Pattern Recognition
Title: Pattern Recognition
Author: je
Story: Cryptomancy
Challenge(s): Tropical Punch #22: On the same page; Vanilla Bean #20: Pattern
Word Count: 944
Rating: G
Summary: Chaill attempts to prove his usefulness to Lady Bloodrose by reading her mail. It makes sense.
Notes: I apologize for the abrupt ending on this. I'm splitting into two parts because it's getting a little longer than I like to keep these posts. Also because if I hold back until it's finished everyone will forget who I am by the time I post it.
“I hear,” said the Lady, “that you are clever.”
In the corridor, footsteps made sounds like metallic thunder. The servants were preparing some banquet. Bug had told me that morning, right before she’d said that Lady Bloodrose wanted to see me. I’d put on my livery and taken the steps practically two at a time for no good reason, except that I never wanted to find out what she’d think of being kept waiting. She’d made me to wait a great long time out in the hall, watching servants scuttle back and forth with their heads bent into their stride. I’d stood as still as a statue at her door until she’d called me inside.
“I have some small skill with figures,” I responded, just as I’d told Sir Isaac Newton in a life that seemed now to belong to someone else.
She waved her hand distractedly. “Bug says you see patterns where there are none. I must deduce that you are either clever, or very stupid. Are you stupid?”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I kept silent, and shifted my weight between my feet.
“Don’t do that,” she said. “It makes me seasick. I hate the sea. What do you think of the sea, child?” She always called me child. I hated it even worse than being called Chaill.
“It is dreadful,” I answered, though I thought nothing of the sort. Better to get her past this and on to her real purpose. I did not intend to disagree with her on anything, I knew well what happened to those that did.
“It is!” she cried. And then, “But do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Clean out those ears of yours, child. Do you see patterns where there are none?”
I held my breath a moment. This was the sort of thing that would take a very carefully chosen answer. “My lady.” I gave a sort of awkward half-bow. “I believe that there must be patterns, elsewise I wouldn’t be able to see them.”
The statement bordered on impertinence, never a safe thing at the Rookery, but Lady Bloodrose seemed not displeased at all. I might have sighed in relief, but I wasn’t sure how she would take that either, so I kept my breath as constant as the moon. “I think that you have got the right of it,” she said. She beckoned me closer with a red lacquered fingernail. I stepped forward about a half a foot. It seemed to be good enough. “There must be patterns,” she said. “Do you see them everywhere?”
“I see them in…” I trailed off, remembering where my father had once told me to look for God. “In the faces of flowers,” I finished. “In the music of the wind.”
She waved her hand again, the corners of her mouth twisting downward dramatically. “You sound like Bug, now. I do not need another Bug.” I gulped. If she didn’t need me, I was as good as dead, I at least knew that much.
“It isn’t like Bug,” I said, perhaps a bit too hastily. Still, her eyebrows shot up, letting me know that she was listening. “Sunflowers,” I added, practically a non sequitur.
“Sunflowers,” she repeated.
“It’s a pattern,” I said, at this point simply rambling. “It goes, ‘one; one, two; three; five; seven; twelve…’”
The Lady waved her hand. “None of that means anything to me,” she said impatiently. “They’re just words.”
I nodded, though I disagreed with her on an almost religious level. “Still,” I said, “it’s a pattern. A way to predict the way they will grow.”
She wrinkled her nose, but her eyes twinkled, and I knew I had her. I had learned a bit about Lady Bloodrose during my time in the Rookery, and she had a habit of feigning disinterest at almost all times. “I do not care about sunflowers,” she said. “Have you got letters?”
So strangely was it worded, it took me a moment to answer. “I-I can read and write, if that’s what you mean.”
“Can you read this?” She held out a parchment, coiled and sealed with a glob of green wax.
I stepped forward, just close enough to take it from her hand, and slipped a finger beneath the edge of the paper. The seal popped off with a snap, and the page unfurled. “Dearest Cousin,” I read aloud, and Lady Bloodrose waved a hand to tell me to go on.
“lady BloodRose Is well-loved iN heart’s-desire. Give her our Most loving wishEs, and Tell HEr the ORchards are Painted in Her radiANt image. She is iN our prAyers, dreaMs, and most Excellent thOughts…” I trailed off.
“I’m sorry, milady,” I interrupted myself. “This letter means nothing, but these letters are capitalized.”
“Anaïs writes in an odd mode. She always has.”
“Begging my lady’s pardon, but there is another message herein: ‘Bring me the orphan’s name or his heart if you must tear down the Rookery to find him.’” It was such a simple code, if you could even call it a code, I almost thought Lady Bloodrose was playing with me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to have read it with so little inflection in my voice. It was, essentially, my own death warrant.
Lady Bloodrose, however, was not so dispassionate. “The impertinence! How dare she issue such a thing!”
I barely heard her. “My heart?”
She waved her hand in the way that she always did when I asked what she deemed to be unnecessary questions. “I thought Octavian had told you that the witches would want you dead?”
