The Lachrymatory of Elaine Durlist

“A lachrymatory is a vessel made to contain the tears of those in mourning, as a symbol of remorse, guilt, love, and grief. The end of grieving is signified when all the tears have evaporated away.”

I.

I always thought the world slept when night rolled around. Not in Novo Govorst. This is my third day without sleep, and my seventh day on my route back. I’ve only gone this far from the Den and the Boarded District once before, and I haven’t even gotten far enough to leave the city yet. Novo Govorst is the largest city this side of the sea, and perhaps the largest in the world. They say it takes four days to cross at its widest point, and that’s with a fit horse. On foot it’ll take you anywhere from ten to fifteen days. I never really could get used to the lights of the city, all the oil flames and arc lamps emulating daylight well enough to stall the end of productivity. The thick haze in some parts is quite unkind to the lungs, and I had to travel through regardless of how bad it got. This was the furthest job I’ve taken, and Finley was definitely astounded by how much we were offered to take it.
Finley usually stays back and handles business at the Den. It’s the cellar of an old inn operated by an old family friend of Finley’s. We handle most of our business there, away from the prying eyes of the world. The inn’s where rumor and gossip flow as freely as wine, and where people come to bring us jobs. They come to us by word of mouth, knowing the risk of seeking us out, and they bring their payment. This time it was half up front, and half when the job’s done. I was more than ready to collect the other half. Eighty thousand Kreidels up front, and the same when the job is done. I am six miles from the Den, staying at the Azure Lamb, awaiting a well deserved rest. 50 Kreidels and a strong drink later, I collapse into a fine feather bed.
Morning came, and I was sure I overslept. 5 o’clock. I better get going, Finley awaits my return. It’s been almost 3 weeks, and he’ll be desperate to find out if I got the job done. I gather what few belongings I brought with me, and make my way to the Den. Six miles is nothing compared to the eighty four I had to walk to get back to the Boarded District, though in hindsight I could’ve easily afforded a carriage ride or two. The newsstands were up early today, and the smell of ink lingers as I browse. One paper stood out among the rest. A week old paper from the North Iron District. The front page loudly announced, “Lord Burrell Found Dead, Unknown Cause”. He was 47, considered quite old in Novo Govorst but rather unsurprising considering his status. I bought the issue and went onwards to the Den.
There’s nothing like a two hour walk to really wake me up. 7:14 in the morning and most patrons of the inn are still asleep. I walk through the empty hall towards the kitchen. The cellar was in back of the kitchen, with its entrance concealed with a panel. I descend down a spiral staircase into the cramped cellar, the floor dusty from neglect. Finley was still fast asleep, dark olive skin with a slight pallor from the bitter cold of the Den. I took my time at the table and prepared a little breakfast for myself. Some hard bread and a bit of milk puts an end to my hunger, and I decide it’s time to wake Finley. I pick him up out of bed, and drop him right on the floor. As he came to his senses I showed him the newspaper.
“Would you look at that. Elaine Durlist, back so soon? I assume you got the job done?”, he says with an air of unusual grogginess. He’s usually up well before the sun is.
“You know better than I do that I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. I can't leave a job undone and I certainly wouldn’t have wasted three weeks travelling all the way to the North Iron District and back just for fun. If I have a job, I’m not coming back until there’s one less person in this world,” I remind him, not so gently. I shouldn’t be so bitter, he had no way of knowing when I’d be back, and he just woke up. Then again, I have been on foot practically non stop for the last seven days, I have a right to dislike his attitude. “Why does this place look more dreary than usual?”
“I was out for a few days, and besides, this place collects dust like no other. What did you expect?” I could tell he was genuinely surprised that I asked. Aside from Finley’s bed and the dusty old dinner table, the Den is a fairly empty place. Some cupboards and a small pantry was all we had for food, and only a few oak barrels and some bottle racks served to decorate the far wall. There really wasn’t any way he could make a mess of this place and yet he did. Knowing him, he’ll have it cleaned before he collects the payment. Tomorrow he will get the remaining 80,000 and we might just have some peace for a few days, at least until the next job rolls around.
