"Masks are not worn to conceal the truth, but to teach it patience."
— From On the Twelvefold Faces, a treatise on court etiquette, banned in three provinces
The granary looked exactly as it had yesterday: windows shuttered or bordered with planks, thick wooden doors sealed with a rusted iron lock, and vines curling up one side like lazy snakes. The only new detail was the faint, but present smell of fresh oil.
I circled the building a few times, each time inspecting for anything suspicious or slightly off, but my memory of the granary wasn't the best. After all, I had only ever been next door at the new granary on the other side of the river one time with Johanna. Then, I noticed a way in - a narrow window high on the west side, warped by age just slightly enough to not quite seal shut. Just enough for someone small. Or, well, someone currently small. The perks of a small body really are growing on me.
It took some work. I had to climb a barrel, then a crate, then a barrel on top of a crate, which wobbled alarmingly so. I could have sworn my very short life was flashing before my eyes when I carefully treaded onto it. For some reason, I only saw memories from this life - perhaps they were memories stored in the brain, rather than the soul? Maybe I'm talking out of my arse. Could be a bit of both.
Well, anyway, eventually I managed to climb up and squirm my way into the building, scraping my elbows, and landing on a sack of old grain with a quiet oof.
The light inside was dim, entering through dusty gaps in the ceiling boards. It smelt of dust, mildew, and dry grass. No signs of life. No secret meetings. No hooded figures waiting in the shadows.
Just me. And a letter.
It was pinned down to the floor at the centre of the building, held down by another one of those strange coins acting as a paperweight. This time, the coin was a copper colour, rather than silver, and slightly corroded at that, too.
The note was short.
Stop looking.
That was it. There was no name, no signature; just those two words. Oh, and let's not forget the coin, glinting bronze in the light.
My hands shook. My breath came in tiny, frightened puffs. I sat down fast on the floor and pulled my knees up to my chest. This was supposed to be fun. Posters. Printing. Helping out. Maybe making life a little easier for people. Not... this. Not secret notes and veiled threats.
I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both. But I was too scared to make a sound.
Eventually, I took the coin and the note, folded them into my pocket, and made my way out the way I came. Getting down was harder than getting in. I scraped my shin and tore my sleeve. But I didn't care.
I didn't go back to the workshop. I went straight home.
***
"Sweetling, Elisabeth's here with some bread and cheese. You want to come say hello?"
Absolutely not. I've had it with all these eyes on me. There's no way I'm going anywhere near someone like her.
"...Okay."
I shuffled out, hair mussed, eyes bleary. Very convincing, perhaps too convincing. I even fooled myself for a second. But when I saw Elisabeth standing by the kitchen table, smiling like she hadn't just browbeat her cousin into submission the night before, my blood turned to ice.
"Good afternoon, Richie!" she chimed. "I've brought snacks!"
Probably laced them with poison. I stare at her blankly.
"Johanna tells me you were up late reading again. You'll ruin those clever eyes if you keep at it, little owl."
Little owl? Please. I'm a sleep-deprived surveillance victim.
She crouched down to my level, offering me a wedge of cheese and a half loaf of that dark sour bread everyone around here liked so much. Normally, I would've scarfed it down. Today, I stared at it like it was bait in a trap.
"Thank you," I mumbled, taking the bread from her hand and stuffing it in my mouth. A mouth full of food is a mouth unable to speak and give itself away. I chew and chew, but, without any saliva in my mouth, it's hard to swallow down the bread. Eventually I manage, maintaining a positive-neutral face throughout the process, trying not to show any fear. She shouldn't know I know, right?
She ruffled my hair, then leant in and put her hand against my forehead. I flinched. Just slightly, but enough that she noticed.
"You're really jumpy today. You sure you're alright? It doesn't look like you have a fever."
"He's fine," Johanna said from the stove. "Probably just hungry. Come sit."
I obeyed, I smiled; I pretended the bread wasn't dry and the cheese wasn't gritty. And all the while Elisabeth sat across from me, humming softly while she plucked crumbs off her lap. Perfectly calm. Perfectly normal.
Is she testing me? Does she know I saw her?
"We're thinking of starting a little reading circle," she said gently. "Just once a week. For the little ones. You and Theo could come. Maybe bring that new book Phil printed? The one with the woodcut bunnies?"
I nearly choked.
"Sure. Sounds fun."
She nodded, then reached over to straighten my collar.
"You're such a clever boy. I'm so glad you're here, Richard. You make my Theo so happy."
Kill me. Right here. Smother me with this napkin and bury me under the cabbage patch. I can't do this.
"I should go," I said, a little too loudly. "To the workshop. Uncle Phil wanted me to help with... things."
"Of course," Elisabeth said. She stood up, brushing off her skirts. "Don't be late for supper."
As if I could ever eat again.
***
I didn't go to the workshop.
I wandered.
Past the square, where the cobbler's son would chase away birds, past the fountain, stopping by to check for coins. They didn't have that tradition here in this world, but I still prayed that I wouldn't see any more of those strange coins. I ended up all the way at the edge of the village, where the path thinned, and the forest stretched endlessly.
Every footstep sounded too loud. Every breeze was suspect.
I tried thinking logically. Who could have left that note? What were those coins, and who could have access to them? Who wanted me to stop poking my nose into very normal, totally benign community advertising?
I was fine with playing inventor. I was fine with being the helpful little outsider. But now I'm the idiot who stumbled into something bigger and got told, very politely, to piss off.
And I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it. The coin, the oil, the two notes - one in my own home right where I sleep! This suspicious job that came with a silver coin, and a letter that felt a little too knowing.
And now this one, telling me to stop searching. But stop searching for what? I didn't even know what I was doing.
A cart passed me on the road, its wheels creaking, driver nodding sleepily as the trained horses carried him and his goods out of the village. They weren't watching me. Probably.
I found a bench under a little bell tree - one of those trees which played a faint melody when the wind blew through its leaves. The seed pods rattled like hollow chimes. It was peaceful here - nice and quiet. Just me, the wind, a bit of music, and the coin in my pockt whispering threats in copper.
I stayed there until my legs went numb, then dragged myself back home. No workshop for today. No printing. No more nothing. Just home.
***
Dinner came with fried leeks and a roast finch slathered in some sort of mysterious gravy. I sat stiffly at the table, nodding when called, keeping my answers brief lest I pour out what I was really thinking. My parents didn't seem to notice, or, if they did, they were giving me the space to be whatever flavour of negativity I had today.
I appreciated it.
Once dinner was over, I ended up alone in my room again.
I picked up the coin hidden under the floorboard and clutched it in my hands, inspecting it all night.
Eventually, coin in hand, I managed to drift away.