Ironwood
was dead, to begin with. As dead as a doornail. The only person who mourned his
passing and succeeded him in his work was his business partner, Ebenezer Ozpin.
He and Ironwood had been friends though, in the shallowest of terms, on the
basest of levels. Ozpin not being disturbed at Ironwood’s passing was proof of
this. He honored him because no one else would. But once the funeral was over,
Ozpin went back to his life and forgot Ironwood for he was dead.
Despite
his callous response to Ironwood’s death, Ozpin didn’t bother to paint over the
sign that stood over the establishment known as Ironwood & Ozpin. He knew
that with time, the weather would take it off. That option was cheap, and Ozpin
was a patient man except when it came to those who were late paying their
commissions. Upon them he exacted no mercy and didn’t care if the Grimm would
eventually eat up settlers who couldn’t afford to pay for the huntsmen that
Ozpin sourced.
When
it came to business, Ozpin was a squeezing, wrenching, clutching, apathetic,
old miser. He was hard, and sharp as flint. And not much more could be said for
his personal life other than he was secret, self-contained, and as solitary as
an oyster. His critics said he could’ve made a summer home of Mantle for his
personality was chillier than the tundra and didn’t warm a degree at any time
of the year, not even for that jolliest of feasts, Christmas.
Ozpin
entered his office, the one thing he kept colder than himself and saw his
clerk, Taiyang Cratchit, trying to keep his ink liquid by cupping his hands
around his inkwell lest it should freeze. Taiyang was a strapping man of middle
age, married with two daughters. He was better suited to work as a huntsman,
but for the sake of his family, he had chosen to become Ozpin’s clerk which
paid barely better than that as one of the sourced huntsmen, but for the sake
of his family, Tai would do anything.
Ozpin
didn’t bother to greet Tai or give an explanation of his whereabouts. What
Ozpin did when he was away on business was his business, and Tai’s business was
to work on the ledgers. Ozpin merely pulled off his great coat and hung it up
before going to his desk and beginning his work.
While
it was easy to assume Ozpin had no light or warmth in his life, that assumption
would be false because there was one source in the form of his nephew Qrow who
bounded through the door at that very minute. “Merry Christmas, uncle!” he said
in a whisky voice. “Gods save you!”
Ozpin
looked up over the rim of his glasses. “Bah! Humbug!”
“Christmas
a humbug?” said Qrow. “Surely you don’t mean that, uncle.”
“I’m
sure I do. What right do I have to be merry at Christmas? What right do you
have? There’s nothing so repulsive in this world as being poor, and yet people
fritter their money away on goods they can’t afford every year at this time.
And then they complain when they can’t afford to pay the huntsmen I hire out.
So, I ask you, nephew, what reason do you have to be merry at Christmas? You’re
poor enough.”
“By
that logic, uncle, what reason do you have to be miserable? You’re rich enough.
Right be damned!”
“Humbug
nonetheless!”
“Oh,
don’t be cross, uncle. I came to share the spirits of good cheer of the season
with you.”
“Good
cheer? Humbug! Everyone is in a good cheer at this time of year only to find
themselves a year older and not an hour richer. If I could work my will, every
idiot that went around with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips would be boiled with
his pudding and fed to the Grimm!”
“Uncle!”
said Qrow, taking a step back.
“You
keep Christmas in your way, Qrow, and I’ll keep it in mine.”
“But
you don’t keep it.”
“Then
let me leave it alone all the same.”
“While
it is true that Christmas has never put any spare lien in my pocket, I believe
it has done me good, will do me good, and I say, Gods bless it!”
Tai
applauded.
“You’re
one to speak, Cratchit,” said Ozpin. “With as little as you make, it’s a wonder
you’re able to celebrate anything.”
Tai
returned to his work.
“You
shouldn’t abuse Tai like that, uncle. Please don’t be cross with him for
agreeing with me. I know! Why don’t you come and have Christmas dinner with me
and Winter tomorrow?”
“Why
ever did you get married?”
“Why?
Because I fell in love.”
Ozpin
cackled. “That’s the only thing sillier than a ‘Merry Christmas.’ Good
afternoon.”
Qrow’s
face fell. “I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have
never had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial
in homage to Christmas, and I will keep making the trial for the sake of my
Christmas humor. So a Merry Christmas, uncle! And a Happy New Year!”
“Merry
Christmas,” said Tai.
“Merry
Christmas,” replied Qrow. “And give my best to your wife and daughters,” he
said, exiting.
“Humbug,”
muttered Ozpin under his breath at his nephew’s departure.