“Whatever,” I say as I roll my eyes at him. “I have to get home anyways, I’ve got some inventory to check.”
“Oh that reminds me. How did you do it this time?”
“Just cyanide this time, nothing special,” I say, knowing his imminent disappointment. “Our client specifically requested for Burrell’s death to be quick and quiet. Nothing like cyanide to get that job done.”
“Poison again? It is said poison is a woman’s weapon.”
“Bold statement from the man who gave me my first toxicology book. Perhaps these women’s weapons are why we haven’t been caught in the ten years we’ve been at this. Now, I really need to go, I have inventory to do back at my house.”
8:15. I decide to stick around in the main hall of the inn for a bit, to catch up on the fresh rumors brought in by the patrons. I decide to take a seat at the long oak table running the length of the hall, next to some exhausted looking guests. I offer to buy breakfast, which they graciously accept. An older, sickly looking gentleman sits to my left and describes today’s weather in great detail, discussing the haze and how he’d prefer to stay inside today to spare his lungs the effort of returning home. Two young girls, no older than 9, sit to, eagerly contemplating the possibilities that the newly completed Novo Govorst rail system offers. It is a new network of rails and stations which will shorten travel across the city significantly, allowing people freedom of movement. Getting from job to job will certainly be more convenient, though timing will be crucial to avoid suspicion. I decide to listen in on the girls’ conversation.
The one with the brittle black hair blurts out, “I’ve never seen a train before!”
“I have, back when we lived outside of the city. They’re big and scary and loud and... and... that’s all I really remember,” replied the other one, her voice shifting up in tone with each descriptor. I thought back to when I first saw a train, and I felt the same exact way. I can remember the smell of smoke and ash as it pulled into the station, how it roared to indicate it’s arrival. Its hulking steel body towered well over anyone, and I was certain it wasn’t safe to approach. I remember how fast it went, finally seeing the world fly past for the first time. I was seven when I first saw one. It was the first train to Novo Govorst from the countryside. My family went wanted to take a trip as a celebration of the rail’s completion. Little did I know it would be the same train that would bring me to the city six years later, and never take me back.
I walk over to the innkeeper to pay the 50 Kreidels for everyone’s breakfast. The air fills with the smell of cooked meats and boiled milk as the staff prepare foods they can barely afford to eat themselves. Within ten minutes all twelve patrons in the hall enjoy a meal of gruel strewn with berries and cooked sausage, a luxury in the Boarded District. I stay to talk to the innkeeper for a few minutes.
“How are you, Gildel?” I ask, with a polite smile. She acquired the inn at age fifteen, after a virulent plague swept the western districts and took her parents with it. She started this job the same year I started mine. Ten years later and her dedication to maintaining the inn still shows. Somehow she manages to keep her business successful in such a dismal locale. Personally, I hope she can leave the Boarded District some day. She works too hard to be living in these conditions.
“Surprisingly well, Elaine. I haven’t heard anything out of the usual lately. Another death of someone important, another disease ravages one district or another, it's all as it was,” she says. “Oh, they finally finished the rail network,” she adds like it’s nothing special.
“So I’ve heard. Where’s the nearest new station?”
“In the Sea District, three districts to the west. Maybe the city finally decided that the Boarded District is uninhabited. Shocking, huh?”
The side effect of having a city as large as Novo Govorst is that in the process of expanding, many tend to flee the older areas, leaving those parts to the people too poor to follow along. They figured the old districts would just die off as people naturally followed the wealth. Most districts have about 50,000 people, the Boarded District has only one thousand. There’s no way they’d put a train line anywhere near this mess.
“Even without a train in our district, having one as close as the Sea District makes travel to other districts much easier, and more importantly means moving to better opportunities.”
