The Third (E)state

By Désirée Matas

It is the end of the eighteenth century. France is ruled by controllers, who are blessed with the ability to shape matter at will. Edvard Thermidor was born among them, but he finds out – in the worst possible way – that he is not one of them. Kicked out of his world of privilege, he will discover that everything he knew was but a falsehood built on the backs of a subjugated race. With the most unexpected companions, Edvard will embark upon a precarious race to redeem himself and, perhaps, set off a revolution

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Feb 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393177401

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Dedicated to Miranda and Andrés

INDEX

THE ESCAPE ..........................................................    4

FRANCESC ............................................................  21

THE REVELATION .....................................................  35

THE DOCTOR ..........................................................  52

THE COURT OF MIRACLES .............................................  66

IMOGÈNE .............................................................  79

RAYONNANT ROOFS ...................................................  94

THE BALL .............................................................111

THE PURSUIT .........................................................128

THE TENNIS COURT ...................................................140

THE ALLIES ...........................................................155

THE AUTHOR .........................................................172

THE CATACOMBS .....................................................186

THE FAREWELL .......................................................201

THE DUEL ............................................................217

EPILOGUE ............................................................228

AUTHOR’S NOTE.......................................................231

THE ESCAPE

I held the heavy stone in my hand and looked at it engrossingly. The minerals, blended in a whimsical drawing, seemed like black veins traversing the flesh of the inert structure in a ghost-like manner. It was beautiful in a primitive and powerful way, infused with a spirit that I would never quite manage to move.

I stroked it, feeling underneath my fingertips its bucket-shaped artificial polish, which had been done by my mother just a few minutes ago. I would never manage to pull off anything like that; the elements would never yield to me.

Edvard, my mother’s voice was charged with an artificial patience, we’re running out of time.

I gave her the same unreal look with which I had examined the granite grains.

This is not about time, I explained softly. I could understand her frustration, even though she did not understand mine. It’s just that I’m not like you.

She gave out a snort and brusquely got up from the table. She silently walked across to the window. I could imagine her feelings, her helplessness. She had just one son from the man she had loved and whom she had seen die right before her eyes. And that son lacked the only thing that could have made him the successor to his father and the head of the Thermidor house. My mother had spent years trying to overlook that drawback, that inadequacy, believing that, at some point of time, the gift would manifest itself in me out of the blue and make her proud of me. However, that had not been the case. 

I was about to turn eighteen and had never quite managed to control matter.

She turned around and looked at me menacingly. She was hovering on the brink of tears, but she disguised it with an angry look that disfigured her pretty face.

Concentrate, Edvard, she seemed livid, and I could make out a hint of anger in her voice. You’re not doing your part.

"I don’t have a part, mom," I answered. I was fed up of that pointless experiment.

She wrung her hands restlessly and once again sat down beside me, carefully placing the skirt of her elegant blue dress. I looked at her face. Her features were a lot like mine: penetrating, steely gray eyes, a sharp and slightly pointed nose, and a stern and focused expression.

She put the heavy piece of granite down on the table and placed her slim hand on it, touching it gently. I felt a subtle rise in the temperature around her, as though an invisible halo was protruding from her body. The warm air began to rise, resulting in a light current that brushed her hair imperceptibly. That is when the granite surface began to get distorted. Its edges vanished right before my eyes and, in a matter of seconds, what had been a shapeless mass of solid stone had transformed into a perfect sphere in her hands.

I could not help smiling. The process had always fascinated me. I touched the sphere with admiration, hoping to get a feel of its stinging touch underneath my fingertips, but it was cold.

It’s your turn now, my gratified mother pressed me. Come on!

I placed my palms around the stone, feeling stupid as I tried to imitate her. Nothing was going to happen. I had never felt that pain, one that overwhelms you before matter responds to your orders, and I was sure that I would never feel it. I pulled my hands away in shame.

Nothing is going to happen, mom, I said in a conciliatory tone, trying to control my frustration.

She gave me a worried look and then turned her bewildered gaze to the stone.

We can give it another try with water...

No, I cut her off with a dry wave of my hand. I’ve had enough. Accept it, I stood up and pushed the chair against the table. Despite her best efforts to keep her composure, tears forced their way out of her eyes. I’m a zero, mom. The most I can hope for is to join an abbey.

She got up slowly, mimicking me.

Edvard...

Don’t you see it? these words echoed loudly in the room. I was beginning to despair with her vain attempts at making me someone I clearly was not. "I’m not like you. I’m not one of you!"

Edvard, that’s a stupid thing to...

