Submission for writers-jam-2025. 2518 words. Chosen word was FACADE.

~

The messenger found me in my cups, head stooped and bobbing. He handed me a letter carrying the seal of my employer, Otto Trauerwalder. Wanting to avoid unwarranted attention, I left the tavern. The night’s caliginosity proved a welcome respite from the tavern’s cacophony of light, and the wind’s cold kiss upon my brow revived me.  

My walk to my empty shack was uneventful. Soon I will have enough coin to rebuild my home, I thought. I fell onto my bed, and it greeted me with a familiar creak. Breaking the seal, I took out the letter and read it in the darkness.

It was common, at least in the world of high science and magic, for Important People to write many words but say very little. Such was my employer’s letter. I sighed after concluding it, for no longer was I to attend the Inventors&Investors retreat at Chateau Hoch alone - inflicted upon me was a lowly ingenieur, who would bring with him one of Trauerwalder’s prototypes for demonstration purposes.  

I had thought extensively of a compelling pitch with which to entrance the benefactors who were to attend the retreat. I had prepared a shortlist of names with whom I would prioritise interacting, and whose pockets I would aspire to loosen. As Trauerwalder’s marketing director, my role was to secure funding and patronage from the wealthy. Thus, I needed to be unshackled and nimble. Able to speak and walk with anyone I deemed of interest, and able to initiate clandestine rendezvous with interested investors in the chateau’s silent alcoves. 

A demonstration of Trauerwalder’s contraption at the retreat would be anything but unshackled. I would need to remain by its side, in the Lord’s Hall, where all inventors would exhibit. I closed my fist on the yellowing parchment and hurled it across my shack, and was asleep before it hit the floor.  

~

The journey to Quedlinburg lasted two days. On the first, the carriage Trauerwalder arranged as my transport proved spacious. On the second, we stopped in a village whose name I don’t remember, to gather my companion, Trauerwalder’s ingenieur, for the retreat. Walis was a short man, bald of head and small of eyes. I imagined the buttons of his shirt a dam, and the mass of his belly a lake struggling to burst it. He rolled onto the carriage like a gelatinous ball, and, sliding onto the cushioned bench across from mine, offered a “Hello.” His thick thighs touched both carriage walls.

My disdain must have taken hold of my features, for he cringed. “A bit of a congested ride, this,” he said sheepishly, and I wondered how Trauerwalder thought a man like this would render any benefit at a networking event. “Aye, but we’ll make the best of it,” I replied and tried to smile.

“Why are we not moving?” I asked after a few minutes had passed.

“The horsedriver is loading the Abyssal Door onto the carriage roof,” answered Walis.

“Does he know how to disassemble it? Aren’t you afraid he will damage it?” I asked, failing to mask my worry. Walis just shrugged and looked out of the window.

The Abyssal Door was a marketer’s dream. Revolutionary to the point of selling itself, as soon as word of its market-readiness was out. Put one door outside your home, and another in a different town. Enter through one door, exit through the other. How? None but its inventor knew. Otto Trauerwalder was a scientist and a mage. But not yet one of widespread renown. 

“So, I just had this idea...” I started, “What better way to demonstrate the capabilities of our product than to arrive at Chateau Hoch by using it? No? I assume it is too late now... but couldn’t you have shipped one of the doors to the chateau? And then you and I would have gone to Trauerwalder and entered one of the doors there? To come out of the door at Chateau Hoch?”

Walis didn’t look at me. “That wouldn’t work,” he muttered.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer for a minute. Then, he looked at me, his eyes darting from my face to my attire several times. Finally, he smiled at me as if I were an imbecile. “Because who will assemble the first door at the chateau?” he answered.

“Well... you could have gone by carriage, assembled the door, and I would have used it to travel there?”

Just then, the driver’s horses resumed pulling our carriage, and Walis seemed to think they could not pull the added weight of our conversation, so he just looked out of the window again. 

~

The Abyssal Door was the likeness of a coffin, propped up on the end where a corpse’s feet would be, and much deeper than any normal coffin. It smelled of garlic and cheap apothecary. Long, thick planks of wood were nailed together with black steel on three sides, where splinters of raw wood still showed. The door itself was on the last side. Walis had also installed an EinfachLift strap on its back wall, to allow a single man to carry its massive weight.