“Of course, but how are people supposed to afford train fare, let alone housing in a new district? Has anyone left the Boarded District to take the train in the Bright District that goes out of the city? No. Of all the inhabitants of the Boarded District, only you and Finley seem to be able to afford anything near that amount of luxury. The only wealth flowing into this district comes from travellers needing rest, and your blood money. Otherwise our economy is self contained.” She was right, given the district’s proximity to the center of the city, there are thousands of people passing through every year in need of a place to rest their weary heads on their way to more important districts. The trains threaten that livelihood. If I were ever to leave, my customers wouldn’t dare to come here. If I disappear, so does the Boarded District.
“I understand. I need to go now, inventory won't do itself.” I walk out of the inn, a little less excited about the train. I pass through a few back alleys after making sure nobody decided to follow me home, I take the most direct way home. The route to my house is a quick and relatively safe path from the Den, passing through a few abandoned neighborhoods to get there. Walking along the dusty streets I can practically feel the silence. Greens and browns crawled up each desolate house, practically announcing that this part of the city was abandoned. Spotting the house, I finally feel like I’m back where I belong.
I purchased the house after my fourth job, though there wasn’t really a need to formally buy it. It sits in the emptiest part of the district, where only I seem to wander. Quite frankly I could have just walked right in declared it my own. I decided to formally acquire the deed from a courthouse in an adjacent district, hoping maybe I’d feel more at home. It’s placed among a number of imposing wooden houses, each three stories high, but this one has an artist’s studio for a loft. It made for a perfect impromptu toxicology lab. The privacy of an entire city block emptied by urban blight is incredible, but the quiet can be maddening.
I rush up the stairs to the loft, and grab my journal. The floors creak and I’m sure that one of these days the walls will rot away entirely, but for now and for the past nine years I’ve been proud to call this place home. I haven’t had a chance to check up on my supplies due to the last few jobs being immediately one after another. The far wall is lined with shelves, cabinets, and cupboards. Most are stocked with either books or glassware, but one seemingly innocuous cupboard near the corner of the wall is the one I’m looking for. Inside is an assortment of vials and bottles filled with my weapon of choice, poison. I kept everything on file, neatly organized. Extracts of hemlock and nightshade are the easiest to make, as I can find them right outside my door overtaking the streets. Those are always in plentiful supply. Cyanide is a bit tougher to get, I have to make my own from blue dye bought in other districts. As I look through the rest of the toxins I find that I only have a single ampoule of my personal favorite, a clear liquid which I have taken to calling “sleeping hound.” Practically tasteless, it is easily put into food or drink. Once ingested the victim will grow tired and appear to fall asleep, only to never wake up. Making it is a weeklong process, and I simply haven't had the time.
I wrap up my inventory, and everything is accounted for. It’s 11:30 now. Finley should have gotten the payment by now. I may as well head back to the Den to check. Another stroll through the abandoned neighborhoods and I’m back. At least twenty patrons line the great table, some barely starting to wake up. The panel concealing the Den looked to be slightly disturbed. I move it aside and walk down the steps. The dust looks untouched, and the Den is empty. Where is Finley? I couldn’t help but wonder why he would be so careless. Everything looked to be the same as it was before I left, aside from an envelope on the table. Another job so soon? I just got back. Walking over the table, I feel my heart drop. This isn’t right, Finley usually announces jobs to me. No payment? Finley still be finding someone to accept the job. We never accept a job directly. We always hire a stranger to tell our client we’ll do it and they bring us their payment. I realize, he couldn’t have gone to accept it. The letter hasn’t been opened yet. I break the red wax seal to see the request. The letter is written in fine gold ink.
“I am in need of your peculiar service,” it begins. The letter continues:
In several instances, a particular person has dishonored, disgraced, or disadvantaged me. Through her actions, she has become a nuisance to me. At first, I thought that her actions were isolated incidents, but it appears that there is no end to it in sight. For this reason I must ask you to do a deed that I cannot do on my own.
“I require you to eliminate the assassin Elaine Durlist.” I let out a gasp. Who could’ve wrote this?”

