Run Toward Ruin – Chapter 2
Seventeen-year-old Darius is handed an impossible gift: the power to travel back in time and undo the injury that crippled his grandfather. It should have fixed everything. Instead, it breaks the present for everyone else. Still bound to the old man’s ruthless ambition, Darius must unravel a fractured timeline and a sinister plot—before the broken past hardens into a horrible present.
2. The Baggage
From the gate the tree-lined lane curved and the white stone house slid into view. Darius slowed the car down to a crawl.
The courtyard was teeming. More than twenty people bustling about. If Darius could have, he would have thrust his head under the dashboard. He couldn’t because he had to look where he was going.
His grandfather Oswin thrust his cane forward. “Bring me alongside the steps.”
Darius’ stomach dropped. The wide stone steps up to the front terrace were in the middle of everything. Everybody else should have arrived already but they hadn’t. Somebody else was also late.
People were not expecting another car to push through amongst them. He got hard looks when they had to move.
“You see,” his grandfather said, from behind him. Deep contentment in his voice. “They’re watching.”
Darius glanced over. The old man looked serious about it.
The noise of the arrival was around them now—voices, feet crunching over the gravel, the thud of crates. The families were out in force. Voices jubilant. Someone laughed.
“They’re just all out here to greet each other,” Darius said.
“They are all here,” Oswin said, with the satisfaction of a man who had gathered every person here himself.
A truck was pulled up along the low garden wall, also being unloaded. Stacked wooden crates, trunks and more—an absurd quantity—passed hand to hand down a chain of servants.
“You need to park close,” Grandfather said.
That was in between where people were hugging and greeting and talking animatedly.
“I know.”
“Then do it.”
He held himself straight and nudged the car all the way carefully past the throng to bring them in behind a large estate car, probably blocking anybody else from moving. Someone had to move a trunk. Someone else called out — not to him, to the man with the trunk. Darius wanted to give the watching faces nothing to remark on.
The quicker he was about it, the better it was done. Darius rushed to the back of the car and at the boot he hauled out Oswin’s trunks and other luggage. A porter appeared at his elbow to whom he could hand them over. Darius had to relay the instructions from Oswin not to let anyone touch it, as if anyone here wanted to. Darius felt as if he was fussing, just like the old man.
From where he stood behind the car he had a clean view across the courtyard, flanked by the wide steps and front terrace of the house that curved around the forecourt. His sister had found a spot where there was no work at all, up on the terrace. Sabina stood behind the balustrade with Kaarle Warchen, her head tipped toward him, laughing at something, easy as anything.
The Warchen boy had his hand resting at the small of her back. Darius watched his sister’s face — open, unguarded, nothing held back — and felt a particular lonely twitch.
He tucked the briefcase under one arm and went around to his grandfather’s side to open the door.
“What took you so long.”
“I had to make sure the luggage got to your rooms.”
“Not the papers.”
“No, I have them here.”
The grunt was not appreciative, but it was there. With the briefcase clutched under his arm Darius had to steady the old man out of the car again. Easier than next to the road because the courtyard was level. More difficult because the precious papers he could not put down.
“Up, then,” he said.
Grandfather’s feet found the ground. He straightened, slowly, and let out a breath.
There was a damper around them. The people close by the car spoke in muted voices. Others who had stopped mid-sentence had not bothered to resume.
Only on the other side, out of sight, voices were still loud. So many people greeting.
It seemed the latecomers were the Buhl’s. They always came with more than their own luggage. There were always packages and goods ordered, special deliveries that were brought there. Easy to do if you travelled all over and an explanation for why they were late as well.
His family, the Pochron’s did not travel much. Their duties required safe rooms, quiet spaces, and meticulous records. It did not fit into a suitcase.
Darius kept one hand at his grandfather’s elbow and felt the tremor on each rise. He kept moving.
Across the stairs on the other side Steward Komassa was arranging porters to ease the flow of luggage passing by.
“That way,” indicated Oswin, diagonally across the stairs.
