The vigil at the manor (Part 1/7)

The Silent are happy to serve. To be useful is to live well. A seven-part short story in the Distant Stars mosaic novel.

The vigil at the Manor is a seven-part science fiction story and one of the stories in the Distant Stars mosaic novel. A new part will be released every Saturday.

A mosaic novel is made up of interconnected short stories. Head on over to the Distant Stars story index to read the other stories.

They were keeping something from him, he was sure of it.

Aiman and Miss Brahms — they look normal enough joking with one another. But there were times when he caught them talking quietly among themselves and when he came near, stopped abruptly.

It made him feel a bit left out, of course. People can have their secrets, he conceded. But what kind of secret would involve the three of them?

And it all started when Mister Bron fell ill. Meadows had returned from the manor penthouse, feeling chuffed that Lord Luxor had finally deemed him responsible enough to elevate him to the highest levels of the manor. People now called him Mister Meadows, not just plain Meadows. He got to even ride the elevator instead of taking the stairs!

It was an honour to work at the Manor, and to be the personal manservant to Lord Luxor, one of the richest men of Mantora. It was a technology-free oasis for the family, far from the glassy coldness of the city. Here, trees shielded them from the harsh sun and grass carpeted the private island instead of concrete, robots did not exist and human beings did manual labour because that was how it should be.

It was a haven for the Silent, who had vowed to use their hands, not machines, to better the lives of others. In the city, they were scorned. In the Manor, they were useful. Meadows felt like one of the luckiest men on the planet.

Just as he was about to walk to the entrance of the servant’s quarters, Doctor Farrow emerged from the back of the house. A greeting was on his lips but the doctor merely gave him a distracted look before leaving through the gates.

When Miss Brahms told everyone  Mister Bron had fallen ill, it all made sense and he promptly forgot about it.

Until he tried to take a bath that night. A sign was nailed to the front of the door: Closed for repairs, it said.

Just my luck. Why would it be closed for repairs? It was perfectly fine yesterday.

It was such a small mark you’d have to squint to see it: A little red smear at the corner of the door. The faint, red trail trickled to the floor and ended in a small, brown dot.

He frowned. It wasn’t water. It was far too dark for that. There was another drop a foot away. And then another, and another.

He followed it all the way to Mister Bron’s room.

He touched a spot and his finger came away with a rusty brown stain. What could it possible be?

“Curious,” he muttered to himself, shrugged, and decided that a bath was more important than solving the mystery of strange stains on the floor.

The day after Mister Bron fell ill, Aiman rushed off after luncheon. He would have thought little of it if not for the strange looks Aiman and Miss Brahms exchanged. 

Then later, in the mending room, as he polished a pair of boots, he caught Miss Brahms staring at nothing, her needle in the air, a distant look to the eyes.

“A credit for your thoughts, Miss Brahms?” he said cheerfully.

She jumped a little and quickly smiled. “Oh, it's nothing. I’m just thinking about something.”

“What about?”

“Nothing serious,” she said cheerfully. Too cheerfully.

“Miss Brahms. I hope that you know that you can trust me to tell you what troubles you. I will never break your confidence,” he said.

She lay her mending down slowly. “I know that, Mister Meadows.”

“But you won't tell me what's bothering you. Is it that man from the prison again?” His eyes widened. “Has he sent you another letter?”

“Oh no, it's not that. I just have a lot of my mind.” She picked up the dress again, attacking it with her needle with gusto this time.

“Is it Mr Bron then?”

She stopped, needle in the air.

"You two are close and he's not well. Are you worried about him?”

“Of course I am. But everyone has a cold at least once in their lives I'm sure he will be better soon.”

It was a strange thing to say. It was as if she was trying to convince herself. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Aiman said that he would be in bed in one or two days, so he must be getting better now.”

She smiled, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

This was driving him mad. Surely she would tell him what was wrong? But she spent the rest of the hour quietly absorbed in her work while he tried hard not to think about the secret he was keeping away from him.

Sometimes people do not want to tell you their secrets, so leave it be, Meadows.

Yet, he couldn't heed the words of wisdom he told himself. So, he did something he never thought he’d ever do. After dinner, when Miss Brahms took up a tray for Mister Bron Barrow, he followed quietly behind. When the door closed behind her, he crept up to the door and listened.

“Just a little bit more, Mister Bron” he heard her say. “That's right. Just a little bit more.”

He heard nothing more. If Mister Bron was awake, he didn’t speak, which made him uncomfortable. The man he knew would have protested or said something cutting by now.

Just how poorly was he?

And one day, his curiosity won over.

He went into the bathroom despite the sign on it. He saw that the locks had been damaged, but other than that, nothing seemed amiss. The tub was a gleaming white. The sink faucet worked well. If the place needed repairs, all it needed was a quick change of locks and it would be useful again.

So why was it still not repaired?

Then, he saw it — a little glint in the corner wall by the tub. He wedged himself in that narrow space and found the object that made everything clear.

Go to Part 2

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Look out for Part 2 of 7 next Saturday!

Photo by Stefano Zocca on Unsplash. Read my policy on using AI images.

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