Death and the Maiden: Curse of the Fathers, #1.5

By Daan Katz

She was a grandmother. Now she's young again. And she hates it.

 

Her last day at work ended in disaster, she missed her husband's most important concert of the year, and if that wasn't bad enough, now Alysia is stuck on a foreign World called Fer. A world where technology hasn't evolved past the 19th century, and people still believe in magic.

 

Desperate to find her way back home, she ends up on a wild-goose chase to yet other worlds, where she discovers uncomfortable truths about herself and her past. Unable to cope with this new reality, Alysia loses herself in her efforts to help a young couple she barely even knows.

 

Then people start dying and Alysia sees her hopes of ever making it back to Earth evaporate.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daan Katz
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223202998

Daan Katz

Daan Katz was born in 1963 in The Hague, the Netherlands, where he also spent the first fifteen years of his life. From a very young age, Daan has been enchanted by stories. When immersed in his books, Daan would forget everything else. The real world would cease to exist, and there was only the imaginary world, with his imaginary friends, who would continue to speak to him long after he’d finished reading the book. Given his love for stories, it was only natural for him to start writing his own as soon as he realised that he could. From there, poetry was a logical next step. As for Daan’s private life, that is just that. Private.  

Book preview

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Chapter One

Alysia

Today was going to be one of those days when nothing went according to plan. I’d only seen two clients yet, and already I was running late. I rested my head in my hands and rubbed my temples. Holy Mother, not another of those headaches.

The weeks leading up to Christmas were brutal. Always, there were a thousand things to do. All the shopping, the cooking, the planning. Though I loved it, it had never been an easy job, and I was starting to feel my age.

You’d think things should have got easier, with the children grown up and with families of their own, but the opposite was true. I was busier than ever because, somehow, the honour of hosting the family Christmas dinner still fell to me. Only now, I had more mouths to feed, more people to entertain, and more dishes to clean afterwards.

Then there were Stephen’s concerts. It almost seemed like every year he had more of them. No reason to complain, but it all added to the pressure. Still, I never missed any of his concerts. I loved them too much. Loved him too much.

I took a deep breath. Rubbed my temples once more. Time to type up a short report. A few sentences would suffice, but I shouldn’t put it off until later. I learned that the hard way early on in my career.

Miss Snell appeared calm and in control, but her recovery seems too fast, too soon. I have, again, urged her to contact us immediately if she feels she might harm herself.

Suicide risk: High. See previous status.Course of Action: Alert crisis team. Contact Miss Snell twice daily.

This was all I could do for now. It felt like not enough. I closed the file, and tried to put the girl out of my mind. My next client was already waiting for me, and she deserved my full attention. Every client did.

On my way to the waiting room I ducked into the cloakroom, where I cooled my wrists under the running tap. Somehow, that often helped with the headaches. I took a paracetamol as well, not expecting it to actually work, but it might take the edge off the pain. It was worth a try.

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By the time Big Ben struck five, I was knackered. Thank goodness, my holidays had now officially begun. Unwilling to mingle with my colleagues just yet, I tidied my office once more. I took down the few Christmas ornaments and filed the greeting cards in the top drawer of my desk. I couldn’t run them through the shredder yet. Though it was inevitable—I couldn’t keep them forever—it always made me feel bad. As if I didn’t care about my clients.

I went over to the window and took in the sights of my beloved London. Christmas lights twinkled everywhere and made the bustling city look like a scene from a fairy tale. Despite the stress, this was my favourite time of the year. It always had been.

Tonight, Stephen would be performing in the Royal Albert Hall. Handel’s Messiah. It was his biggest performance of the year and I was looking forward to it with the same wonder and excitement I’d felt when he first sang there. I knew he did, too.

A knock on the door roused me from my contemplations. As I turned round, Gemma poked her head in. Are you joining us, Ally?

Sure. I was just… I gestured vaguely at my surroundings. It would be so strange not to come in for over a fortnight. Next year still seemed like a lifetime away. I’m coming.

Gem nodded. I know how you feel. I’m looking forward to the holidays, but I’ll miss all of you, too. Anyway, you don’t want to miss out on our little party. We have champagne.

