Part 1: INHERITANCE
Deanfleet House stood atop a hill, windows faced to catch the most of the sun. Solar panels lined the roof and part of the garden, powering the place and sending any surplus to the outbuildings and nearby village. Bolthead was small and grim and dark, like most every other village since the Dimming, and those who received the light from Deanfleet must have been immensely thankful for the brightness it provided.
As the car rumbled up the gravel driveway, Maira wondered if they’d have been happier having most of that light go down to them, rather than living off Deanfleet’s Spear. It thrummed as they passed, sending a momentary vibration through the car which made Maira’s stomach turn. She looked to the driver as they passed.
‘Here’s fine, Mortimer,’ she said. ‘I can walk the rest of the way.’ Mortimer’s brow wrinkled in the rear-view mirror.
‘I’ve specific instructions, miss,’ he protested. ‘Right up to the door!’
‘Yeah, well they’re overruled,’ Maira said, not waiting for him to slow or stop as she opened the door. ‘That is, unless you wanna be cleaning my vomit out of your back seats.’
She didn’t wait for an answer as she practically tumbled out of the car, staggering to the verge. She leaned against a stone cherub and gulped in the cool air. The sunlight up here made her head pulse, and the dark glasses were barely helping her hangover. She patted her jacket pockets once more, absently. Alas, no luck there; the chance of a morning pick-me-up was rapidly diminishing.
The clouds rotated around the Spear. Its energies blossomed an eye in the perpetual storm, a luxury only the rich could afford. Maira swore at it and ambled along the pathway, one hand trailing along the wall. It was almost playful, if you didn’t know her. Anyone who knew her recognised the unsteadiness in her gait, evidence she was approaching the point where horizontal would become the norm. She was too tired, too hungover, and maybe even still too drunk for this.
The car began to pull away again and stopped in front of the house. In deference to his duty, Mortimer opened the back door and stood by it until Maira passed by. He shut the door and followed her along, arm outstretched for her bag.
‘No thanks,’ Maira said. ‘I carry my own stuff.’
‘As you wish, miss,’ Mortimer said. He moved on ahead smoothly, and opened the door for her.
‘Ms Maira Deanfleet,’ he announced to the lobby. Maira rolled her eyes, but to her surprise there was someone in here. Sitting at the foot of the staircase, cheeks smudged with mascara and eyes red-rimmed, was Leticia. She was wearing a simple black dress, black shoes, and a plain hat with a black veil attached. The veil was currently pulled up as she blew her nose. She tried to hide the tissue behind her back as she stood, wiping her eyes.
There was a brief, tense silence between them. Maira took off her sunglasses and stared apologetically at Leticia; Leticia let out am involuntary sob and embraced her, arms wrapping tightly around her neck.
'Oh Maira!' she sighed. 'I've missed you!'
'I... missed you too, mom,' Maira replied half-heartedly. She patted Letitia on the back and eased her way out of the hug. Leticia held her shoulders and looked her up and down.
'You've grown so much,' she said. 'I can't remember how long it's been - you got my letter?'
Maira pulled it from inside her jacket, a grubby and well-handled piece of paper. The wax seal was broken in two and had mostly flaked off.
'I got it,' she said. 'Thanks for letting me know. And for using the right name.' There was a suggestion of tension in Leticia's face, the lips pursed and eyes sharp, but it passed like a closing fan and she was all polite smiles again.
'Well Dorian did say it was important,' she said. 'He wanted you here, you know - I'm afraid lunch is over, but I'm sure the cook could prepare you some cold cuts and a glass of-' Maira held out her hands and took a step back.
'I'm just here for the reading,' she said. 'Thank you for your concern- ' she gestured the letter '- but I didn't come back here to return to the fold.'
'But... but I thought-' Leticia began, but she was stopped short by Maira's suddenly dour glare.
'This family held a lot against me,' she said. 'I'm not ready to leave that past behind. I'm here strictly as a favour to dad.'
Leticia looked on the verge of tears again. She sniffed and nodded.
'Okay. Yes, of course. Well I'm sure it'll begin shortly - take a seat in the drawing room, that's where Argyle has set up.'
Argyle was the family lawyer, a stern man of around fifty who enjoyed reading, watch-making, and silence. As Maira entered the spacious room, she noted the twitch of his brow in irritation of the low murmur of conversation. Maira listened in as she found a seat near the back.
'Well there's no accounting for taste, really-'
'Always spoiled his eldest, no wonder he ran away-'
'Got a rebellious streak, anything to shame Dory and Letty-'
'What, really? That's him? But he was such a-'
Ah. So the message hadn't gotten around. Maira was aware that she was glaring at the room with bloodshot eyes. She put her sunglasses on once more, and smiled at the room with her mouth.
'Lovely to see you all again,' she said. Argyle's eyes flickered up to her and he nodded minutely. There was a soft click as the door opened and closed, Leticia whispering into the room.
'Glad you could make it,' rasped a voice, and Maira grinned. She turned - sitting opposite her was Uncle Ham. He'd come dressed in his greasy overalls, in deference to tradition, and he gave her a nod and a thumbs up.
'Ham!' she stage-whispered. 'I'm glad to see a friendly face here, at least.' At the front, Argyle cleared his throat noisily, a signal for everyone to quiet down. 'Catch up later?' she asked. Ham nodded and turned to face the front.
'If we're all here,' Argyle piped up nasally, 'let's begin.’
Argyle detailed the possessions of the deceased and how they were divided up. Maira watched aunts, uncles and distant cousins nodding in approval as the correct heirlooms were traded back into place. Leticia got the house, of course, and the stipend it brought in. Maira looked towards the front row - a young man and woman sat there, listening intently. Her brother and sister, she barely recognised them. They each received a small holding of the Deanfleet lands, a parcel they could build on in future. Maira was beginning to wonder if her father had simply intended to show her what she was missing out on. She leaned back, arms crossed. No, that wasn't like him. He had something planned.
'That concludes the reading of the will,' Argyle noted at long last. 'There remains just some final matters and we can part.' He shuffled some papers around until he pulled out an envelope and broke the seal, where he continued:
'Where it pleases the law, I, Dorian Adelie Deanfleet, being found to possess both sound mind and sound body, do hereby leave the sum of 75,000 fins to my dear friend, Hamlet Horatio Hamilton, for the express purpose of finishing repairs and renovations on my airship, the Fallen Star; and that, as agreed upon in the attached contract, upon the event of my death the airship Fallen Star and all contents therein shall pass to my eldest daughter, Maira Deanfleet.'
The crowd, as one, turned to stare at Maira. She looked at the dozen or more faces, open-mouthed in shock, and felt the rising bile in her throat.
'Ah,' she said brightly. 'There's the twist.' She stood, strode briskly to the door, and as soon as she was in the lobby broke into a run for the front door.