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The bargain shop called Bargain Luxury had seen better days. Some days the shop would see customers looking for antique items for sale. Some days, it would receive products from traveling businessmen from outside the borders of the country. Some days, the most interesting product would come from the hands of a former combat medic.
Reddoons, the red-skinned proprietor of the Bargain Luxury, was leaning against his rocker chair, with his feet up on the counter. On his hand, he was holding the day’s newspaper, rolled towards the page of the economy. He plucked the pencil nestled on his ear and circled the numbers on the newspaper.
He heard the door swing open, hitting the bell, signaling the entrance of a customer. Reddoons didn’t bother looking up from the newspaper. He spoke in his usual nonchalant tone,
“Welcome to Bargain Luxury, what are you looking for?”
“You tell me what’s on the papers first,” was the reply of a familiar sounding voice.
The customer’s voice had a distinct pitch that Reddoons immediately looked up from his position, and proceeded to push himself off the rocker chair.
“BranzyCraft! Oh, add Pierce!” Reddoons greeted jovially. He set the newspaper aside. “I still find it strange to call you by your civilian single name. Even when you got the golden band and all.”
Branzy chuckled, “It’s because I never changed it, Red. Not while things are the way they are right now.”
Reddoons placed his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. He noticed that Branzy had pulled up a wagon with a blanket covering its contents. “What do you have for me this time?” he asked, gesturing to the wagon.
“Oh right, I got something good,” Branzy said. He pulled away the blanket and bent down. He picked up the object and placed it on the counter.
It was an ornate chest with gold trims. The wood was recently varnished with lacquer and painted with intricate patterns. By the lock of the chest, a green gemstone looked recently shined as well.
Reddoons whistled, “This is expensive, Branzy. Where did you find this?”
Branzy answered, “I managed to… verbally take it away from a patient during the weekend clinic.”
They both shared a laugh. Branzy was known for having a silver tongue.
“I thought you don’t see patients any more?” Reddoons snorted.
“The weekend clinic is my way to give back to the community that helped my grandpa in his last days,” Branzy said. “They’re nice folk, and pretty wealthy in terms of farm produce. I don’t have to worry about where to get nice vegetables from.”
Reddoons nodded. He was already inspecting the work on the wooden chest. He remarked, “I’m jealous how you can so easily assimilate your skillful hands from repairing humanoids to repairing machines and other inanimate objects.”
“So how much do you think you could sell this for?” Branzy asked, moving straight to business.
Reddoons scratched his chin, and said, “Since you’ve put in the work… I’m willing to part with thirty percent of the profit.”
“Sounds fair,” Branzy said. “I’ll drop by some time later to collect the payment.”
Reddoons grinned. He lifted the chest off the counter and set it aside. He would have to decide where he could put it on display so he could sell it quickly afterwards. When he returned to the counter, he found Branzy casually browsing at the tools section.
“Looking for wrenches or something?”
“Yes,” Branzy answered. He was checking a set. “I need something sturdy to whack a coal boiler with.”
It took Reddoons a few minutes to realize why. He clapped once and exclaimed, “Oh! It’s almost the start of autumn. You’re going up the Hemlocke estate!”
It was a yearly thing for BranzyCraft to go up to the Hemlocke estate to do a weeklong maintenance check of the manor. For every plumbing issue, or electrical wiring that needed to reroute, he seemed to find a way to fix it. While he was not exactly educated on engineering, it was his passion for the mechanical arts that earned him his recommendation from none other than ClownPierce himself.
Or maybe, Clown was just discreetly finding ways that they could spend more time together even while he was at work. After all, the Hemlocke family had been generous in giving him his vacation leaves, the fortnight stay at Emberton.
However, this year has been different. The past several days had been different to be exact. The news reports circulating regarding Mysticat’s murder had already reached the farthest establishment at the border of Emberton. The rumored manhunt for the supposed killer had not yet concluded that even Rekrap refused to disclose any further information to Branzy when he tried asking.