With
Qrow and the stench of his whisky gone, Ozpin settled into his bookkeeping as
his office door once more opened. In stepped two Faunus; one was a gigantic
male, at least twice as tall and wide as the normal man, and the other was a
woman much shorter and smaller than he. Both were cats as indicated by his
claws and her cat ears.
“Mr.
Ironwood, I presume,” said the male Faunus in a deep gruff voice.
“Ironwood
is dead,” corrected Ozpin. “He’s been dead these seven Christmas Eves ago.”
“Oh.
We’re terribly sad to hear that,” said the woman.
“Why?
Are you relatives?”
The
two Faunus looked at each other. “No,” said the man.
“Then
what’s your business with me?”
“Let
me introduce myself. I am Ghira Belladonna. This is my wife Kali. At this
festive time of year, it is more than usually desirable that we make some provision
for the poor and underprivileged who suffer greatly during this time of year.
Many are in want of common necessities.”
“Some
of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and
some means of warmth,” explained Kali.
“We
choose this time of year because it is often a time when want is keenly felt
and abundance rejoices.”
“I’m
sure Mr. Ironwood’s liberality and charity is well represented in his surviving
partner,” prodded Kali with a smile. “What shall we put you down for?”
Ozpin
sneered. “Are there no prisons?”
Kali
and Ghira exchanged looks. “Plenty of prisons, sir,” replied Ghira.
“And
the workhouses? Are they still in operation?”
“They
are indeed,” explained Kali grieved. “I wish I could say they were not.”
“Oh,
good,” said Ozpin. “I was afraid from what you said something had happened to
them to stop them in their useful purpose.”
“If
you please, sir,” begged Kali. “They are not fit to furnish cheer of mind or
body to the multitude. So, what may we put you down for?”
“Nothing.”
Ghira
and Kali’s eyes shifted until Ghira had a thought. “Ah, you wish to remain
anonymous?”
“I
wish to be left alone! I don’t make myself merry at Christmas and I cannot
afford to make idle people merry. I support the establishments I have mentioned
through my taxes. Those who are badly off must go there.”
“But
many can’t go there,” said Ghira.
“Many
would rather die!” said Kali.
“If
they would rather die, then they had better do it, and decrease the surplus
population! Good afternoon!”
Ghira
and Kali recoiled; Ghira was in shock, but Kali was wholly offended. “You sir
are the most odious person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting! Why, if
my own daughter had to live out in this, I would do everything in my power to
shield her from it!”
“Thus
is your business,” replied Ozpin. “Not mine.”
Seeing
that the cause was lost, Ghira and Kali withdrew though Kali’s curses could be
heard from outside the office.
Ozpin
believed himself rid of all the foolishness of the day for his patience had
been worn to its fullest extent. He thought he could finally get some work down
when two voices singing a chorus of “Good, Wise King of Vale” reached his ears.
“What the devil…?”
Ozpin
crossed to his front door and ripped it open. There he found two street
urchins. Both were Faunus, a young male with a monkey tail and a young female
with cat ears. “What do you want?!” he growled to the two.
“Please,
sir,” said the cat Faunus, “Christmas blessings upon you and your business.”
“And
all the more blessings for offering us a few lien!” said the monkey-tailed one,
holding up his hands.
“Begone!”
Ozpin roared, drawing his cane. He swung it with all his might, but the two
Faunus managed to dodge it, one leaving behind a shadow copy of herself.
“Whoa!”
said the lad. “What a dusty, old miser!”
“We’re
just looking for some goodwill!” said the lass.
“Yeah!
A pox on you!”
Ozpin
growled, “A pox on Christmas!” before closing the door. Ozpin sighed and
returned to his desk where for several hours he was able to get some real work
done.
Eventually,
the hour to close for the night arrived. Ozpin left his chair and opened his
safe to move all the lien he had been counting into it. “Cratchit!” he called.
“It’s closing time. Come here and get your week’s wages.”
Tai
bounded out of his desk, snuffing his candle with his finger and putting his
hat on before presenting himself to Ozpin.
As
Ozpin counted out his lien, he said with a growl, “I suppose you’ll want all
day off tomorrow.”
“If
it’s convenient, sir.”
“No,
it is not convenient, sir. And it’s not fair, but if I was to stop fifteen
hundred lien for it, you’d think yourself abused, wouldn’t you? And yet, you
don’t think me abused for paying a day’s wages for no work.”
“It’s
only once a day, sir.”
“That’s
a poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December.
Fortunately for you, all other business will be closed and I don’t want to
waste the money on coal and candles to open for a day where we won’t get
anything done. Take the whole day, but be here all the earlier the next morning!”