II.

“Ellie! Ellie is that you? Where have you--” Mother screamed, or so I thought. When her eyes fell on my I could no longer hear her over the cacophony of my own thoughts. What have I done? That was the only thing on my mind. Mother stared at my blouse, soaked and splattered with dark red. It began to stick to me as it dried.
“He... he’s d... dead... momma,” I barely managed to stammer out. What have I done? “The farmer... I...” Mother looked like she wanted to console me, but she backed away suddenly.
“What happened? Where were you?”
“I... killed him. He... he was going to hurt me.” My mind kept repeating the memory over and over. All I could think of was that scythe. I couldn’t believe my own thoughts at first. I knew what I had to do. Locked in a shed, I grew scared. It was either me or him. I just wanted to go home. He checked on me one last time. What have I done?
“Oh... Gods...” Mother could hardly speak. She looked at me with terror. The air was thick with the scent of blood. Mother sat me down on a wooden chair. I didn’t object. I was told to never speak of what happened to anyone. “Thank the Gods your father and brothers have gone to the farmers market in Vellen.” There was silence for several minutes as mother paced around. “You were gone two days... What happened?” I was finally calm enough to speak.
“The valley momma. I wanted to come home. I was hit. I woke up in a shed. He had a knife. I found a scythe. I’m home now.”
“It must’ve been Pyotr’s uncle, Gorchek. Ellie... you’re saying he took you?”
“Yes mother... I-”
“That’s enough, dear. Go outside and get washed up.” Mother took my blouse and threw it into the fire. I looked into the mirror. Droplets of red dotted my face, and there was blood all over my arms and chest. I did not react. I finally understood what I did. I couldn’t live with it, and I knew mother couldn’t either. I went outside and poured some water into a tub. I laid down into the water and my mouth was filled with a metallic taste. I cleaned myself up quickly before I began retching, only to vomit all over the grass.
When I went back inside, mother was in the kitchen, with some fresh clothes prepared and a glass of milk on the table. She looked as though nothing had happened. The smell of bread filled the air, and I could hardly smell blood any more. There were flowers placed all over the house. She was trying to mask the smell before father returned home.
When night came I knew what I had to do. I took an old briefcase from the cellar and gathered my belongings. Father often left money in his coat pockets. Seventy Kreidels train fare to the city named for new opportunities, to Novo Govorst. I was thirteen.

