gentlemen. Intrigue, hammered her heart. He must be very hot beneath all that black.
“Excellent, Miss Pennigrim!” Master Merridon raised two fingers in a dismissive gesture to the man beside him, who then promptly turned away. As he left, Alora caught a fascinating glimpse of a masked jaw in the chandelier light before giving her attention once more to Master Merridon.
“Before I begin, I will ask if there is anything particular you request for the room? I’ll admit I’m curious as to how it’s all meant to work.
Take the Room of Forgotten Memories, for example.
Am I to accommodate for plumbing?” Two birds with one stone, this question was, and Alora waited, her bones vibrating.
Master Merridon’s mouth took on that pinched expression again. “No plumbing. I suppose seating would be my only contribution. A chair, a sofa, or perhaps a bed. Something of that nature.”
A bed? What a conundrum this project is turning out to be. And so soon. She’d never had so little to go on.
“Use your imagination, Miss Pennigrim. Design it to your exquisite tastes. I’m certain it will not disappoint.”
“I will do my very best, Master Merridon.”
“I’m sure of it. Now, last matter of business.” Master Merridon reached within his luxurious waistcoat, pulling forth a folded bit of parchment and a pen. “Your signature, please. For our agreement.”
“Of course.” Alora didn’t always have to sign such things, but for well-established businesses such as this, it was to be expected. When he handed both to her, she unfolded it, reading quickly. She swallowed. “A confidentiality clause?”
“Mandatory, I’m afraid. Opulence Mansion operates with a certain sense of...secrecy. I prefer it to remain that way. Also, this.” From beneath his arm, a golden cloak unfurled. “From now on, you must wear it to and from.”
Alora took the cloak. The material was thin and gauzy, enough that it seemed a breathable fabric.
She supposed she could see the sense in it.
Not that she was in the habit of telling secrets, but he didn't truly know her.
Everything else was legitimate, the terms he told her clearly stated, and after a moment of struggle in retrieving her notepad to use as support, she signed her commitment to the job.
“One month,” said Master Merridon, waving goodbye.
Alora returned his smile and his wave, though inwardly she wondered what need he felt in reminding her again.