Seeing an Abyssal Door assembled before me for the first time, I was disappointed to see it lacking the intricacy and the craftsmanship evident in the illustrations Trauerwalder paid me to advertise. In the exhibition at the Lord’s Hall of Chateau Hoch, next to radiant contraptions of silver and gold, tin and steel, with their spinning cogs and flashing glass, it appeared no more than a worn cabinet. 

“Why does it smell like this?” I asked Walis a few hours into the first day of the retreat. We had both spent the better part of the morning idling beside it, waiting for the occasional benefactor to afford us a glance. Our luck proved insufficient; it was enough for any potential investor to see Walis sitting, mouth agape in a yawn, to deter them from approaching us.

“Smells like what?”

“Garlic, perfume,” I clarified.

“So it can work properly.”

I avoided the indignity of asking again.

“I wish to go and speak with Lady Moorhaus” I started, “Of the landed gentry here, her lands are by far the most vast, and I think she would be happy to invest.”

Walis nodded before stretching and yawning, and so I got up to leave him. But I stopped, and looking at him, said, “Could you stand up? It sends a bad message to investors to see you sitting like that, yawning and, well... lazy.”

He did. I turned to leave, but then he spoke.

“Could you ask the kitchen for some garlic on your way back? We’re running out.”

“Good sir, you are not my manager. You do not prescribe orders to one such as I. You can go yourself when I’m back,” I replied, more harshly than I’d intended. Then again, his lax attitude to our quest had irritated me.

The Moorhaus group was not exhibiting in the Lord’s Hall, so I had to search for Lady Moorhaus in the garden, the parlors, and the alcoves. Since our exhibit was positioned far from the door, this necessitated that I pass by other exhibitors. 

One of the exhibited innovations was a living horse. Shorn of both rear hooves, its exhibitor had replaced them with wooden wheels the likes of which children enjoyed in play. The pus that oozed from the horse’s stubs did not seem to indicate health. 

A bustling stand caught my eye, but the trinket they were demonstrating was a trifle and nothing more. Past but Not Lost, or “PBNL” in short, was a pocketwatch that could rewind time. It sounded revolutionary until I requested a demonstration, and the staff present admitted it currently only works on a few specific, inanimate objects. They proceeded to rewind time for a candle, and sure enough, the wax pooled by its foundation oozed back up its shaft to lengthen it.

After the horse and the pocketwatch, I passed by a few smaller exhibits. A snail-manufacturing box was followed by a room-in-a-locket (I made a mental note to send Walis there later). Afterward, a self-mining pickaxe, a self-tilling hoe, and self-rising flour - it appeared that it was a year for automation at Inventors&Investors. When I passed the fourth exhibit demonstrating a variation on Jack’s Beanstalk Ladder, I decided that I had reached the part of the hall where creative bankruptcy roosted, and that it would be safe to ignore the rest of the exhibits.

I found Lady Moorhaus occupied. Numerous guests and inventors fawned over her in the garden. “Did you register for an appointment with her ladyship?” asked one of her young cupbearers, decorating his face with a fabricated smile. 

“I have not.”

“Well,” he raised his eyebrows - in empathy or skepticism, I could not say - “Her ladyship is rather pre-engaged for the duration of the retreat, I could tell her scribe to add you to her illustrious waitlist, and if there’s an opening, I’ll send for you?” 

“I think this works...” I replied with a smile. I expected this would not happen, but it would not do to display defeat. Before leaving, I announced loudly, so that her ladyship would hear me, “I would be happy to take her ladyship to visit Lord Trauerwalder at Trauerwald - it would only take a few minutes!” 

Silence fell on the assembly until a few of the fawning inventors chuckled. Some of her ladyship’s noble guests merely frowned. Muttered words like “chaff” and “desperate” caught up to me as I took my leave.

Disheartened and disappointed, nothing could have prepared me for the sight that awaited me as I returned to the Lord’s Hall to resume my post by the Abyssal Door’s side. By all rights, I ought to have felt elated that Walis had managed to generate such interest in our product as to necessitate a queue, but all I felt was jealousy. Even a lowly ingenieur, lacking all manner of social conduct, had outdone me at my role. When he saw me approaching, Walis mouthed “Garlic!”, and realizing that my shame is of secondary consideration to securing funding, I rushed to the kitchen and fetched him a box of stink.