He had, but it didn’t soften the reality at all.
Author: je
Story: Cryptomancy
Challenge(s): Tropical Punch #22: On the same page; Vanilla Bean #20: Pattern
Word Count: 944
Rating: G
Summary: Chaill attempts to prove his usefulness to Lady Bloodrose by reading her mail. It makes sense.
Notes: I apologize for the abrupt ending on this. I'm splitting into two parts because it's getting a little longer than I like to keep these posts. Also because if I hold back until it's finished everyone will forget who I am by the time I post it.
“I hear,” said the Lady, “that you are clever.”
In the corridor, footsteps made sounds like metallic thunder. The servants were preparing some banquet. Bug had told me that morning, right before she’d said that Lady Bloodrose wanted to see me. I’d put on my livery and taken the steps practically two at a time for no good reason, except that I never wanted to find out what she’d think of being kept waiting. She’d made me to wait a great long time out in the hall, watching servants scuttle back and forth with their heads bent into their stride. I’d stood as still as a statue at her door until she’d called me inside.
“I have some small skill with figures,” I responded, just as I’d told Sir Isaac Newton in a life that seemed now to belong to someone else.
She waved her hand distractedly. “Bug says you see patterns where there are none. I must deduce that you are either clever, or very stupid. Are you stupid?”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I kept silent, and shifted my weight between my feet.
“Don’t do that,” she said. “It makes me seasick. I hate the sea. What do you think of the sea, child?” She always called me child. I hated it even worse than being called Chaill.
“It is dreadful,” I answered, though I thought nothing of the sort. Better to get her past this and on to her real purpose. I did not intend to disagree with her on anything, I knew well what happened to those that did.
“It is!” she cried. And then, “But do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Clean out those ears of yours, child. Do you see patterns where there are none?”
I held my breath a moment. This was the sort of thing that would take a very carefully chosen answer. “My lady.” I gave a sort of awkward half-bow. “I believe that there must be patterns, elsewise I wouldn’t be able to see them.”
The statement bordered on impertinence, never a safe thing at the Rookery, but Lady Bloodrose seemed not displeased at all. I might have sighed in relief, but I wasn’t sure how she would take that either, so I kept my breath as constant as the moon. “I think that you have got the right of it,” she said. She beckoned me closer with a red lacquered fingernail. I stepped forward about a half a foot. It seemed to be good enough. “There must be patterns,” she said. “Do you see them everywhere?”
“I see them in…” I trailed off, remembering where my father had once told me to look for God. “In the faces of flowers,” I finished. “In the music of the wind.”
She waved her hand again, the corners of her mouth twisting downward dramatically. “You sound like Bug, now. I do not need another Bug.” I gulped. If she didn’t need me, I was as good as dead, I at least knew that much.
“It isn’t like Bug,” I said, perhaps a bit too hastily. Still, her eyebrows shot up, letting me know that she was listening. “Sunflowers,” I added, practically a non sequitur.
“Sunflowers,” she repeated.
“It’s a pattern,” I said, at this point simply rambling. “It goes, ‘one; one, two; three; five; seven; twelve…’”
The Lady waved her hand. “None of that means anything to me,” she said impatiently. “They’re just words.”
I nodded, though I disagreed with her on an almost religious level. “Still,” I said, “it’s a pattern. A way to predict the way they will grow.”
She wrinkled her nose, but her eyes twinkled, and I knew I had her. I had learned a bit about Lady Bloodrose during my time in the Rookery, and she had a habit of feigning disinterest at almost all times. “I do not care about sunflowers,” she said. “Have you got letters?”
So strangely was it worded, it took me a moment to answer. “I-I can read and write, if that’s what you mean.”
“Can you read this?” She held out a parchment, coiled and sealed with a glob of green wax.
I stepped forward, just close enough to take it from her hand, and slipped a finger beneath the edge of the paper. The seal popped off with a snap, and the page unfurled. “Dearest Cousin,” I read aloud, and Lady Bloodrose waved a hand to tell me to go on.
“lady BloodRose Is well-loved iN heart’s-desire. Give her our Most loving wishEs, and Tell HEr the ORchards are Painted in Her radiANt image. She is iN our prAyers, dreaMs, and most Excellent thOughts…” I trailed off.
“I’m sorry, milady,” I interrupted myself. “This letter means nothing, but these letters are capitalized.”
“Anaïs writes in an odd mode. She always has.”
“Begging my lady’s pardon, but there is another message herein: ‘Bring me the orphan’s name or his heart if you must tear down the Rookery to find him.’” It was such a simple code, if you could even call it a code, I almost thought Lady Bloodrose was playing with me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to have read it with so little inflection in my voice. It was, essentially, my own death warrant.
Lady Bloodrose, however, was not so dispassionate. “The impertinence! How dare she issue such a thing!”
I barely heard her. “My heart?”
She waved her hand in the way that she always did when I asked what she deemed to be unnecessary questions. “I thought Octavian had told you that the witches would want you dead?”
He had, but it didn’t soften the reality at all.