"No, Pearl!" Theodore Lennox thundered down the hall, pushing aside his little sister. His face was the color and consistency of hot coals, and probably just as dangerous. His mind was focused on one problem, one unbelievable, inconceivable, completely ludicrous problem, and he was driven to find the source of it. He slammed his way through the library to his brother's study.
Pearl remained standing aside where Theo left her, pale shock frozen on her face. Her eyes were so wide with fright they looked as if made of glass.
Corran looked up, surprised, as Theodore smashed his way through the door. He had been engrossed in a novel he recently discovered buried in a dusty corner of the library; penned by a Henrietta P. Glosier of New England. Now he dropped the book and stared up into his elder brother's fuming red face.
Theodore raised a shaking finger and stabbed it at Corran. "Y-you--" He spat out. He struggled to swallow.
"Theo," Corran began, realizing slowly, and with growing horror, what this anger pertained to.
"Shut up!" Theodore roared. Every muscle in his body quivered visibly with his fury. Unexpectedly, he fell to his knees, shaking the small bits of furniture and book shelves. His head fell down against his chest as though his neck could no longer bear the weight and his arms fell limp to his sides.
"Theo, in God's name, please," Corran stood slowly and made to approach him.
"Don't," Theodore whispered, "even come near me."
Corran couldn't fathom how he was in this position. He assumed his father had approached his eldest son with the disturbing news weeks ago. It was quite apparent now that it hadn't happened. For the first time in his life, Corran cursed his father's actions. That Sir Edward hadn't informed Theodore of his disinheritance in favor of the younger Lennox was like a death sentence to their brotherhood.
Dear God, help me, Corran whispered, almost inaudibly.
Theodore slowly raised his head and Corran saw with a pain to his chest the despair on his brother's face.
"So, that's it," Theodore said, still in that horrid rasp of a whisper, "I'm finished. There's nothing left! How--" his eyes widened in a mad stare, "could you finish me off like this?"
Corran stood quite still.
He had no idea what words he should say, how he could proceed. He was aware, with a new and nasty reminder like a shock to his nerves, what this meant to Theo's future. With no inheritance to speak of, he was practically disowned from the family name. He had virtually nothing beside his father's and younger brother's good will.
Theo stood up. "I suppose you'll say I brought this on myself? My bad habits, my vices, I did this. It's father's last stand against me, isn't it?"
Corran remained still and silent. He was clenching is jaw so tightly he thought it might shatter.
Theodore gazed at his brother for another instant, then turned and swiftly left the room. Corran could hear his heavy footsteps down the tiled hall.
A moment later, Pearl stood in the doorway Theo had just vacated. She clutched a small green book to her chest. To Corran, she looked like a ghost of a thing, her round, pale face blending into her pale hair which fell limply against her pale dress. Her eyes looked wild with confusion and alarm. She was at that moment, the very picture of a pearl; only not the poetic version she was named for. Corran was reminded suddenly of part of a Gnostic text he'd once read, The Hymn of the Pearl:
"When, a quite little child, I was dwelling
In the House of my Father’s Kingdom,
And in the wealth and the glories
Of my Up-bringers I was delighting,
From the East, our Home, my Parents
Forth-sent me with journey-provision.
Indeed from the wealth of our Treasure,
They bound up for me a load.
Large was it, yet was it so light
That all alone I could bear it.
Gold from the Land of Beth-Ellaya,
Silver from Gazak the Great,
Chalcedonies of India,
Iris-hued Opals from Kãshan.
They girt me with Adamant also
That hath power to cut even iron.
My Glorious Robe they took off me
Which in their love they had wrought me,
And my Purple Mantle also
Which was woven to match with my stature.
And with me They made a compact;
In my heart wrote it, not to forget it:
'If thou goest down into Egypt,
And thence thou bring’st the one Pearl --
'The Pearl that lies in the Sea,
Hard by the loud-breathing Serpent --
'Then shalt Thou put on thy Robe
And thy Mantle that goeth upon it,
'And with thy Brother, Our Second,
Shalt thou be Heir in our Kingdom.'"
In the House of my Father’s Kingdom,
And in the wealth and the glories
Of my Up-bringers I was delighting,
From the East, our Home, my Parents
Forth-sent me with journey-provision.
Indeed from the wealth of our Treasure,
They bound up for me a load.
Large was it, yet was it so light
That all alone I could bear it.
Gold from the Land of Beth-Ellaya,
Silver from Gazak the Great,
Chalcedonies of India,
Iris-hued Opals from Kãshan.
They girt me with Adamant also
That hath power to cut even iron.
My Glorious Robe they took off me
Which in their love they had wrought me,
And my Purple Mantle also
Which was woven to match with my stature.
And with me They made a compact;
In my heart wrote it, not to forget it:
'If thou goest down into Egypt,
And thence thou bring’st the one Pearl --
'The Pearl that lies in the Sea,
Hard by the loud-breathing Serpent --
'Then shalt Thou put on thy Robe
And thy Mantle that goeth upon it,
'And with thy Brother, Our Second,
Shalt thou be Heir in our Kingdom.'"
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