Honestly? I did want to miss out. Especially now that I knew there was champagne. Not all of our colleagues knew to stop when they’d had enough. I hadn’t forgotten about Mitch’s obnoxious behaviour last year. Too bad nobody had filed a complaint.

Well, best get it over with. I straightened my pullover, grabbed my bag and left the office. For the last time this year.

As my feet carried me towards the staff room, the sound of Christmas jingles attacked me, and swelled ever louder the closer I got. Before I entered, I could already smell the sweaty stench of too many people in too small a space. The buzzing of voices, the electrifying energy that charged the air, the whole atmosphere; it made me want to run the other way. As a consummate introvert, I wasn’t cut out for this nonsense.

I declined the champagne, and had a glass of orange juice instead. Washed down another paracetamol with it. Gem found me and dragged me over to the tables against the far wall, where a cold buffet was laid out. Since I had to eat anyway, I took a ham and cucumber sandwich. Not only would it fill my stomach, but it would also save me from having to talk much. A double win.

No sooner had I finished my sandwich than I bid everyone goodbye and rushed to the lift. My excuse that I had to attend Stephen’s concert tonight was solid. I put on my muzzle, so I wouldn’t have to linger inside for any longer than necessary.

Almost six. Two more hours before the concert, and it was only thirty minutes to Kensington. I might as well do some last-minute Christmas shopping first. But the shops would be crowded. I could walk to the Royal Albert Hall instead. That would take about an hour. Then again, I could just take the Tube and meet up with Stephen early.

I was about to cross Westminster Bridge, when my work phone rang. Drat! I should have turned it off before leaving the office. Annoyed with myself, I retrieved it from my pocket. If I turned it off now, the call would still be redirected to the central number, and I could finally start enjoying my well-deserved holidays.

Miss Snell, the screen informed me. No! Not her. She wouldn’t try to contact me unless… Why now? I couldn’t find it in my heart to put her call through to the central office. Why was I such a softie?

Hello Melissa. What is it? My heart was pounding in my throat.

I agreed to contact you before I would act, so…

She sounded too calm. This was bad. The worst kind of bad. True to her autistic nature, she would never break a promise. She’d found a way around it. Before I would act. She would have taken that quite literally and was about to do something irreversible right this moment. I needed to buy time.

Where are you now, Melissa?

Noises. Birds. Cars. Wind. She was somewhere outside. The Big Ben chimed six, and I heard it in stereo. Then I saw her. Atop the balustrade of the bridge.

Melissa, no! I ran towards her. I could still prevent her from—

The sound of her body as it crashed on the surface of the Thames rang out like a canon shot. I sagged against the railing, only a few feet away from where she had stood moments ago. I dared not look.

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That night was the first time I missed one of Stephen’s concerts, and I fervently hoped it would be the last time. Realistically speaking, though, I’d simply been lucky so far.

After having spent most of the evening talking to some guys from the Met, my team leader, and a police psychologist, I sat huddled on the couch in the living room when Stephen got home.

Ally, love, what happened? Concern laced his voice.

Suicide, I whispered. Dry drowning. I saw her jump, Steve. I could have stopped her if only I’d been there half a second sooner.

I buried my head in my hands again. Then I was in his arms, and finally, the tears I’d been unable to shed all night, started flowing freely.

The headache when I woke up the next morning was worse than the one I’d had the previous day. My eyes stung, and my eyelids were swollen. My nose wings and lips felt raw and itchy.

Almost mechanically, I got through my morning routine. Shower, get dressed, make coffee, breakfast.

"Anything I can help you with today, cara mia?" Stephen asked over his cuppa.

I shrugged. Couldn’t think clearly.

Do you need me to go grocery shopping?

I shook my head. Ordered online.

Splendid. I’ll lend you a hand in the kitchen, then.

Oh, Steve. He totally would, but he was rubbish at it. Still, I wouldn’t refuse him. His company would do me good.

Though Melissa’s suicide haunted me all day, Stephen helped me regain my focus every time I lost sight of what needed doing next. Thanks to him, the preparations for our Christmas dinner went more or less according to plan. Together, we wrapped the presents for our children and the little ones.

