The whole thing is odd and reeks of programming. Did Ostanes—or Saturn, or maybe even someone else—put some kind of ignorance curse on me? Why wouldn’t I question things?
Or did I? And I just forgot?
I sigh loudly and let my eyes wander over the tomb rooftops. The monsters seem to like being on the roofs. I can count about a dozen of them up there right now. One group even has a fire going, like they are cooking lunch or something. I squint my eyes to try to make out who they might be, but all I see is the vague shape of wings. Not too many of the monsters have wings, so it’s got to be Batty or one of his friends.
I scan again, but then stop abruptly. “What the—” I walk over to the edge of the roof, trying to get closer. “Is that a…”
Holy shit. I think it is.
I think that’s a door.
And not just any door, it’s a door on the side of the black tomb.
I go back downstairs, take off my apron, rake my coals to spread out the fire and cool it down, then leave. I walk quickly, trying to weave my way through the maze of tombs as efficiently as I can, while still heading towards the looming cathedral spires. But it still takes me a very long time and when I finally make it to the cathedral’s back patio, I fully expect the door to be gone.
An illusion or maybe a hallucination.
But it’s still there and monsters are walking by it like they don’t see it, or they don’t care.
I grab one by the shoulder as he’s passing by, turn him to face the tomb, and say, “Do you see that door?”
He turns to look at me, shrugs and shakes his head.
I let go of him and he walks off.
But I’m not satisfied with this answer. So I grab another monster passing by. “Do you see that door?”
This monster gives me the same answer and walks off.
Is it real? Is this even what a door looks like? It’s been so long since I’ve seen one, other than the opening to my own tomb. But this isn’t an opening. It’s an actual door. Made of metal. Iron or steel. With an intricate trim, accented with rivets, around the perimeter. And a knocker near the top. A knocker with a face on it.
I walk closer, trying to get a better look, and realize the face is of the monster standing guard outside. The one with the gold horns and hooves.
The next thing I know I’m right up next to the door and my fingertips are brushing along the green copper patina of the unknown monster. “Who are you? And why are you here?”
Of course, there is no answer.
But the better question is—what will I do now?
Knock?
It feels like a bad idea. I mean, knocking is like an invitation in the magical world. You knock because you want someone to answer.
I reach for the door handle. It’s not the kind that turns. It’s the kind we have on the front doors of the cathedral. You press a trigger lever and push.
So that’s what I do and the door inches open with a loud creak.
I look over my shoulder, wondering if any of the monsters are watching me, but there’s a fog lifting up from the ground—like a shield—and even though I can see plenty of monsters, they are passing by without even a glance.
Huh. It’s almost like the magic that keeps the outside world at bay when I’m in between slave caretakers.
I pause here because it’s the prudent thing to do. If I’m inside a gray fog wouldn’t that mean I’m a slave caretaker? One who has not yet accepted his new role?
Makes sense to me. But you know what they say about curiosity.
I press the door and it opens a few more inches. It’s dark inside, so the only way to see what’s in there is to open the door all the way and let the sun shine in.
I pause and take a deep breath. It’s not a good idea to go around opening strange doors. I know this. But wasn’t I just standing on the rooftop thinking I had been programmed to not ask questions?