Alerich Clausse - 001

Peter forced out a chuckle to match Rattle’s, who now remained silent with his eyes closed.

“I’ve been looking for the man and the reason for so 16 years and never found a single trace. Everything was so well kept. Everyone remained so silent.”

“Rattles, we got this. With this name and this trail, we should be able to make a connection.”

“Peter, come on. S. Finch is obviously a pseudonym of some sort. What good is a false name, if it can’t be traced itself. This is nothing but another dead end. This is just mockery by the defunct.”

He was right and peter knew it. The name meant absolutely nothing if it was false and Peter knew it was false. He had changed the name, the name his father had left in the letter on the desk, but the name was dangerous. Were he to give Rattles the real name, all hell would break lose. Even though he spent much of his time drinking and chasing women, Rattles himself was dangerous.

Maybe it was his desire for retribution, or maybe it was his incredible talent, but Rattles made a name for himself in the university. That’s why he accepted and took the nickname of Rattles in the first place. The name Alerich came with a weight and fame. People who had never seen him knew of him. He was a living legend. Some knew him as Alerich, the terraformer, because he had destroyed an entire mountain. Others knew him as Alerich the death slayer because he somehow defeated death.

Sure, those stories were stretched versions of the truth. Rattles never “defeated” death. He simply created a cure to very contagious disease. Of course, the real story remained an impressive feat. Most alchemists died within a week of attempting to create a cure. Rattles drank the disease to understand the sickness and synthesized a cure out of his own blood. As for the mountain, he did blow up half a mountain, but that was purely out of accident, which involved a little of Peter’s help. They had been trying to build a massive firework display.

Regardless, even with Rattles’s self-control, he could be dangerous when dealing with anything in relation to his parent’s death. And Peter, as the new Lord Blackstone, had to prevent him from destroying half the city in the search of a murderer. There were better ways to solve the murder. Keeping the truth from Rattles was a necessity.

Peter had not completely lied, though. Mr. S. Finch was an alias in the public documents tracking the money’s transaction. The only document disclosing the real name was the Lord Blackstone’s last letter to Peter, a confession and apology.

Rattles stood up in one smooth jump, a smile on his face, somehow over his brooding moment. “That is enough for the day. May the dead fall behind and the living go on. What is being alive if you don’t live, right? You have to appreciate the little things, and I know of two that need my attention at this very moment.”

Peter shook his head and grinned. Even in this moment, Rattles did not stop surprising him. The man was resilient and nearly impervious to all negative emotions, an enviable emotion.

“Hey, don’t get me all wrong,” Rattles said, stopping at the door. “I can’t even begin to fathom the feeling. Lord Blackstone, though his death brings peace to many, was your father. Don’t let the darkness fill you inside.”

Peter laughed a hearty laugh and even shed a tear. “Rattles, he was a ruffian, a sadist, and a monster. I cannot even force myself to feel anything other than relief. But sure, if I need a shoulder to cry on, you’ll be the first I’ll call.”

Rattles shook his head, the grin gone, and waved his hand twice as if to say, “okay,” leaving without a single word. Peter sunk in the office chair, his father’s letter in his hand. He read it over, and a sensation of sorrow drowned him, tears beginning to flow.

“It was too late, you old bastard. Why the hell couldn’t you have said all this to me before you died, god dammit.”