“Yes,
sir. I will.”
“Good.”
Ozpin gave Tai his pay and swept on his overcoat before leaving.
Tai
almost jumped for joy. He rarely had any days off, so having one meant the
world to him especially when it meant he got to share it with his beautiful
wife and daughters. He almost skipped home, but for his cargo shorts, he was
forced to run to beat the cold from consuming him.
Ozpin
stopped at a dank, old tavern for a dank, old dinner before heading home. His
house, inherited from Ironwood, was far and tucked away from the vulgar and
common streets of Vale. There was nothing particularly special about the street
Ozpin lived on except for the unimaginable darkness of it matched the
environment of his heart.
Approaching
his home, Ozpin went to the door to unlock it and found his attention drawn to
the knocker. There was nothing peculiar about it except its size and the fact
that it now resembled Ironwood’s face. The face was not angry or sad, but
looked exactly as Ozpin remembered Ironwood: a hard, square face with little
blue eyes and stress marks along his cheeks and below his eyes. His hair was
dark and combed over on top and grey and short on the sides. Ironwood had had a
face more akin to an army general than a businessman and that was the face
Ozpin saw. It even had Ironwood’s neurotransmitter above his right eyebrow that
helped him to control the cybernetic half of his body, a detail Ozpin often
forgot. But besides the unpleasant vision of seeing a face of a man long dead,
the face possessed a horrible color that seemed to be in spite of its
expression and beyond its control rather than a part of it.
As
Ozpin stared, the face disappeared with a faint, “Oz…” in Ironwood’s deep
voice. Though Ozpin was not a man of superstitions or of legends, the
phenomenon did spook him enough to enter his house as quickly as possible, lock
the door, and then proceed to search his rooms. Ozpin looked through every room
in the pitch black; darkness was cheap and he liked it. His old huntsman senses
were also attuned to the darkness and allowed him to ambush any unsuspecting
fellow, but as he crept around, cane raised, he found no sign of anybody having
been there. All was well.
Satisfied
with his search, Ozpin retired to his quarters where he double bolted the door
to arm himself against surprise and changed into his dressing gown and
slippers. He sat close to his fireplace so it could warm him without using too
much fuel on such a bitter night. Ozpin sank into his chair and drank a mug of
hot chocolate, one of the few pleasures in his miserable life.
As
Ozpin sat, he heard a faint twinkle. His head went up and his eyes fell upon an
old bell hanging in his room for some long-forgotten purpose. Once his gaze
fell upon it, it stopped ringing. Ozpin’s eyes narrowed, and he went back to
his hot chocolate. But then, the bell started ringing again with more vigor.
Ozpin turned his head up and was forced to see it ring without provocation.
Once it stopped, he proclaimed “Humbug!” in a louder than needed voice.
He
returned to his hot chocolate, but found his hand shaking. He had to use his
other hand to hold his first still. But as the mug reached his lips, the bell started
ringing again with even more fervor. Ozpin’s color changed and his lip
trembled. He didn’t know how long the bell rang for, but he would have traded
anything to have it ring rather than have it be succeeded by the sound that
came next, that of clinking chains.
Ozpin
could hear the chains clatter from his ground floor and move up his stairwell
accompanied by a heavy foot and the clanging of metallic objects. The sounds
reached his door, and Ozpin stood, drawing his cane. “It’s humbug! I won’t
believe it!” But Ozpin had great difficulty convincing himself when without pause
a grey shape walked through the door in the visage of Ironwood.
“Ironwood’s
ghost?!”
The
spectre appeared to Ozpin exactly as he remembered Ironwood. He wore an
overcoat, undercoat, sweater, necktie, long pants tucked into his boots and one
glove on his right hand. But there were two major differences between this
Ironwood and the one Ozpin remembered: this one was a solid grey color, and
cinched around his waist, wrapped around him like a tail, was a great chain
from which hung lockboxes, keys, padlocks, and ledgers.
Though
Ozpin was scared, to now see what haunted him, he couldn’t believe it with his
own eyes. He lowered his cane. “What do you want?” he said after a pause.
“Much,”
replied the shade.
“Who
are you?”
“Ask
me who I was, Oz.”
“Who
were you then?”
“In
life, I was your partner, Jacob Ironwood.”
Ozpin
gripped his cane tightly. “Can you sit down?”
“I
can.”
“Do
it, then!” demanded Ozpin, taking his chair.
The
ghost walked to the fire place, making enough noise to wake the dead with every
step. He drew a chair next to him, but rather than sit in, he sat beside it in
open air. Ozpin stared, but then cleared his throat.