Because the issue was greatly affecting the reputation of the Hemlocke family, Clown’s work had doubled in gravity and responsibility. Branzy recalled Reddoons delivered a letter to him from Clown. It was a short letter, apologizing that he would not be coming home for the coming weeks. Branzy would scoff at the outdated method of Clown’s communication as telephones had recently just started working in Emberton. Still, the gesture was romantic.
Branzy had decided to go an evening early to the Hemlocke estate. His luggage was open on the floor, clothes sprawled and along with an assortment of knick knacks that Branzy had been unable to let go of. His workbag had two asymmetrical partitions: one held tools for machines, the smaller contained medical instruments.
One can never be too sure of accidents during the maintenance run.
After ensuring that every outlet had been unplugged and oil burner drained, Branzy closed the doors of the various rooms in their humble abode. He paused by the hall where a framed photo hung on the wall. It was a photo of Clown and his comrades back in the day, taken right before they had that near-suicide mission. Branzy smiled fondly.
Somehow, they still managed to keep in touch while in Emberton. While most of them stayed in Emberton, MinuteTech had mysteriously inherited a fortune in the next town. But that didn’t stop them from religiously attending the yearly holiday festivities.
The walk up to the Hemlocke estate took most of Branzy’s time for the day. The silver haired mechanic enjoyed the scenery. Pine trees lined a straight canopy. Wildflowers and bushes scattered along the road. When he found the clearing towards the front gates of the estate, Branzy chose to turn right and made his way to the back gate of the property.
He stopped at the door, knocked, and then waited.
It didn’t take long before the door was pulled open and he found himself in front of a dark-skinned man with a scarred left face.
“Hello, Ash,” greeted Branzy.
“You are here, Branzy,” Ash said. “Does Clown know that you will be coming in early?”
Branzy shook his head and said, “Thought I should surprise my beloved husband this time.”
Ash moved aside to let Branzy into the house. He said, “The mere fact that you chose to pass by the backdoor was telling.”
“How’s the unnatural silence of the estate been treating you?” Branzy asked in a cheerful tone.
Ashwag chuckled, “It’s the most enjoyable state it has ever been. Just me and my kitchen.”
He motioned to an empty stool by the large dining table meant for servants' meals. “Have a seat, let me get you some tea.”
Branzy glanced around the large kitchen. The smell of burnt bread mixed with coal and oil tickled his nose. The chimney looked like it was going to need immense scrubbing from the inside and out.
“Looks like you’ve been busy here in the kitchens, Ash,” he commented.
Ash snorted. He placed a tray on the table. He picked up the pot and poured the contents in two cups.
“Better busy than having to deal with drama.”
Silence fell between them. It had been a dramatic week that just coincided with many things. But somehow, Branzy had a suspicion that the entire thing was deeper than it looks on the surface.
That was something he was not keen on getting involved with either.
“Hemlocke may seem like he doesn’t care, but he is as sharp as a hawk,” Branzy noted. “You know, I really expected more from that kind of an employer when someone just died under his roof.”
“It’s not like we can choose who to serve,” Ash said bitterly.
“How has Clown been?” Branzy further queried. It had a different tone, it was more… cautious. The aftermath of the death of the servant Mysticat was a topic waiting to happen.
Ash stared at his cup. His fingers took in the warmth.
“On the outside, everything seemed alright. The usual Clown personality that lacks humor, takes everything seriously, and does not tolerate incompetence,” Ash answered. “But I could tell that he was struggling to keep everything together.”
“By any chance, did he tell you his reason for not coming home?”
“I was hoping you can give me an answer to that.”
And it was an obvious answer to Branzy. The only reason was to make him not worry about Clown. In all their years of sworn partnership, that was the last thing Clown should have thought of. Branzy sighed and stared at his own cup of tea.
“I hope they will catch the culprit soon,” Branzy said.
“Indeed,” Ash agreed.
After finishing the pot of tea, the pair walked through the staff living area. Ashwag handed the spare key of Clown’s quarters to Branzy. He asked, “Do you still remember where Clown’s office is?”