No! It’s not a stupid thing to say. It’s the truth, I almost spat and immediately regretted doing so. I’m just wasting my time here when you know very well that I’ll never succeed in altering stones or moving water. I’m not like you, mom. I’m not a controller; and every passing minute is taking me farther away from becoming something else. At this rate, I’ll end up groveling in the streets like a beggar, with no job or future.

Edvard, please... my mother cut the sorry figure of a shattered woman who was desperately trying to hold on to the last vestiges of her hope. However, I was at the end of my rope. I needed to find a way out.

I’m done!

I turned around and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut. I heard a loud noise behind me and figured out that my mother had hurled the heavy stone at the door.

I strode across the mansion, which had been my family’s home for several generations, trying not to think about the incidents I had just been through. One of the servants scarily moved out of my way and murmured a feeble apology before disappearing through one of the doors. I smiled wryly. I was no better than that poor clod. The blood of my parents – the Thermidor blood – was all that set me apart. However, that blood would not save me from an imminent disaster if I failed to pass the entrance exam for some abbey.

I locked myself up in my room and dumped my frock coat on the bed. A pile of books was waiting for me on the table. Next to it, the failed remains of my last experience breathed their last in a crucible. I sat down and opened one of the books to its marked page. I had been studying on my own for months, trying to create some opportunity for myself. While many zeroes born in a family of controllers used their family fortune to get to the abbeys, that would not be the case for me. After his death, all my father had left us was his house and his name. His illness had devoured everything.

I tried to read, but my eyes could perceive nothing but meaningless words. I felt like crying; I wanted to stop giving a damn about everything. Within a few hours, I would lose the life I had known and adored. There was no way around it. I did not want to think about the disgraceful test that awaited me, the public demonstration of the fact that I was a zero, and the fact that the Thermidor house was done for. I tried to pass over the humiliation: my priority was to become an alchemist; my pride no longer mattered. Even so, the possibilities that had opened up to me were far from promising. As an alchemist, I would spend my whole life doomed to study and meditate, forced to lead an abstemious and celibate life. As a zero, I would be a nobody; a downright nobody.

My hands went up to my head as I ran my fingers through my hair. I felt terribly frustrated. I could not stop thinking about the desolate look on my mother’s face, her hopelessness at the fact that her only son had not inherited her ability to control matter. She felt ashamed. All the noble families in France were waiting to see the decline of the Thermidor house, which once used to be one of the most powerful. An ancient blood ran through my veins, one that had been revered for years; however, unlike theirs, it was not pure. The Thermidor name would disappear with me... unless my mother gave birth to another heir worthy of that name.

I looked out the window. In the distance, the last orange rays of sun were disappearing behind the horizon, dyeing the window with long shadows. The wind was stirring the leaves vigorously, reflecting my murky state of mind. I watched the sunset wistfully, knowing that I would not see another one through that window. And then I looked at my bed, which was adorned with a crafted wooden canopy sculpted by one of my ancestors. I could lie down and sleep, to try and forget everything that was over one way or the other, or I could try to rush through my last study hours in a desperate attempt at saving myself. I let out a sigh. Feeling sorry for myself would not get me anywhere.

I had one last look at the setting sun and thought that, in the end, it would continue to rise for us the following day.

As a reminder of my nighttime thoughts, the first sunray in the morning fell on my face, waking me up. I had fallen asleep on the table. Feeling sore, I tried to stretch, and noticed what a disaster my catnap had been for the book’s pages. I pulled myself up somehow and walked over to the porcelain washbowl to freshen up.

As my hands came into contact with the liquid, I could not help but recall what awaited me. I gazed at the water for a few seconds, fascinated, and unthinkingly placed the palm of my hand over its motionless surface.

Move, I ordered in a whisper. I waited a few moments for the miracle to happen, for that gentle heat to overwhelm my body, and for the water to swirl underneath my hand to restore my hopes. However, nothing of the sort happened.

Frustrated, I slowly pulled my hand out of the water. Shame flooded over me like a gas that expands in a container to fill it up, and I felt like affronting myself for my idiocy. I washed my face and hair violently, and looked at my image in the mirror. Dark circles bordered my eyes, highlighting their gray color. I looked pale and emaciated. I sure was not looking good.

I ran my hands through my hair, which darkened as they got wet. My hair was quite short, just like it was in vogue among the aristocrats. That was going to define me for a while when I left Veralais. Zeroes used to wear long hair in a pigtail. They would inevitably recognize me for what I was: a has-been nobleman.