“You
don’t believe in me,” said the ghost.
“I
don’t.”
“Why
do you do doubt your senses?”
“Because,”
began Ozpin, “a little thing can affect them—make them cheat. I’ve had a slight
stomach disorder of late. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of
mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. Aye, there's
more of gravy than a grave about you!”
The
ghost inhaled sharply and rose into the air. With a great wail it grabbed a
part of its chain with each hand and beat the objects together several times.
Ozpin
fell upon his knees, holding up his hands, and screaming out of fright.
“Do
you believe in me now?!”
“I do,
I do. I must, but why do you torment me?!”
“It is
required of every man,” explained the shade, “that the spirit within him should
walk among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide. And if that spirit doesn’t
go forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander
through the world and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth,
and turned to happiness!”
“That
terrible chain!” said Ozpin. “Why do you wear it?”
“I wear the chain I forged in life,” said
the ghost. “I made it link by link and yard by yard. I forged it through my
choices and it is by my choice that I wore it. You should know of what I speak.
You yourself wear a chain so ponderous and mighty that it is as heavy and as
long as these seven Christmas Eves ago.”
“Jacob!”
said Ozpin, trembling. “Speak comfort to me, Jacob. Speak comfort to me!”
“I
have none to give. Comfort comes from others and is conveyed by other ministers
to other kinds of men than you. Nor can I tell what I would like. I’m only
allowed a little more. All I can say is that I cannot rest in the afterlife as
my spirit never walked beyond the narrow limits of our office.
“Oh, captive,
bound, and double-ironed not to know that ages of incessant labor that this
earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible can be
developed. Not to know that any spirit working in its little sphere will find
its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no
space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Oh, but I
was!”
“But
you were always a good man of business, Jacob,” said Ozpin. “That must account
for something.”
“Business?!”
cried the spirit, shaking with fury. “Mankind was my business! The common
welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were all
my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive
ocean of my business!”
The
spirit looked at its chains, at the lockboxes and keys, with a great regret.
“At
this time of year,” began the spectre, “I suffer the most. Why did I walk
through the crowds with my eyes turned down and never raise them to see what
was right before me?! What mercy or lecture had I missed to now suffer this?!”
Ozpin
began to quake with fear at the spirits lamentations knowing full well his own
blindness.
“Hear
me!” cried Ironwood. “My time is nearly up. I am here tonight to warn you that
you yet have a chance and hope of escaping my fate; a chance and hope of my
procuring, Oz.”
“You were
always a good friend to me,” said Ozpin.
“You
will be haunted by three ghosts!”
Ozpin’s
eyebrows rose and the color drained even further from his face. “Is that the
chance and hope you mentioned?”
“It
is.”
“I-I’d
rather not.”
“Without
their visits, you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first when the
bell tolls one.”
“Couldn’t
I take them all at once and be done with it?” begged Ozpin.
“Expect
the second when the bell tolls two. The third will arrive in her own time. Look
to see me no more, and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed
between us!”
“There
must be another way,” implored Ozpin, raising his arm.
The
spirit wrapped its chain around his arm and by some great upheaval, lifted him
into the air. The two flew back to the window where it opened itself and
allowed them into the chilly night sky as well as some fresh hell. All about
Ozpin were phantoms and other shadows wandering hither and thither in useless
haste, moaning as they went. All were bound by chains, employed by frightful
countenances far worse than any Grimm that walked the face of Remnant. Many of
the spectres were known personally to Ozpin. One he saw watched over a wretched
woman, sitting in the gutter with a crying infant in her arms. The ghost clung
to its safe desperately trying to pry it open but couldn’t.
As
Ozpin looked on at the horrible sight, by some strange magic unknown to him, he
was able to see across Remnant and see even more shades out in the unsettled
territories between kingdoms. These looked more like huntsmen and indeed they
were as their weapons were clasped to their bodies, unable to be drawn that the
huntsmen may slaughter the Grimm preying on the people.
The
misery with them all was that they sought to interfere for goodness’ sake in
human matters, but they had lost the power to do so. Their misery ground Ozpin’s
mind dull and froze his heart.
Whether
these shades faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, Ozpin could not tell.
But they and their spirit voices faded altogether, and the night became as it
had been.
Ozpin found himself,
standing next to the window. He quickly shut it. Then he dashed to the door he
had seen the ghost enter through; it was whole and unscathed. Ozpin tried to
say, “Humbug!” but the word would not come. Thinking it better he should retire
to bed, he did so and fell asleep instantly.
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***
More About Bryan C. Laesch:My Works:
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