Ebony Castle

The bright light made it hard to see clearly, but the white bird was large, with a long neck. Its wings, spread wide, looked sturdy enough to support a person. When the bird disappeared beyond the edge of the forest, Ulysses barked a few more times before circling the fountain aimlessly.

“Eden!”

Jean’s voice called out from the open kitchen window.

“Can you come here for a moment?”

“Yes!”

Jean, wearing oven mitts, handed out a small white plate.

“The bread just came out of the oven. Want to try some?”

“Yes, I’d love to.”

The warm oven air and the fragrant smell drifted through the window. Doha picked up a fork and speared a piece of bread from the plate on the windowsill. The bread was warm against his lips, and steam rose from it.

“It has carrots and pumpkin in it,” Jean said, watching Doha eat.

“It’s a variation of French carrot cake.”

“It’s delicious.”

“Isn’t it? The carrots are from the garden.”

Doha ate three more soft pieces in a row and took the mug of milk Jean handed him. It had only been a couple of hours since lunch, but being outside seemed to have made him hungry again. It was yesterday morning when his hunger had even woken Tristan. Today wasn’t as bad, but as soon as he woke up in Tristan’s bed, he had gone down to the kitchen where Jean was. Now that his appetite was back, his body seemed to demand endless nourishment to make up for the time he hadn’t eaten. Even during meals, he was eating so much that Tristan would glance at him occasionally.

“Aren’t you cold out there?” Jean asked as he cut more bread to refill Doha’s plate.

“If you keep playing with the dog too much, it’ll spoil him. You should finish eating inside.”

“Yes, I was about to come in anyway.”

Though he had dressed warmly, he was beginning to feel a slight chill. Doha gave Ulysses, who was still by the fountain, one more pat and admired the dog’s wagging tail before heading back into the house. He switched to his indoor slippers, which he had left by the garden door, and made his way to the kitchen. Jean had already set out a plate with more bread and a mug on the counter.

“You’ll be eating dinner with Mr. Locke again today, right?” Jean asked as he hung up his oven mitts.

“I don’t mind either way.”

“Then let’s all eat together. There’s no reason to eat separately now that you’re not just having soup.”

The kitchen was warm from the oven’s heat. Jean seemed to have already started preparing dinner, as a tall pot was boiling on the stove.

“It’s great to have someone like you, an ordinary person, to give me honest feedback on the food. Mr. Locke is too much of a gourmet, and I’ve been needing someone with a more general palate.”

“Isn’t Mr. Lowell and Ms. Hazel around?”

“Don’t even mention them. No matter what I serve them, they just eat it in silence with robotic expressions.”

Through the window, Ulysses could be seen happily running around the garden.

“The idea that

affects even the digestive system… it’s horrifying, now that I think about it.”

Having finished cleaning up the oven, Jean sat down across from Doha at the counter and shook his head.

“At least that’s being treated, so that’s good news. Now, keep eating and drink more milk. From now on, if you want to eat something, just let me know right away.”

Jean poured more milk into the mug. It didn’t seem like he had any intention of scolding Doha for eating three full meals a day plus multiple snacks in the afternoon.

Hazel, who had just entered the kitchen and caught the tail end of the conversation, commented, “I’m glad you finally have a friend, Jean.”

“What a hurtful thing to say.”

“Why don’t you set up the tea tray? It needs to go up to the CEO.”

“Oh, is it already that time?”

Jean got off the chair and opened the pantry. While he boiled water and steeped the tea, Hazel stood nearby in her uniform.

Doha hesitated a few times before speaking to her. “Ms. Myers.”

“Yes?”

“Yesterday… I think I touched something without permission. I’m sorry.”

“What item are you referring to?”

Doha glanced toward the pantry where the ramen had been stored and answered, “The

.”

“Ah.”

Hazel blinked, and her briefly disturbed expression quickly returned to its usual state.

“I did hear from Jean that you ate it. It’s fine; it was just instant noodles.”

“Still…”

“The CEO instructed us yesterday to serve you whatever food you want immediately, so feel free to have some whenever you like.”

“I only eat things like that back in London.”

Jean interjected, placing a silver tea tray on the counter. “If you’re hungry, just wake me up. Even if it’s the middle of the night, I’ll make you something.”

A teapot covered by a cozy and a beautifully patterned cup were set on the tray. On a matching plate were the carrot bread Doha had just eaten and a couple of neatly cut sandwiches. Hazel, reaching for the tray, stopped and looked back at Doha.

“If you’re really sorry, would you do me a favor?”

“Of course, anything.”

Hazel gestured to the tea tray. “Could you take this up to the CEO instead of me? He should be in the library right now.”

“…To Mr. Locke?”

“Yes. The CEO seems to be… in a bad mood today.”

“When I saw him last night, he didn’t seem that way…”

Doha recalled Tristan in the bedroom, who hadn’t seemed particularly different than usual. He hadn’t seen him this morning since he left the room early, so he couldn’t say for sure, but there hadn’t been anything noticeably off.

The thought of seeing him in the middle of the day weighed on Doha’s mind, but he had already agreed. He stood up. “You said he’s in the library?”

“Yes. If you’re not sure where it is, I can show you.”

“No, I know. I’ll be back.”

It seemed like she was sending him to face Tristan Locke’s bad mood in her place. A heavy price to pay for eating one cup of ramen.

“Are you sure you can carry the tray?” Jean asked with concern.

“Yes, I think I can.”

“Be careful; it’s heavy.”

With help from Hazel and Jean, Doha balanced the tea tray in both arms. As he tested his grip by walking a few steps, he felt confident he could manage.