“Ah! Now we may begin! Come, my boy, bring forth the garlic.” 

Boy? ... Boy?!

Gritting my teeth, I handed him the box. Walis unlocked the Abyssal Door with a key from his pocket. He opened it, only to disappear behind a curtain inside. A moment later, he emerged. 

“Very well, who goes first?” he asked. A knight in a doublet displaying a white swan on a field of blue stepped forth. “It shall be I,” he announced.

“Walis,” I interrupted, and he frowned. I went to stand beside him and whispered, “Would you mind letting me know what is going on?”

“I’m demonstrating our Abyssal Door to this fine assembly, of course! Lord Trauerwalder has prepared a lavish lunch at Trauerwald, and so what better opportunity to demonstrate our product!” he announced, as ostentatiously as the most well-traveled of bards. He then leaned over to me. “The name of PBNL’s inventor is Voss, if he doesn’t join the demonstration, we came here for nothing. Get him here with his pocketwatch, quickly!” he whispered. 

Having determined that I would conduct myself most professionally, I ignored his demeaning attitude and hastened to PBNL’s exhibit.

“Mr. Voss?” I asked the mound of wrinkles who sat hunched on a stool by their exhibit. He did not answer. Upon closer inspection, he seemed to be snoozing. I gently tapped his shoulder, and two wrinkles under his forehead parted to reveal milky-white eyes. “Mr Voss! The demonstration of our Abyssal Door is underway! I was told to chaperone you to our exhibit.”

“Ah, yes. Lord Trauerwalder visited me. I cannot see... could you help me there?” 

If Trauerwalder had indeed come here, why did I not know of it? A sinking feeling, warm and heavy, settled in my stomach.

From about a dozen guests, now half remained by our door. Walis grinned as he saw me and Voss approaching. “My honored guests, I must provide precedence to this honored inventor. Come, good sir.”

Walis took Voss from my arm, and they walked through the doorway. The Abyssal Door closed. A few seconds later, the sound of a thousand small bells, chiming in succession, erupted from the standing coffin. Silence then. The door opened again, and out marched Walis. His face was red, and fury appeared to have made his eyes even smaller. He looked across the small crowd until he settled his gaze on me. 

“Honored guests, this demonstration is over. Trauerwald’s Abyssal Door has malfunctioned and will require lengthy maintenance,” Walis declared, no longer bothering with the facade of showmanship. “Boy, come,” he motioned for me as our guests dispersed in incredulity. 

“I am not your boy. I am Trauerwalder’s marketi-” I began, but he interrupted.

“Shut up, you failed a simple task. I asked you to bring Voss with his pocketwatch. You brought only the man, and I have no use for the man alone.”

“You cannot speak to me thusly - Lord Trauerwalder will hear of this.”

Walis surveyed me for a few long seconds, and the sinking feeling that had settled in my stomach was ousted by something more sinister. “He already has. I am Otto Trauerwalder. If you want to keep your position, for which I pay you handsomely, you will help me now.”

~ 

Trauerwalder insisted that we leave the Lord’s Hall after everyone else. I was too ashamed to argue, and so, come nightfall, I found the Abyssal Door strapped to my back. Its weight felt uneven, as if something inside was in constant motion. Trauerwalder walked before me. From the chateau, we descended into town. After passing the bridge over the Bode, Trauerwalder took a turn that brought us down to the banks of the dark river. The water gushed, never foaming, for the river was deep, and the only reflections on its face were dancing ribbons of light from distant lampposts. 

“My Lord, what are we doing here?” 

“Well,” Trauerwalder sighed. “I am in a bit of a quandary, you see. I need your advice,” he stepped closer to me.

“Anything, my Lord!”

“You see, if you were to look inside that thing on your back, you would find seven corpses,” he smiled, and I took his remark to be a jest, so I chuckled.

“You laugh? Well, the “Abyssal Door” is nothing more than a lie. A facade. No magic or science of mine can make it a reality. I needed it for taking Voss’ pocketwatch, so I could reverse-engineer it and make it work on organic matter.”

I was weary of the day, and his jest had gone on long enough.

“I have learned my lesson, my lord, but I must admit, I find this jest in poor taste.”

“The only thing anyone has found inside that coffin is death. By strangling, to be precise. Another form of suffocation will have to do for you.”

He pushed me. The river’s embrace was as cold as death.