The headache was almost bearable when, after supper, I lay down on the couch with Gin and Max curled up by my side, both of them purring loudly. Stephen pressed a gentle kiss on my forehead before he went over to the piano.

He started playing Satie, then some Chopin, and finally Schubert. ‘Rosamunde’ first, and ‘Piano Sonata no 13’ next until, inevitably, he ended up singing and playing ‘Der Tod und das Mädchen’.

When he sang the final line, "Sollst sanft in meinen Armen schlafen", tears were streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t wipe them away.

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Chapter Two

Alysia

Darkness engulfed me. It lasted only a moment. A moment that felt like an eternity. When my sight was restored, I found myself in a dimly lit place. The waxy scent of burning candles filled my nostrils. It mingled with another smell, one I couldn’t readily identify.

As my surroundings became visible to me, I was in for an unpleasant surprise. I was in a large room, with bookcases lining the walls, and a huge wooden desk where a young man in old-fashioned clothes sat staring at me. Scrutinising me as if I were an alien from outer space.

He got up, flourished a bow, and said in a bright, lively tenor, "good evening. Blessings to you, Traveller."

A shiver ran down my spine. What was this all about? Where was I? If his words were supposed to make me feel better, they failed miserably. I was in some deep shit.

Instinctively, I took on a defensive stance as the guy walked up to me. I felt vulnerable in my nightshirt—one of Stephen’s old shirts—which reached to just below my butt, but if this stranger thought he could take advantage of me, he was mistaken.

Stop right there, I said and, to my surprise, he did. He even held up his hands in an almost beseeching gesture. I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got some questions and you’re going to answer them. No games. Is that understood?

He nodded.

Who are you? It was the first question that popped into my head, and several more already vied for my attention.

My name is Kenwald of Aeldbury, son of Kenwald of Aeldbury and Gheldine of Northmere.

His accent was so thick, I could barely understand him, and those names were unusual, to put it nicely. Besides, what did it matter who his parents were? I don’t care who your parents are. What is this place?

His expression indecipherable, he studied my face.

Well?

We are in my study in Aeldbury Manor, milady. He made no attempt to come closer, and his hands were still up in the air.

Aeldbury. I racked my brain, but for the life of me couldn’t think of any place named Aeldbury. It had to be some backward hamlet in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere up in the Moors, perhaps. It still didn’t answer my question as to how I got here, but this Kenwit, or whatever his name was again, probably wouldn’t be able to answer that question anyway.

Where the fuck is Aeldbury? Shit! I should watch my tongue. This wasn’t like me. Kenwit must think me an utter barbarian.

Aeldbury, milady, is the capital of Kelcestershire County.

Kel-ster-skir? Things were making less and less sense. There was no Kelsterskir County anywhere in all of England. Not to my knowledge. The man was talking rubbish. Was he taking the piss?

Kenwit sighed and let his hands flop by his sides. The look on his face was as exasperated as, I was sure, mine was. Might I ask you a question, milady?

I nodded. Go ahead. And for Pete’s sake, stop the milady crap. It’s Alysia.

Alysia. I followed his gaze as he gestured at a comfy-looking armchair. Please, sit down. You’ll catch a horrible cold, standing barefoot on these flagstones.

It was a tempting offer, but what was the catch? I moved cautiously towards the chair, keeping an eye on him all the time. He turned his back towards me, indicating that he didn’t feel at all threatened by my presence. And why should he? I was just a woman, after all, and a skinny one to boot.

I sat down, drew my legs up underneath me and hugged myself tightly. Until now, I hadn’t even noticed how cold I’d become.

Kenwit turned back towards me. He held something that vaguely resembled my elderly neighbour’s great-grandmother’s quilt, and looked as if he were about to wrap me in the thing.

You stay at least eight feet away from me, I said through chattering teeth. No matter how much I wanted that blanket, I couldn’t allow him to come closer. Not until I knew more.

Well, catch then. He threw the thing straight into my lap.

Thank you.

