No one knows of the exact human cost of that sudden retreat from Mirrlees, nor of those “persuaded” to stay behind. But it was high.
Still the city had been lost since the day the rain began to fall. A dead thing lumbering with no realization that its heart no longer beat, that it was instead tumbling towards the burial ground.
MIRRLEES-ON-WEEP 173 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL
He rapped his gnarled knuckles on the wooden door.
Once, and again.
Bells tolled in the distance. Another levee had fallen, crashing down a few miles away, and people were dying. Death crowded the air and wherever he sensed death there were usually folk like him. He saw what they saw, and the Roil made sense of it for him, placed it in context. Mirrlees drowned, the streets transformed with every downpour becoming labyrinth and quagmire combined.
Finding his home had been a torturous affair, everything all muddied up the way it was. His thoughts too, had become labyrinthine, and far too crowded, it was hard to focus on the smaller things – the personal.
It was hard, but not impossible.
It just took time.
“Where are they?” He whispered to himself. “Where’s my wife? My children?”
He was reaching to knock on the door again when it opened, bright light pouring out, stinging his eyes, forcing him back a step. He had been a long time in the dark.
“What do you want?” A harsh voice demanded and then his wife cried out, dropping the iron poker she had gripped so tightly, recognising him at last. “Theodore! Come in, my darling. Out of the rain,” she said, and made to throw her arms around him.
“Not yet,” he said. “Not until we’re inside.”
He peered up and down the street.
Not far away, a cat batted at a dead thing floating in a puddle. A Verger whistled in the distance and a carriage clattered by, smoke from the driver’s pipe staining the wet air for a moment like a passing dream.
“I thought you lost,” she said leading him inside. All he could see was her mouth; he did so wish to kiss her again.
“I was, yes I was… for a little while. But I found you.” He frowned. “I found you at last.”
“And the Council? I heard rumours…”
He grinned at her, and it must have been something of his old grin, for she returned it, her shoulders relaxing. He smelt liquor on her lips and that disturbed him.
“Do not worry about the Council. They’re not worth worrying about anymore.” He looked beyond her down the hall. “Where are the children?”
“In bed,” she said. “It’s late.”
“Wake them,” he said. “I want to see and speak with you all.”
His wife looked at him oddly, her fingers lifted to her mouth as though to stall a question. She hurried off to do as he asked.
It was cold in here; he clapped his hands to bring a little heat to them. When that failed, he ran them over a nearby lamp. His skin crackled, but it did the trick.
Outside, the cursed rain fell heavier, but it would not fall forever. That was something of which he was certain, it had already stopped twice that day for longer than an hour at a time. He could wait. He had grown to be quite a patient man.
“Father. Father.” His children cried, running around him, circling his legs and laughing. Times had been hard since he was last here. The world had grown rough around the edges; spoiled when it should be fine.
“Come closer, my children, my lovely wife,” he said. “I’ve something to give you.”
Closer they came, hesitation in their eyes, but they did not stop. Nor did he, and there was no uncertainty on his part. The corruption of doubt had long ago burnt away.
He held them to him. Held his wife and children tight, as his body released its dark cargo. None of them could pull away: the urgency of his gift too complete.
“There, there,” the stationmaster crooned above their screams. “There, there. We’re a family again.”