“Yes, and many more hidden rooms waiting to be discovered,” Branzy answered with a playful wink.
“I will tell Ros to include you in her preparations for dinner. It will be at -”
“At six in the evening,” Branzy completed. “Even if I just come by here sparsely in a year, I still remember your schedules.”
Ash smiled, a rare occurrence for the former soldier. He nodded and turned around to head up to the upper floors where Clown would be waiting for him.
“It’s a good thing the weather will begin to cool in the following month,” Ash could be heard from down the hall. “The plants would need less watering than usual.”
Clown could only agree. His hand held on to his workbook of all the pending tasks for the week. As he leafed through the journal while walking, he stopped on a page that had large printed words.
BOILER MAINTENANCE WEEK.
“Boiler maintenance,” Clown uttered. “Oh, Branzy will be coming over soon.”
Although he was given the privilege of staying in their residence at Emberton every weekend fortnight, Clown discreetly looked forward to Branzy’s full house maintenance schedule. Even though Clown had stayed long with the Hemlocke estate, Branzy somehow still managed to find something new with every visit.
Ash resisted the urge to tell Clown that Branzy had arrived early and was probably waiting at his living quarters or doing preemptive inspection around the manor. He just held on to the empty ceramic jar in his hands.
“What do you think Branzy will bring this time?” Ash asked.
“Probably the usual,” Clown answered. “Berry-flavored hard candies, some potatoes, and maybe a bottle of whiskey from Red.”
“I like the sound of whiskey,” Ash said. “Are we having a late night picnic on the roof tomorrow night then?”
Clown let out a low chuckle, “As long as Master Hemlocke doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night.”
They turned right on the end of the hall where the door to the attic was. It was connected to a single staircase that led straight to the service areas.
Clown stopped midway. He felt that something was amiss, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Did they close all the windows? Were all the rooms they passed through locked appropriately?
“I think I forgot something,” he announced.
Ash stopped when he was already at the last step of the staircase. He turned around and looked up to Clown and said, “I will wait for you here then.”
Clown climbed back up to the top of the steps and noticed that the attic door was open. He could have sworn they passed by that it was closed.
“Ash, did you notice that the attic door was open?” Clown asked aloud, hoping Ash could hear from down the stairs.
“No,” was the distant reply.
Clown entered the attic. The door was generally closed most of the year. It would only be opened when they needed to bring the items out to air out on the lawn. It didn’t help much that the dim surroundings and broken light switch impaired his vision. He could feel his heart begin to race. A certain electricity coursed through his veins.
It was a feeling all too familiar in the distant past. Echoes of death cries, of fallen soldiers choking in their own blood, of explosions that rung his ears consistently.
It was beginning to override his system of perceived control.
The sound of weighted steps on creaking wood triggered him to turn around.
“I know you’re hiding,” Clown spoke aloud.
His hand found the nearest outline of a knife atop a shelf. He brandished it in front of him. Normally his grip would not falter, but he could feel his hand shake madly with anticipation.
“You will be foolish to go against a veteran like me,” he said.
Ash leaned against the steps. His legs stretched out. The empty ceramic jug was safely placed on the pavement at the foot of the staircase.
“What is taking Clown so long?” Ash asked aloud.
Then he heard it, a loud distorted sound of a breaking vase. It sounded like it came from upstairs.
Ash scrambled up to his feet and made a dash up the stairs.
When he reached the entrance of the attic, he strained his ears to listen for any unfamiliar movements.
Then it hit him.
Ash was able to pull his arms up in front of him. He bit on his lip and resisted to show signs of pain. He knew it was a knife that struck him at the arm.
Ash ignored the pain of the cut and the blood that was seeping through, soaking his sleeve. He kept his hands raised in front of Clown, ready to grapple.
“Clown, it’s me Ash,” he said a little louder.
“Someone… someone is hiding here…” Clown stammered. His hands were shaking more violently.
“No one is here, Clown.”
“I… I heard them… they are hiding… they… they…”
“You are safe, Clown. No one is going to hurt you. Not here.”
