Summertide Excursion : A 'Storm and Silence' Fan-fiction

Troublesome Junk in My Trunk

Adventure, to my knowledge, is defined as an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risks. Although my newest adventure had only just began, I had already found myself encountering risks. Risks of a particularly cumbersome nature, might I add.

First and foremost was the matter of my trunk- and I was not referring to my own ample posterior baggage. My front was pressed up against the wardrobe, which sat idly against the far wall of my bedroom. I stood on the tips of my toes, arms raised above my head, my every muscle straining upwards in a tremendous effort to grasp the large trunk which sat atop the wardrobe.

'Nerrrraagh!'I grunted as my fingers inched closer to the brass handle, which conveniently protruded from the side facing me.

Finally, my left index finger snagged the handle, nudging it forward so that the rest of my digits could wrap around the cool metal handhold.  With a firm tug I yanked the trunk down from its pedestal, then latched my free hand around the other for additional support as the weight of the baggage sent me stumbling backwards.

I felt something soft come into contact with my hamstrings and I was knocked off of my feet, collapsing onto the billowing sheets beneath. I lay there on the bed for a moment or two, arms splayed out across the covers, my right hand still firmly clutching the trunk. I released a jaded breath.

Flipping onto my side I pulled the handle of the trunk towards me, and after fiddling with the latches I managed to pop the lid open. Great clouds of dust swirled up through the air, some finding its way into my nostrils. I scrunched up my face as an unpleasant tickling sensation filled my nose.

'Everything in the house is ancient,' I muttered, rising from my reclined position.

'It's a wonder that I haven't got cracks in my skin and dust mites for friends.' I paused for a moment and thought about it. Hmm. Befriending dust mites might not be so bad. 'They would be better company than Mr Even-The-Silent-Monks-Make-More-Noise-Than-I at any rate,' I added bitterly, shaking my head.

I sighed as I made my way across the room. Why oh why did my thoughts always have to work their way back to him? Even a blasted old coffer managed to steer my mind towards that... that... individual! I stepped back in front of the wardrobe, my mind still buzzing with thoughts of my irksome employer. Why was he traveling so suddenly? Where to? Who to? And why, in the name of sanity, was he taking me with him? Those questions and more bounced around my head as my hands closed around the knobs of the wardrobe and pulled. I looked up at the petticoats and dresses folded neatly upon the dark wooden shelves. Suddenly, the chatter in my my mind ceased and only one thought remained, echoing over and over in my conscious.

What the bloody heck am I supposed to pack?

Surely, Mr Ambrose knew that I had only one suit in my possession. A marvelous suit no less, I thought, conjuring the image of the wonderfully flashy foul which adorned my waistcoat. But still, he didn't seriously expect me to bring along a month's worth of men's clothing, did he?

I didn't need to think twice about the answer to that question. This was Mr Ambrose whom I was dealing with, after all. But how would I take, or borrow rather, more of Uncle Bufford's clothes without arousing suspicion?

Just then, I heard the familiar sound of Leadfield, my household's only servant, shuffling down the corridor on the other side of the door with all the speed and vigor of an elderly snail. He was probably as ancient as the trunk sitting open on my bed, if not older.

I felt a twinge of guilt as I thought about what I was going to do next. I hated to bother the frail old man. However, given the circumstances, his services were a necessity. I slid over to open the door and rested my eyes on Leadfield's hunched frame. Forcing a cheerful smile, I tried not to look too pitying as I parted my lips to speak.