As I wrapped myself in the soft, woolly cloth, he went to the other end of his study again. Moments later, he came back with a wooden stool, which he placed just over eight feet away from me, and sat down on it.

Are you feeling a little better now?

I ignored that question. You wanted to ask me something.

Are you… he hesitated, then rephrased, where do you hail from?

Twickenham. As he looked dumbfounded, I added, London suburb. The stadium? Film Studios?

Still no sign of recognition. Near Heathrow? The river Thames?

Well, that confirms what I already suspected, he finally said. I’m afraid you’re far from home, milady. Farther, even, than you might imagine.

I shivered underneath my blanket. What do you mean?

I’ll show you. He got up and went over to his desk, where he rummaged in a drawer. He came back to me carrying a yellowed scroll and stopped at the required eight-foot distance. Am I allowed to come closer so I can show you the map? It’s quite old, and brittle, and I wouldn’t want—

Oh, for Pete’s sake, come here.

He squatted beside me and unrolled his map. I gasped, and gaped at it. It was a genuine work of art, but the country depicted looked nothing like Good Old England, and the script was illegible. My blood ran cold. I tried my hardest not to think of what that might mean.

Shit!

You have some rather funny swears, if you don’t mind my saying so, Kenwit remarked dryly. Are you always this sweary, or is it just because…

None of your bloody business! There, another so-called funny swear for him. Explain your map to me. I’ve never seen anything like this before.

Yes. He sighed. I am not surprised. This, milady, is a map of Eridia, a relatively small country on the Karadian Continent. This here is the Noarden Sea, he said as he pointed with his finger. These are the counties Frysford and Drenbia, and here, a little more to the east, we have Kelcestershire. This here is Aeldbury, and up there is Northmere.

Shit! I wanted to snatch the map from his fingers and shred it to pieces. I wanted to kick the man’s shins. Instead, I bit my lip.

This world, he said softly, is called Fer, and our Maker is N’kell.

Fuck, I said. Fuck! Still, my heart refused to believe what my brain told me must have happened. It couldn’t be true. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. That Irish Coffee had been a stupid idea. This was nothing but a nightmare, and I’d wake up in my own puke come tomorrow morning. Not a pretty prospect, but far preferable to the alternative.

The names of those places you mentioned, my host said, I’m not familiar with them. From which world are you?

I swallowed the lump that had lodged itself in my throat. Earth.

Earth, you say? He sounded perplexed. Earth? I’m afraid I’ve never heard of that world before. It’s certainly not within this All.

No, I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. No. This isn’t real. I’m dreaming, aren’t I?

He shook his head.

Mi—Alysia, you are not dreaming. I’m sorry. I don’t know what exactly happened or why the gods sent you here, but this is real. You travelled from your own world to Fer and somehow emerged in my study, which means N’kell appointed me to be your guide.

What a load of bollocks! I just drank too much Baileys and now I’m pissed off my arse. That’s what happened. Now hit me with a brick, so I’ll at least be unconscious until I wake from my drunken stupor.

I shall do no such thing. Anger sparkled in his eyes, and he sounded offended. I’ll go see if Ma is still awake. Maybe she can talk some sense into you.

He turned and left, and I decided I might as well have a look around. Dream or not, I couldn’t bear the thought of sitting here, doing nothing for heaven knows how long.

As my bare feet touched the floor, I pulled the blanket tighter and tried to ignore the cold that crept up my legs. Clearly, these people had never heard of underfloor heating. I wandered over to the nearest bookcase, a sturdy wooden piece of furniture. Not too fancy, but built with good craftsmanship.

The lettering on the leather-bound books was as strange as what I’d seen on the map. Beautiful, but impossible to read. I trailed my fingers along the spines of the books as I walked on to Kenwit’s desk, another sturdy piece, crafted with the same skill as the bookcases.

I sat down in the swivelling chair. It was comfortable, but not too much. Made for working, not for watching TV. I ran my toes through the sheepskin rug that lay under the chair. So that was the smell I’d been unable to identify so far. Sheep.

A large tome lay opened on the desk. A neat stack of handcrafted paper lay beside it, with a beautiful antique quill on top. One glance at the scribblings on the paper told me it was written in the same script I’d seen on the map and the spines of the books. No use trying to read that.

