Paige’s Woes (BR)

Oh, how we sung high praises of how accessible our Waterways were!
The Svanmarck family had earned back our investment and then some, and the trade center has not even started construction yet. Lined our pockets with gold as we taxed those that crossed through the canal junction for all that they could afford to miss, and with an inland route so much swifter than on foot or by carriage, many of the high-profile traders would opt for our canals over the beaten path. Things were looking good and would only get better from here.

But then, why do good things never last!?
I am uncertain still what Grand Architect Faulkner had been shouting from under that air vent. A warning, something about a quarantine, and an instruction to order the servants to bury the tool sheds that lead deeper underground, after which he had hastily scurried off. I did recall having felt the ground quake two hours or so earlier when I found a group of disgruntled merchantmen on my doorstep. They said that they had crashed their skiff into a large pile of rubble blocking the canal into the Waterways, damaging the ceramics they were meaning to sell.

The wounds they had suffered were evidence enough, and I did not wish to further strain relations. Elewyn’s father had put full faith into Faulkner for all of his life and now I shall do much the same. I simply compensated the traders for their lost goods and lost time and then sent them on their way.

It has been over a fortnight! The treasury is beginning to feel the strain of the blocked-off Waterways. I will admit we are living quite lavishly, so that alone might be enough to drain it without new funds coming in, but again and again I find myself having to dig into our coffers to appease leagues of angry travellers who had come far and wide just to cross through our canals. I hire daytalers to drag their vessels out of the water and transport their goods overland and throw them a little gift of gold for their time because I understand they value theirs as much as I value my own, and more than that I understand the value of maintaining relations with traders. I can hear my partner in life and in business, dearest Elewyn, speak to them even now, reassuring them that everything will return to normal.

I was taught not to explain why the Waterways were off limits, because those traders are a persistent people, and they would see every reason presented as a challenge to argue against… though I did hear some speak with great disgust of a plague of Rot spreading across the lands. I will choose to believe it is merely a tale.
I am doing everything according to my mother’s lessons, but I must admit doubts are creeping in. Five times now have I tried to seek contact at the grates, but I could never see another across it. Each time I sensed only the scent of overripe vegetables, sickly sweet, piercing my nostrils, and then I turned away. I do hope Faulkner remains in good health.

I am catching my breath still, but I must immortalize this memory in ink lest it leaves me. By God, I hope it leaves me. I will save Elewyn the hurt and shoulder this burden alone.

Finally I saw a face at the grate again, or what was left of a face, having climbed up to the top of the vent. Skin sloughing, skull exposed, bone tainted red with dirt and blood, and it was impossible to tell where one starts and the other ends. I had smelt death before, and now it was staring me in the eyes. It was looking at me. I think it tried to vocalize, but all I heard was the horrid wail of scraping metal against stone as it reached out through the grate to claw at me. Fearing for my own life, I ran and commanded our last remaining servant to shovel soil unto the grate until it drowned out the noise. I understand what this meant, the weight of my request. Whatever remained alive down there was going to suffocate. At this point it was a small mercy. The most I could do for them still.

The memory is not leaving me. Worse yet, I know it did not mean to hurt me, that thing. Because I have seen people drown before, and that grasping I stood witness to was a perfect imitation of the final, desperate grasp for something to keep one’s head above water before they disappear below the surface for good.

I am leaving it all behind, these accursed Waterways and our derelict home above. It’s bad luck to build atop burial grounds, and I don’t intend to find out if that applies retroactively.

There’s nothing left for me here, anyway. I found Elewyn in catatonic state upon the sofa. She had been acting cold and irritable the week before. I thought the stress must be getting to her, but now I can tell; without her perfumes to overpower it that unmistakable stink now permeates our chambers.
I pray the Rot will take her swiftly. I did not have it in my heart to send her to God, myself.
If there is anybody left, I beg you, take my woes as warning and turn back whence you came.