Bredonia

The hole in the ground looked tiny to his eyes, but somehow the overriding sense of the depth of it upset him.  It really just felt as though they were trying to hide her away or perhaps deny that she had ever truly existed at all.  He just stood there, deep in thought, with the rain falling upon the hood of his weather-all.  He watched a few water droplets fall from the lip of his hood and listened to the clatter of the storm drum all around him. Even worse than standing out here in this wretched weather was the constant smell of freshly cut turf.  He had loved the smell of a ploughed field as a child, but after all the broken battlefields and burials he had witnessed over the years he had finally begun to loathe it.

He wondered again now why she had chosen to be buried.  It was an unusual choice for her, he thought.  He had been witness to a large range of funeral rites over the years, either after battle or because he had been off-world and just passing by.  Still, this one had been unexpected.  At least he had been able to see her before the end.  At least that was something.  He wondered, staring at this place in the ground whether perhaps before he had turned up if she had ever felt lonely or afraid?  Maybe everything turned out in the end just as she planned it? Maybe she had more regrets than she was willing to let on?  She had been a wise old bird and as he had aged himself he had increasingly begun to appreciate the time he had spent with her, under her tutelage.  He wasn't officially a pupil of hers of course, but the lessons The Brothers passed on somehow didn't seem to connect with him in quite the same way that she could.  No doubting it.  She was a one-of-a-kind.

There were many veterans just like Airi within that retirement home on Bredonia.  The proximity of the home to the Lextius Academy often allowed some of the residents to visit the school and offer their own insights.  Airi had never taught any official classes despite being as cunning as a fox.  But more so, Anton considered her to be extremely wise with it.  Somehow he could see all that residing deep within her from the very first moment of their meeting.  Without her presence here he doubted he would have made it through the academy at all.  He really would miss her.  Greatly.

De Havilland felt a hand gently brush at his elbow, and he carefully turned round in the rains.  He nodded to Ylanath and then turned back to the grave.  He sighed, and then turned and left.

___________________


“You have the key?”, asked the robed official.  De Havilland pulled up at a chain from around his neck.  Extending it fully outwards the key drops from the neck of his tunic and is suspended next to De Havillands hand.  He lifts the chain and key from round his neck and hands them both over.

The key is unlike any he has seen before, or more precisely any that he has had a cause to see before.  It is large, golden, tubular and contains a series of pins all around its mechanism.  It reminded him of some kind of musical box.
The official takes the key over to flat marked section of the wall behind him and inserts it into a keyhole.   After a few moments of key rotations both left and right, the face of a box snaps forward with the key still at the very centre of it.  The official brings both the box and key to De Havilland.

“The viewing room is to your left sir.  May I remind you though that both the key and box belong to this establishment.  The contents are yours entirely, of course.”

___________________


The old man sighs deeply, pulls his glasses from his face and drops back into the faded leather chair.  He rubs at the stubble on is chin and looks up from his musings.  Ylanath is sat in a chair opposite him, with De Havilland resting back on a metal frame seat to the far0 corner of the orangery.  The Marquis is peering out of the window, the rain hammering at the panes of glass surrounding them.  He is looking over to the garden of the retirement home, watching rivers of rainwater run across the face of an elaborate water feature.

The old man leans forward and jabs a finger into the pages of a leather bound book sat open on the table in front of him.

“Are you sure no one else has read this?” has asks, looking to De Havilland.

Not turning, De Havilland raises his left hand and brushes away some condensation on the glass beside him.

“You know who she was Southerby. No one knows...yet.”

“I do hope you aren't making the mistake of blackmailing me boy” the old man responds.

De Havilland's eyes snap over to the veteran Hawkwood.

“I do not...” he whispers, “as I do not need to.”

The old man bites at his lip, staring intently at the younger Hawkwood; this Phoenix Knight.  Curse Alexius and his bloody meddling!  Picks the best and then trains the buggers to go messing in other peoples affairs.

“You are certain that this is the only copy?” he asks.

“As certain as any of us can be.”

The rain continues its unending drum upon the glass of the orangery.  Other than that there is complete silence.  A faint smile spreads across the lips of Ylanath as Southerby eyes her suspiciously.

“Is your witch reading my mind, boy?” he asks.

De Havilland exhorts a laugh.  “Ha! No Southerby, she is reading your face.  Now lets stop pretending this isn't what you wanted and give me what Airi asked for.”

___________________


“Are you perfectly sure sir, this is all highly unusual?” suggests the robed official.

“Yes Lowry, I want you to open my box and hand it to me.  There is something in there I need to give this Phoenix Knight.”  Those last words dripped from his lips like a poison.

The robed official did as he was asked and when Southerby opens his box he takes out a manuscript from a bundle of other documents, books and letters and hands it over to The Marquis.  He then places Airi's book into his own collection and then hands the lot over tothe official to have the box returned safely to its own burial place.