Shades of Grey

AUTOMNE DE FLEURE— FEBRUARY 1843

I felt Forma land on my shoulder as a fly once I had located the room. She immediately changed back into her natural form next to me.

“Well, that was enjoyable,” she said sarcastically. “Why do you suppose they hate you?”

“I don’t think it’s me personally, something tells me they would treat any stranger like this. It’s got something to do with the fact that I know nothing about them. Something happened here, something terrible, something that they’re ashamed of,” I said quietly, roaming through logical explanations in my head as I unlocked the door.

The room inside was richly decorated and warm, a welcome change from the cramped sleeping quarters of the caravel. The walls were a rich brown and the floor was made of dark rosewood. Framed portraits of French royalty sat prominently on the walls and the bed was a great four-poster beast, draped in blankets of regal red and black.

“Forma, this is wonderful!” I tore off the Pallitus and threw myself onto the bed in exhaustion. “I never want to get up again.”

Forma rolled her eyes at my languor, promptly flew over to the fireplace and made herself comfortable in the form of a dog. I rolled over on the bed, sighing as my thoughts then began to wander listlessly from Rodag and the Tyragnon to Saul and his half of the Beauté de la Mer, finally settling on the school and what had happened to everyone I had grown up with…

“What do you think happened to the others?” I asked listlessly.

“I’m sure they’re all in hiding somewhere. No need to worry.”

Forma rolled over on her back and, after a pause, gave a thoughtful yip.

“When the man at the desk asked you your name, why did you give your mother’s instead?” she asked pointedly.

I cocked my head.

“I don’t know, impulsive reaction I suppose.”

“Bit risky, isn’t it? What if your mother had passed through this town in her travels?” Forma wondered.

“Well, seeing as she was a Hunter, she probably didn’t use her own name either and judging by the lack of recognition we have received thus far, I believe we are in the clear.” I decidedly raised my brow at her and she gave a minute dog sigh, laying her head on her front paws, at a loss for an effectively Solonian retort.

There was then a tentative knock at the door.

“Excuse me? Captain Drake?” said a young voice.

Forma looked at me curiously and I shrugged, sliding off the bed, redonning my Pallitus and opening the door to reveal a small boy of about eight or nine years who looked very nervous as though he wasn’t supposed to be speaking with me.

“Yes?” I asked in a careful whisper.

“Hello. My name is Christopher and I wanted to apologise for my uncle’s reception earlier. He hasn’t been so good with children since it happened. No one has.”

My interest piqued, as did Forma’s.

“Since what happened?” I asked, kneeling to his level.

Christopher shifted his weight uncomfortably as his eyes widened: he realised that he had said too much.

“Uh, it isn’t the best time to talk about it. I just wanted to say that we are not all like my uncle.”

I gave him a puzzled frown, but nodded gratefully.

“Alright, er, thank you for the explanation.”

“Right. I just wanted you to know.” He turned to begin walking away, but then remembered something. “Oh, I also wanted to invite you to our annual Moon Ball tomorrow evening, as a sort of peace offering.”

“Er, thank you. I will try to attend.”

Christopher gave a nervous smile and then turned toward the main lobby of the hotel, quietly chastising himself the entire way. I closed the door and turned to Forma in confusion.

“Did you notice any children on the way in?” she asked, changing back to her natural form.

“No I didn’t. He was the first…” I replied in realisation. Forma and I looked at each other, each of us trying to elucidate the mystery of the how Hamelin’s Pied Piper had managed to steal the children of Automne de Fleure.

“What do you suppose happened?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but I was right,” I said, sitting on a chair by the fireplace, “something did happen… it’s just a matter of finding out exactly what...”

Forma cocked her head.

“Where do you want to start?” she asked, reading my curious expression.

“I dunno, I think we should explore a bit, see what we can find.”

Forma cocked a smiled and changed into a butterfly as I pulled the Pallitus back over myself. We both then emerged from our room and walked down to the hotel lobby.