This took them through a gathering of women, talking in rapid snatches. The way they looked at each other and kept touching sleeves and fabric probably meant they were talking about dresses and such. They were for the moment oblivious to anybody else around them.
Darius soft “excuse us” wasn’t heard.
Oswin greeted only one of them with a curt word.
“Elena.”
Elena was Darius’ mother. Wearing a dress from last year of her favourite dark blue and gold. Her eyes flickering back and forth between Oswin and her son. With a gentle hand she guided her companions out of the way who all greeted the old man with a short word or nod of the head.
Oswin waved a hand and leaned forward, up the steps, dragging Darius along. The old man’s manner acknowledged their existence in the most perfunctory way. Darius smiled and tried to meet their eyes to express a sorry.
Elena was the only one who met his gaze, but her attention stayed with Oswin.
“You are here,” she said. “How was the drive?”
“It was,” said Oswin as he looked past her at the other end of the steps.
She looked over at Darius, her fingers tightly locked together and her head at a slight tilt, as a question. She would want to know what state the old man was in but she dared not ask now.
Darius shrugged and bowed his head.
The old man pulled on his arm, moving along.
“I must speak with Komassa.”
Darius looked back over his shoulder. Elena had gone back to her conversation with the others. All mothers, but with different worries.
Steward Komassa stepped around and prepared himself for Oswin. Darius noticed a straightening of his back, a deep breath and a sweep of his hand to rake his steel gray hair back. Then he extended a hand and brought a smile to his face.
“Oswin, it is so good to see you. Looking well.”
The old man ignored the hand, both his own clutched on his cane when he stopped one step up on the Steward. Darius had forgotten how tall the man was. Standing above him their eyes were brought level.
“You can confirm,” said Oswin, “the Prince will not be attending.”
“Alas, he has sent his apologies.”
“This will necessitate an adjustment to the agendas.”
Steward Komassa tapped a finger on the daybook in his hand. “There is no need that I can see. If there is anything you think should be added—”
“Yes, we will have to discuss it before any business tomorrow morning.”
With his hands thrown up, Komassa agreed.
“Let’s all just settle in first.”
“You live here Komassa, what settling do you need to do?”
Komassa answered by indicating the bustle around them. Oswin didn’t bother looking. He pursed his lips and closed an eye as if he was trying to remember.
“I have correspondence that I must share with you, Komassa. At a time when you can consider them calmly.”
The need for Komassa to answer fell away when Ferran Buhl strode over. The blocky man wore a stained jacket. He must have stepped off a ship earlier on the day and had not changed yet.
“Apologies for the chaos Klemens,” he said, addressing the Steward by his first name. He patted the man on his shoulder. “We’ll have it all sorted quickly. I’ve put Hass in charge.”
Darius looked past his shoulder. Hass Buhl, younger than him was on the back of the truck, pointing and giving directions as if he was captain of a ship. The chaos in the courtyard slowly turning more orderly as packages were carried to the house.
“The truck should have pulled round the house to unload. A man with your responsibilities, Ferran, would know what would be more efficient and what is a show.” said Oswin.
“If we can’t do with a bit of fanfare on a day like this, when can we?” asked Ferran with a hearty laugh.
Oswin snorted and turned away. Darius felt the old man’s weight shift and leaned in to take more. The worst thing that could happen now is if the old man should fall.
If he let him fall.
Darius watched his grandfather’s grip on his cane. The knuckles of his fingers were turning white, a slight tremble visible.
The old man was tired, his foot most likely throbbing.
“We should get to your rooms,” suggested Darius. “There will—”
“Don’t herd me boy, I’m not a sheep.”
The briefcase, full of papers, were slipping from under his arm. Darius pushed it back in and took hold of Oswin’s elbow.
“An animal I could drag… I think…” Darius mumbled to himself.
The next step. His jaw ached from holding it level. Darius kept the pace measured — not slow enough to look deliberate, not fast enough to look desperate.
From above him there was a snicker and a giggle.
As he slowly got Oswin to move up the stairs again he dared a glance, just lifting his eyes. A gaggle of girls were on the terrace above, looking down on the stairs. His sister Sabina, now without Kaarle, and some others.