“I have to… I have to fight or they will kill us…”
“Clown, you are no longer in the war,” Ash insisted firmly.
The knife fell onto the floor.
No longer in the war.
Then, what was he fighting for?
From behind the mask, Clown’s eyes widened. His breathing became shallower and shallower. He could feel a knot tighten on his throat, choking his breaths. His hands scrambled to the back of his head. His fingers unable to grasp at the red ribbons that tied his mask back. The finger pads felt numb, deprived of sensation.
He could feel himself go deaf. Ashwag’s voice was drowned out by imaginary garbled noises of water, of explosions, of that continuous ringing sensation.
“Clown!”
Just one word and this angelic voice.
The world silenced.
He could feel fingers pull against the red ribbon that held his mask in place. A refreshing, albeit musty, gush of air slipped through his nose when the weight of porcelain fell away from his face. Dark eyes locked with gentle violet ones.
He wanted to call out his beloved’s name. But how could he when he couldn’t even hear himself?
Clown’s throat felt dry. The knot was still stuck on his throat. His ears strained. His whole soul begged to be attended to.
Thus, his prayers were answered.
Arms wrapped around him, firmly keeping him in place. His face pressed against crisp cloth. The smell of edelweiss permeated from the skin underneath.
He could hear the whispers of comfort, of love, of devotion into his ear. He listened to the melodious tempo of promises under a willow tree. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around his savior’s waist.
Finally, Clown wept.
The rain stopped when the sun had set. A misty haze settled amongst the evergreen pine. The damp air blanketed the now quiet estate. In Clown’s office, the sound of thread sliding through could be heard.
Ash sat quietly. His free hand distracted his thoughts by playing with a small sack of sand. That was probably one of the most dangerous episodes he had seen Clown do, but he was sure that Branzy had witnessed worse.
“I have forgotten how masterful you are with tending to injuries,” Ash commented. He watched as Branzy finished treatment with a clean bandage.
“Some things just don’t go away,” he said gently. He cut the tape and secured the bandage with a knot. “We are lucky that the knife was blunt and it didn’t cut through muscle.”
“Thank you, Branzy,” Ash expressed with gratitude. He stood up immediately. The habit of going back to work after treatment was something he couldn’t let go either.
“I will tell Ros to bring both of your food to Clown’s bedroom,” he said. “It should be ready within the next hour.”
“Thank you, Ash.”
Branzy cleaned up his instruments into a basin and set it aside inside the bathroom. He would need to put them in some sort of boiler for sterilization, but that could come later. He washed his hands and changed his shirt before heading into the bedroom to check on his patient.
Clown was awake. His black and gray-streaked hair flattened from the pillow. He was sitting upright on the bed, his back against the headboard. His eyes were listless. His stare could bore a hole through the beige painted wall.
Branzy let out a quiet sigh. With controlled footsteps, he padded across the floor and climbed up onto the bed. Without a warning, he pressed his lips against Clown’s cheek.
The gesture snapped Clown out of his daze. He turned his head slowly towards the left.
“Branzy?” he croaked. His voice was raspy from his crying spell earlier.
Branzy playfully saluted and winked at him, “Branzy Pierce, at your service.”
“Branzy…. I…” Clown wanted to apologize for his prolonged absence, for his breakdown in front of Ash and inadvertently harming his best friend…but he didn’t know how to start. He could feel tears well up from his chest.
“Sssh, it’s okay, Clown,” Branzy hushed him. He carefully caught the tears that streaked down his beloved cheeks. “It’s okay not to think about it now.”
Clown felt warm lips kiss on his forehead. It was gentle and patient. He closed his eyes, letting this devoted love guard his heart. When he opened his eyes, he could now see clearly the most beautiful being in his world.
His eyes read the three words from Branzy’s lips, as he leaned in to his beloved’s kiss.
A quiet reminder of their promise by the beach to their lazy afternoons under the willow tree, to the smell of edelweiss telling him of the home that he missed.