I shook the thought out of my head with more cold water. I really did not have a choice about it, and all I could do was to face it. I took off my wrinkled clothes and had a quick shower, trying to ensure that the liquid numbed me as much as possible. I finished dressing in the simplest and darkest clothes that I could find before checking myself out in the mirror again. I did not feel better, but at least no one would notice the fear that was gnawing at me.

When I reached the main door, my mother was already waiting for me. It was sad to see that she had gone for the same type of attire as I – serious and dark. In a way, it seemed as if we were in mourning, crying inside over a life that had just come full circle. I took her below the elbow and led her to the coach that was waiting at the door. She let me drag her out; she felt as light as a feather guided by the wind. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, but she did not look at me. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes were very bright, almost blue in color.

We barely talked during the trip. The streets of Veralais around us seemed as though they had been empty forever, indifferent to our thoughts. I watched them out the window with cold empathy, fully aware that I would not get many chances to see them again and that they were not worth taking pleasure in.

Suddenly, I realized that my mother was looking at me. I looked back at her, lost for words. When she spoke, her voice was trembling slightly.

Goulven’s son has a shop across the river.

Unable to fathom how the major-domo’s son was relevant at that point of time, I shot a quizzical look at her. She averted her gaze out of embarrassment.

He’ll accept you as an apprentice. He has promised me.

I could not help but snort. I did not know what was worse: the suggestion of being the apprentice to the son of the person who had hitherto been my servant, or the reminder of my own incompetence. I was tempted to retort but kept mum instead. The coach had just stopped in front of the main square of the Duke’s palace.

I got out of the car and looked at the enormous building, as white and imposing as a mountain made of marble and gold. I took my mother by the arm and we strode steadily toward the entrance. The security guards, who were dressed in black and armed with a long iron rod, were on sentry duty at the door. They hardly looked at us as we went in through the golden gates. We crossed the courtyard on foot, listening to the soft tapping of our shoes on the stone floor. Silence permeated the space along with the echo of our breaths, and an icy air current battered my face. My mother shivered beside me.

Once we were inside the building, the hasty sound of some footsteps alerted us to the chamberlain’s arrival. The man bowed to us and asked us to follow him. We advanced through a beautiful gallery covered with mirrors, and crossed several living rooms and entrance halls before we finally stepped into a huge oval-shaped room. The Trial Room.

Isabou and Edvard Thermidor! the man declared in a deep voice.

We entered gingerly, observing the faces of the people who had gathered there. The left half of the elliptical room was covered with red velvety marble stands that nearly went up to the ceiling. In the middle of the room, they had placed a white wooden table, decorated with intricate marquetry and gold-leaf drawings. On its surface rested a small stone sphere, similar to the one my mother had used during practice, and a container made of a metal-like substance, which was finely carved, and which, I supposed, contained some sort of liquid. I watched them apprehensively as I forced myself forward.

Many of the seats were already occupied. I was able to recognize some faces. Most of them were heads of the most important aristocratic families. Below the stands, sitting on humble wooden benches, were two men dressed in black; they had tall top hats on. They were looking at me. They wore long hair tied with white ribbons – the hallmark of alchemists. They were there to collect any leftovers that may be thrown by the noblemen standing above them.

I gulped and my mother squeezed my hand, trying to invigorate me. She looked at me with concern, and I understood that I had to go and step in for the Thermidor house. I nodded and nervously walked across to the center of the room, while trying to conceal my anxiety. The air felt dense and stifling, and I could hardly breathe. I tried to calm down as I stood beside the table.

The Duke Briac Nivôse! declared the dispassionate voice of the chamberlain behind my back.

I turned around and looked at the royal figure of the Duke, who was entering the room at that point of time. He was a slim man with eyes as fiery as a bird of prey. He was wearing a white frock coat, which was extravagantly decorated without coming across as frivolous, and black pants tucked into tall boots of the same color. His extremely short hair highlighted his dark eyes and condescending expression. Some aristocrats quickly came down to say hello to him, and he responded with a cold smile.

Léa and Lydiane Nivôse! they made another announcement. This time, the doors opened to give way to a beautiful middle-aged blonde, who was holding the hand of a girl aged about eleven or twelve. The Duke turned to them and smiled grimly. The little girl then made a studied bow, turned around, and walked purposefully toward me. I gave her a dumbfounded look. Her small hands leaned out of the intricate lace of her white-and-blue dress. Her blond curls were falling over her fair little face, giving her an unreal appearance. She made an artificial bow to me, to which I responded with a slight nod. She took her seat across the table.  