“Where are you off to, Miss Drake?” inquired the attendant, sounding like a policeman supervising a parolee.

“I’m off to see the sites,” I replied, ignoring his attitude.

“Well, enjoy yourself,” he responded, keeping his unblinkingly disdainful glare upon me. The other people in the lobby joined, sending scorn-filled chills down my back.

“Well, at least he pretended to be polite, that’s progress,” Forma said in derisive encouragement.

I snorted to myself and walked out into the village, ignoring the looks of disparagement the people seemed to enjoy throwing my way.

“Do you think they have a library?” Forma wondered. “We could look up news articles; see if they documented this mysterious event.”

“I see a library over there, but I don’t even know what to look for. What sort of stories would constitute an entire village hating anyone from the outside?” I asked as we entered the two-storey library at the opposite end of the city square. Once again, all activity in the room stopped as the people took time to send me cold basilisk stares. I sighed and turned to the cronish woman behind the high, circular counter.

“Do you have newspapers stored somewhere?” I asked.

“Why would a foreigner like yourself be interested in the general news of Automne de Fleure?” she replied with sickening scorn, wrinkling her already heavily wrinkled albino skin.

“I simply want to know more about this place,” I responded, pooling any and all acting abilities I possessed.

The woman sneered, tipping her bulbous nose upwards and pointing a bony finger towards a door next to the front desk.

“Thank you,” I replied as I approached the door.

“I think it will take you a bit longer to win over Medusa the librarian than the hotel attendant,” Forma remarked as she settled on the brim of my hat.

“I have no intention of trying…”

My telepathic voice died as I opened the door and beheld an enormous room with doweling rod shelves draped with newspapers that reached all the way up to the second floor and must have stretched farther outward than the length of the entire Great Hall of the Academy.

“Damnit,” Forma spat, echoing my dread.

“You look at the top ones and I’ll sort through the papers down here,” I suggested with apprehension.

“Alright,” she said as she changed back into herself, hovering in the air as she picked up the first paper and got to work.

I turned to the bottom opposite shelf and began to quickly read through the articles, hoping that my eyes and patience were up to the daunting task ahead.

Five hours later and we were still at it. Neither of us had come up with anything that would possibly lead to the reason for the strange behaviour of the people, until Forma finally spoke.

“Are you finding an unusual amount of missing children stories?”

I frowned, realising that I had indeed seen many mentions of missing children. How had that gone unnoticed?

“Yes…you too?”

“Mmhmm. Do you think they could be connected — this mysterious event and all these missing children?”

“I don’t think so, the kidnapping stories go as far back as 1793, but it’s possible I suppose… pull down each story you find and let’s see if there is a visible pattern.”

She did and we began to pour over each story, trying to see any connection, but there seemed to be no pattern at all. Every child was from different families, different social groups and different ages — the vanishings seemed to be completely random.

“Dead end,” I lamented as I rubbed my throbbing head.

“Well, don’t lose hope. Let’s keep looking for a little while longer and then we’ll call it a day.”

I nodded and began reading once more.

“Grey!” Forma called verbally fifteen minutes later, the first time either of us had spoken orally in several hours.

“What did you find?” I asked, rubbing my aching ears at the abrupt sound of her voice.

Forma flew down towards me with a paper in her hand and spread it along a lit table in the middle of the room, pointing to the front-page story.

“Several years ago, a man did a report on the missing children and the many rumours surrounding them.”

“And?” I prodded when she stopped speaking.

“And he believes they were all taken by one person.”

I looked up at her, sceptical.

“But these stories go as far back as fifty years; do you think we’re dealing with a Creature?”

Forma raised her eyebrows knowingly at me. I stood straight and stared at the papers.

“What sort of Creature do you think it is?” I asked.

“I’ve no idea, what sort of Creature has a need for children?”

I shrugged, unable to remember.

“Let’s go. We’re done for now.”