My gaze fell on a silver goblet, just a little to the right of the book. I sniffed its contents, a thick, milky-white liquid. It smelled strange. Vanilla-cinnamon-orange-liquorice, but not quite. I wasn’t sure if I would like its taste and decided this was not the time to try.

Next, I picked up the quill, wondering how it would feel to write with such a delicate instrument. I’d only just replaced it to its spot on the stack of papers and made myself comfortable in the chair when the door opened and my host came back in, followed by a woman with ash-blond hair and the same blueish green eyes as Kenwit.

They walked right up to me.

Good evening, the woman said, inclining her head. I’m Gheldine, Kenwald’s mother. Welcome to our home.

Kenwald. Not Kenwit. I’d better remember that. I acknowledged Gheldine with a slight nod.

Alysia. No more words seemed necessary, and I was suddenly bone-tired.

You look wearied. Let’s find you a place to sleep, shall we?

Again, I nodded. All I wanted right now, was a warm and comfy bed, and hours of undisturbed sleep.

Wait, she said as I got up, you are barefoot. That won’t do. Ken, socks.

Before I knew what was happening, Ken… Kenwald sat down on the floor and took off his shoes first, and his socks next. As he tried to hand them to his mother, she shook her head and pointed at me.

Give them to Lady Alysia.

Well, great. So now I was supposed to wear this young man’s smelly socks. If he had Athlete’s foot, I’d get it too. Yet, one look at Gheldine’s face told me there was no way I could refuse, so I did the next best thing. I put the ugly, scratchy woollen things on inside out.

As I followed the woman through endless corridors that were dimly lit by peculiarly beautiful glowing orbs, I couldn’t help but notice how stark and austere everything looked. No soft furnishings. No plants or flowers. No embellishments beyond the large oil paintings of solemn-looking men and women that graced the walls of rough, irregular stonework.

No carpeting either. Just the same bare flagstones that had chilled my already aching bones in Kenwald’s study. By the time Gheldine opened the door to a small room with a large wooden bed occupying most of its space, my feet felt like lumps of ice.

If I’d known we were going to have a guest, I’d have prepared you a better room, but for now, this one will have to do. The sheets on the bed are clean, and Kaithryne groomed the floor this morning. Gheldine shrugged almost imperceptibly.

I was already sitting on the edge of the bed, my eyelids growing heavier by the second.

Sleep well, Gheldine said. Don’t forget to blow out the candle. She closed the door behind her and finally, I was alone. Blessedly alone.

I breathed out slowly and shook my head. How had I got myself into this awful mess? What kind of world was this, with those glowing, shimmering orbs for lighting? Where people groomed the floors, wore Victorian clothing, and lived in medieval castles? Nothing made sense.

Still hoping this was all just a dream, I blew out the candle, rolled up under the blankets, and allowed sleep to overtake me.

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Chapter Three

Alysia

Iwoke up in a strange environment, in a bed that was too large for its tiny room. Bleak sunlight filtered shyly through the drawn curtains. Though the covers pressed down heavily on my chest, I dreaded discarding them and getting up. The cold air that caressed my cheeks with its icy tentacles promised I’d freeze my tits off. Even worse, I had nothing to wear. I sighed and tried to go back to sleep.

I was just dozing off when a knock on the door shocked me back into full consciousness. I grunted and tried to ignore it. What reason did I have to face this new day? It would only bring me more nasty surprises. Why couldn’t I just have woken up in my own bed, nestled safely in the crescent of Stephen’s warm body?

Today was Christmas Day. Emma and Fred were coming, with little Cathy. And Thomas and Helen, with Kevin and Jack. Mum and Dad. Harry. Simon and Phil. Granddad. I’d been looking forward to seeing all of them. Stephen and I had been working our arses off on our Christmas dinner. I wanted to see the boys’ smiling faces when they unwrapped their presents. Wanted to hold Cathy in my arms and take in her sweet baby-scent.

Yet, here I was, in a world without Christmas, with no way home. None that I knew of, anyway. I swallowed the lump