My heart was beating fast. What the hell was a little girl doing there? Demonstrating my ineptitude in front of the most distinguished members of the society had seemed awful, but competing against a kid felt much worse. I looked at my mother, who was sitting in an upright posture in the stands, though with downcast eyes. She looked embarrassed.

The Duke took the woman’s hand and helped her into one of the seats of honor, reserved for the ruling house. That is when I understood what my indignant stupefaction had prevented me from figuring out: the girl was the Duke’s daughter! I glanced at her. Her posture was quite erect, with her head slightly raised in a challenging position. In those infantile eyes, I could make out the eyes of her father.

Briac Nivôse stood up and the room suddenly fell silent. He stared at me with his hawk eyes and studied me with his gaze. When he spoke, his voice sounded expressionless.

It’s not often that two of the most powerful houses put forth their candidates simultaneously. That said, I’m pleased to be here today to witness it, he looked at my mother and greeted her with a nod. She returned the salutation by lowering her gaze, and Briac remained quiet for a moment. Dear Isabou, my mother looked at him, alarmed, since we’re here for such a special occasion today, it would be an honor if you could preside over the ceremony.

My mother’s lips stammered almost indiscernibly before they muttered an answer.

As you wish, Your Majesty.

Briac smiled smugly and took his seat again.

Well then, let the ceremony begin.

My mother stood up slowly and gave me a guilty look. I watched her unhappily, for I know how she felt. Was Briac possibly aware of my ineptitude? Had he detected it in me just like a predator that could catch the smell of its prey? Hate grew inside me like a tornado that devastates everything in its path. My humiliation – my expulsion – was nothing as compared to my mother’s suffering. I looked into her eyes, trying to convey something worthwhile to her, but her eyes were fixed on the floor. Her voice reverberated lifelessly on the marble walls of the room.

Liquid and solid are part of us. They shape us, and we shape them. Lydiane, the small girl shot her an anxious, expectant look, go ahead.

Lydiane approached the glass cup and ceremoniously dipped her index finger into the liquid. I noticed the halo of heat that was beginning to encircle her small body. The sumptuous metallic contents of the cup obediently slid over the girl’s hands, leaving the container. I watched spellbound how the liquid metal moved over her hands and slipped between her little fingers. Lydiane turned her hand to hold her palm up. The liquid agglutinated in a small marble about a couple of centimeters in diameter and remained there, held down so firmly as though it were a metal ball.

A murmur of approval spread across the hall. I could not take my eyes off her infantile hands, which were, at that point of time, masterfully sending the mercury back into the container. Lydiane stepped back with satisfaction, and looked at me curiously.

My mother fixed her gray eyes on me, begging for forgiveness.

Edvard, her voice had a tinge of despair, go ahead.

I shuddered as I felt many pairs of eyes boring into my body. I looked at the mercury-filled glass that only a few minutes ago I had confused with a metal container; then I looked away at the granite sphere. I felt that my face had turned so hot that, for a moment, I was afraid that it would start burning with ignominy.

I can’t, I said in a hushed voice.

This time, the whispers were of perplexity. I looked at my mother, who was looking back at me with glassy eyes. Her tears were about to break loose.

I can’t, I repeated, this time louder.

Chaos erupted around me. Everyone wanted to speak at once, even as the Duke tried to impose silence with disbelief writ large on his face. Lydiane was looking at me with her eyes wide open, surprised. And then she burst into an abrupt laughter. I gave her a confused look.

You’re worthless, she exclaimed in her childlike voice. Can’t you do something so simple? Are you stupid or what?

I looked at her with displeasure and turned my head away in an attempt to ignore her. The heat was stinging my cheeks, and I began to feel the sweat that was running down my body.

You’re worthless... Lydiane continued, crooning her cruel words, you’re worthless, you’re worthless...

I shook my head, not quite sure what to do. Everyone in the stands seemed oblivious to me. In the distance, I heard someone shout out a marriage proposal for my mother. I watched her helplessly. Tears were sliding down her pale cheeks.

You’re worthless, you’re worthless, the irritating refrain echoed in my ears.

Enough! I shot the girl a murderous glare, but that did not shut her up.

You’re worthless, you’re worthless...

I kept listening to the proposals that were being tossed at my mother, who was the only heiress to the ancient Thermidor house now that her son had proven himself to be a zero. My mother stood still as she put up with those propositions, her eyes glued to the floor. She seemed to be a living dead.

You’re worthless, you’re worthless...

I stared at the little harpy, wishing that her words would stop being heard. I could feel my head getting hotter, and all of a sudden, Lydiane’s lips were moving speechlessly. For a moment, I could see how the air swayed around her, moving away from her. She began gasping as if she were short of breath.