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This time I was screaming. I was cornered between two buildings by a boy maybe three years older than I was. His face was stained with trails of dried blood like tears. If there was one thing certain in Novo Govorst, it was that there was always plague somewhere. The night was silent aside from my shrieks. I knew I was going to die. At least until his throat was suddenly slit. Behind him stood a man, looked about twenty years old. His dark olive skin was illuminated in the moonlight.
“Are you alright? What are you doing out in the streets at this hour?” He spoke firmly. He didn’t seem to want to hurt me.
“I didn’t have a place to sleep. I came off the train and wanted to make it to the Coal District Orphanage. That boy wanted to kill me.”
“Welcome to the Boarded District, kid. At least you’re in the inhabited part. Not even lachrymose like him dare to walk the abandoned parts.”
“Why did you kill him?”
I’ve seen enough death for a lifetime, I thought. The boy lied there on the street, a little more intact than the farmer.
“It’s alright. He was nobody. Thousands like him die every day,” the man said, coldly. “In a metropolitan of fourteen million, his death will go completely unnoticed.” He dragged the body into a canal and the boy drifted away into the night. “Come with me. I’ll keep you safe for the night.” Little did I know his advice would ruin me. It’s easier to justify murder when their life doesn’t matter.
He took my hand and walked me to an inn. I couldn’t protest, at least I would have somewhere to rest. We walked into the kitchen, only to be interrupted by a little girl younger than myself. “Finley, who is she?”
“Gildel, dear, this is our new friend. She’ll be staying tonight. Where are your parents?”
“Momma and Papa have gone to bed a few minutes ago. I’ll go get them for you!” She ran out of the kitchen. In her place came her parents, looking very tired and very concerned.
“Finley, where did you find this child, and why is she carrying a briefcase?” the father asked.
“She’s been wandering the city for at least a day now. According to her she came from the only train station in the region, in the Bright District, to the east.”
“What is your name?” The mother asked, softly as to not frighten me.
“Elaine. Elaine Durlist.”
“And where are you from, Elaine?”
“By the valley, near Vellen.” I knew I shouldn’t be saying so much, but they seemed friendly. I just wanted to sleep.
The father smiled at me. “Well, Elaine, I think you should be right at home here. You can sleep in Gildel’s room.”
“Thank you, sir.” If there’s one thing mother has taught me, it’s to always be polite when others are generous.
“I’ll bring your things up for you. If you’d like to eat something help yourself. You must be starving,” the father said.
I wandered around in the kitchen, looking through every cupboard for something to eat. Finley brought me a cup of water from the pump outside. I drank it in no time. Finley looked confused. I knew he had questions.
“What’s a girl like you doing in such a place. You boarded a train that nobody from this district can afford, and suddenly you’re wandering in the poorest district in Novo Govorst? It doesn’t make sense. Why did you leave home?” I knew he wouldn’t believe any lies, so I told him the truth. He looked concerned.
“You left home because you murdered a farmer? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes sir. I had to.” I saw something in his eyes, a spark of excitement.
“Can you read?”
“Yes sir. Mother taught me early on. What did you have in mind?”
“I bought a book when I went to the market, but I cannot read very well. Would you care to read it to me?”
“I would love to teach you how to read. What book do you have for me?” He went down into the cellar. When he came back, he carried an old, dusty tome. A Study on Toxins.

----------------------

I remember as the years went by. Finley took me to the abandoned parts of the district to teach me how to deliver death. Breaking into locked houses became simple, sneaking poisons into food or drink became no more difficult than looking at it. Disguises and information gathering were done taught to me in the inhabited parts. Nobody could tell who I was when I was disguised, and everybody had secrets to share after enough drinks. When Finley thought I was ready, he had me kill a lachrymose. That was my first job. His death won’t matter. All it took was some poison mushrooms in his meal and he done for. From then on, all of my jobs were done with poison. That way I never had to watch them die. I was seventeen.

III.

Three days have past since I read the letter, and I spent them sitting in my bed and thinking. It was time to face reality. I cannot finish this job. Finley knows that I don’t return unless a job is done. I got out of bed, grabbed a quill, and began to write.

----------------------

Finley climbs down the stairs to the Den with a smug look on his face. 80 thousand more Kreidels. He is impatient to see Elaine so he can give her the portion he owed her. Since she does all the hard work she keeps most of the payment, in this case 140 thousand out of the 160 total. When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, everything seems to be in order. The Den is as clean as it ever will be, and nothing seems out of place at first glance.
“Well, what do we have here?” he asks himself. There is an ampoule on the table, with a note tied to the neck. His name is etched on the side. He opens the note and begins to read.
Finley,
For the 14 years since you saved me, I have been ever grateful. You have made me who I am today. You have created the most successful business in the Boarded District, bringing in wealth and breathing some life into our little victim of urban blight. Thanks to our business, I’ve earned enough to pay the city to begin the phoenix project, to let our district rise from the ashes and have new life. But now, I have to tell you something. I cannot finish our latest job. Elaine Durlist died in a shed fourteen years ago. I only kept the body. You know I don't come back unless a job is done. I have left to return this body to the parents I took it from. The ampoule I left you contains tears I’ve shed in mourning Elaine. You helped me forget her, and I suppose it will help you forget me. I wish for you to break it open over the canal you disposed of that lachrymose in. What did you tell me that day? That his death won't matter? Let its breaking represent not only the end of my mourning, but also my death. If you come searching for me, I will make you understand your own lesson. Out of fourteen million people, your death won't make any difference.
Goodbye Finley.

“Goodbye, Elaine.”