Free Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy) by Ari Berk Page B

house. So far as I know, that messenger only carries word to one person: the Undertaker.”
    “Who was it? I never saw who brought it.”
    “You should be glad of that, for the messenger is not so much a who as a what , in my estimation.”
    “I’ll take your word for it.”
    “Best get used to such things, grandson. Your acceptance of your father’s mantle, has, I suspect, opened certain doors in the world. Best accustom yourself to wonders, I think, eh?”
    Nodding, Silas began eating with gusto.
    “What is it about the presence of the dead that gives the living such an appetite, I wonder?”
    “Confirmation of life?” Silas guessed.
    “Maybe so,” said the corpse.
    Silas was glad to be here and pleased to see his great-grandfather looking so content. But then Silas imagined the old man rambling about the large house by himself.
    “Are you sure you’re not too lonely here? Maybe when I get back, you could come and live with me. My place is pretty big. I worry that this street, this house—I mean, it’s great, but it’s seen better days. With me, you could have your own room, you could have the whole upstairs at my place if you like, a long corridor to pace up and down with a good view of the park. You could have all the privacy you want, but then we could visit whenever we liked.”
    “Silas, that is surely about the kindest offer anyone’s ever made me. Truly. How fortunate I am to have you as a grandchild. But this is my place. My own place. I built this house for my family and added to it as need and fashion required. It may well be that I am what I am because of where I am. Building a world about yourself may be a kind of attempt at immortality, a sort of spell. Might be what’s slowed the process down for me. It’s worth considering, boy-o, that some places are, or become over time, more important than others. Maybe certain plots are natural thresholds that just need watching. Maybe that’s why I’m here, because this place needs me on the lookout. And I have seen things, Silas, living on this street. Wonders and terrors both. Things so terrible that I shall not speak of them with night drawn in. Old things. Things that don’t seem to have a place in the natural order of the world. Things probably coming out of, or called toward, the stones of that house.”
    And the corpse leaned back, raised his arm, and pointed away behind him toward Arvale.
    “Those stones, brought over so long ago from across the sea—who knows from where before that, or what kind of houses or structures they might have been a part of before they were disassembled and brought here. Temple or tomb? Castle or barrow? I can tell you this: that house, however it remains or appears to you, is an old, old place. Lived in, died in, over and over again.”
    The corpse’s words were beginning to weigh on him. Silas felt, truly felt for the first time, that everyone was right and he was a child and he had no idea what he was doing. From his honest ignorance, fear began to flow.
    “Will you go with me tomorrow?” he asked his great-grandfather.
    “Silas,” the corpse said tenderly, “I don’t think I could enter beyond the gates unless I was invited.” He continued with a wan smile. “It’s a very exclusive crowd up there, my boy. Not sure even I’d pass muster.”
    “Why not? You, great-grandfather, are a unique individual.”
    Augustus Howesman nodded his assent.
    “Very true, but for one thing, my name’s not ‘Umber.’ Even now, that house’s front door stands wide for you because of who you are. It’s the house of your kin, your ancestral mansion. Anyone you meet there, good, bad, or in between, they are more than likely part of your family. Besides, your father told me to give that place a wide berth, and so I have, and so I shall as long as I have a choice in the matter. Though it will be my honor to walk you to the gate. Besides, it is there I may be of some assistance, and it will delight me to help you,