She gave him that same look his mother gave him moments before, with the question not asked. He would find her later and give her his own opinion, but for now he had to look away.
At the end of the group his eyes lingered on the Seisin girl, Cora, at ease next to a bright pink flowering potted plant. Her green eyes shining bright, her lips smiling soft as she gazed over his head across the forecourt.
With a series of jerks they went up one step after another. Oswin had to concentrate on keeping on his feet and could not continue to berate Darius. His grunts, and the hard grip on the boy’s arm made the irritation clear. Gradually the voices faded behind them and the silence pressed in on Darius, only broken by Oswin’s ragged breathing.
Even in the room Oswin pushed back.
“You need to lie down for a bit.”
“I have papers to review.”
Darius pointed down. “The foot needs to be rewrapped.”
Oswin didn’t look down. His eyes fixed on the briefcase Darius had left on a chair.
“Hand me my papers. And get another pillow.”
Detesting the feel of it, Darius had to take off the old man’s shoes and then rub his deformed foot with ointment. It was the only way to relieve the pain and ensure that Oswin would make it through to dinner. If he had missed that he would have blamed Darius.
“I promise, I’ll be back with enough time to get dressed for the dinner. You don’t want to be first at the table anyway, do you?”
Exhausted himself, Darius closed the bedroom door behind him. He stood in the apartment hallway, breathing deeply to gather himself for the next shift. To leave the heaviness behind. The bit of calm came slow, and was brief.
Across the hallway the front door to the apartment opened and his mother stepped in. Elena Pochron’s eyes flickered to Oswin’s door and then fixed on Darius.
She quickly walked to Darius’ side, grabbed him by the arm and led him out the door and into the main passage. Speaking in a serious whisper she started with questions.
“Did you have to drive through everybody?”
“He made me do it. I had no choice.”
“I hope we still have choices. Situations become what you make of them.”
“Is that why nothing ever changes for—? Because we like things as they are? I don’t want to…”
Elena dropped her eyes and chewed her lips. Darius knew he had pushed too hard. His mother was also carrying a weight she should not have to.
“What happened on the road?”
“Nothing.”
“You did nothing to upset him?”
“I don’t have to do anything to upset him.”
“But nothing set him off. Nothing you said, nothing that happened…”
“Nothing set him off. He’s just — like this. He’s always like this.”
“I know he’s always like this,” Elena said, and for a moment her lips quivered. “I’m asking if there’s anything we should know now, so we can make things easier.”
“He was going on about his plans, and looking forward to the conclave, and about things changing.”
Elena shook her head. “It won’t change. It will be the same as always.”
He wanted to say no, it doesn’t have to be, but he had to believe it to say that. His insides were flat knowing he didn’t.
He had never thought to ask why it had to be him at all. He knew he wanted to have it changed. He just hadn’t decided how to go about it yet.
“Why am I the one that has to do it? What about Sabina maybe helping out?”
“We can’t have your sister… that would not be right. Not at all.”
“Is there any hope we can get a nurse to do some of the… clean-up rubbing stuff. I really…”
“No!” Elena’s answer was sharp. She studied him for a long moment. Then she lifted a hand and rubbed Darius shoulder.
“He trusts you, Dari.”
She was using her mothering tone. It shrunk him down and he looked away at the wall.
“I don’t think he does.”
“He does, more than anybody else I know of. Even your father.”
Darius bit through his disappointment as he stared at Oswin’s closed door.
“I don’t think there’s anything to be ready for,” he said. “He’s just tired. He’ll want his wine and then he’ll be fine until supper.”
“You’d tell me if something… ?”
“Can I go sort out my own stuff? The car is parked in the way and…”
“Go on, then. Get settled, sort the car, go unpack your bags.”
“Yes, Mother. But there might not be time. It will take a while to get ready for the dinner.”
“Do what you can then, Dari. Do your best.”
Darius left his mother in the corridor. Alone. But he made and took with him a decision. Something must be done. He couldn’t go on like this.
© Gerhi Janse van Vuuren