“Thank you,” Hazel said, escorting him to the threshold of the foyer.

“You’re welcome.”

Slowly, he ascended the stairs. Taking each step carefully to avoid dropping the tray, he eventually reached the second-floor hallway.

Since his first day, Doha hadn’t been to the library, but he remembered the way. Unlike that day, the door was closed. With the tray in hand, he turned his body slightly and knocked with one of the tray’s corners.

There was no response from inside. After a moment of listening, Doha used one finger to cautiously pull the door handle.

Through the opening, the library, bathed in golden light, came into view. Sunlight poured in all the way up to the dome-shaped ceiling. By the window with the view of the dense forest, an armchair was placed. In the chair sat a man, partially turned away, with an open book of soft white paper resting on his lap. Whether it was the glimmer of the light or the stillness, the scene looked like a painting hanging on a gallery wall. Doha took a few steps inside and stopped.

The man spoke without turning. “Just leave it.”

His voice, mistaking Doha for someone else, was clipped and curt—unlike his usual tone.

It seemed the rumor about his bad mood was true. Doha hesitated awkwardly. Only then did Tristan Locke turn his head and notice Doha standing in the library.

“Why are you the one carrying that?” he asked.

“Please enjoy it while it’s still warm,” Doha said, placing the tray on a nearby low table. His fingers hurt from gripping the corners too tightly.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Wait.”

Tristan stopped him just as Doha was about to leave. His storm-gray eyes were focused on him.

“Didn’t you say you came here to find a book?”

“…Yes. But I can come back later.”

“Because you think you’ll disturb me?”

There was a sharp edge hidden in his gentle voice.

“Yes.”

Having answered honestly, Doha watched as Tristan, who had been quietly observing him, rose from his seat.

“Since you’re already here, let me explain things. You’ll have a hard time finding what you want on your own.”

“…Alright.”

Tristan ignored the tea tray and crossed the library to the center of the circular room.

“Turn 45 degrees to the right.”

“…Like this?”

“Yes. From where you’re looking now, the shelves on the right contain novels, poetry, plays, art books, and autobiographies. They’re arranged chronologically, not alphabetically, so it can be a bit confusing.”

“…Okay.”

“On the opposite side are natural sciences, medicine, linguistics, and philosophy. There are a few exceptions, but that’s the general layout. The small bookcase by the window holds personal records—don’t touch those. And the second floor…”

His eyes drifted toward the spiral staircase that wrapped around the circular wall.

“You might like it. The shelves on the right are filled with scores and music-related books. For instance, records on Mahler’s symphonies conducted by Bruno Walter are upstairs, but Walter’s biography of Mahler is downstairs. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Aside from that, the second floor has classical works in Greek and Latin. Most are original texts, so you won’t need to bother with them. After you’re done, put the books back where they belong or leave them on the desk if you forget.”

“Understood.”

Doha nodded, glancing up at the countless books on the second floor. The tea in the round teapot on the table was cooling. Without another word, Tristan returned to the window and picked up his book.

Doha watched his back for a moment before stepping onto the first stair leading to the second floor. Though it wasn’t entirely separated from the space Tristan occupied, the difference in height made him feel slightly more at ease.

Most of the books on the old, ornate shelves were bound in leather and appeared to be quite aged. Many didn’t even have titles on their spines. Doha pulled out a small book, looked inside, and then leaned against the railing, beginning to read. The paper was dry and crinkled to the touch, carrying the distinct smell of old books.

The books next to Doha were all sheet music. He sat down in front of the pile, leafing through the scores, which were sorted by composer. Some of the sheet music looked brand new, while others were worn, with heavy phrases roughly marked in thick, soft pencil as if they had been used in a performance. Doha found a conductor’s score with a handwritten autograph from a renowned conductor of the time, leaving him speechless for a long moment.

When Doha finally descended to the first floor again, he had three books tucked under his arm. Tristan, despite hearing the movement, did not turn around.

“……”

Doha glanced at him before sitting down in the leather chair by the table. It would be selfish to take all three books, so he decided to return two after skimming them and borrow just one. Pushing the tray aside, he opened a book.

If he listened closely, he could faintly hear the sound of Tristan turning the pages behind him. Outside the window, birds occasionally chirped, and forest animals cried out. In the vast, high-ceilinged room, the scent of paper, tea, and bread mixed in the air. Golden sunlight dimly filtered across the table. As Doha lifted his head from the book, neither the kitchen he had been in earlier nor the thought of eventually returning to London came to mind. It felt as if he had entered another world.

The mansion in the forest had that general atmosphere, but this particular room felt especially otherworldly to Doha. From the moment he entered, it felt as though time had stopped, and the sunlight would never change its hue. It was like stepping into one of the famous paintings Tristan Locke lived in.

Just as Doha was about to stand up and return to the second floor, Tristan spoke, his voice as if they had been having a conversation all along.

“Is Eden your given name?”

Doha paused mid-motion, resting a hand on the back of the chair, and turned to look at him by the window.

“No. In Korea, I went by the name ‘Doha.’”

“Doha.”

Tristan softly and quietly pronounced the name. Having not used that name in years, it sounded strange in his ears, as if it belonged to someone else. It was an oddly intimate feeling, like someone slipping their hand inside an open garment to brush against bare skin.

“Who gave you the name Eden?”

“…My piano teacher in Korea gave it to me when my study abroad was confirmed. It’s more of an interpretive translation.”

“Really? Does your original name have the same meaning?”

“…Yes. It’s derived from an old Chinese poem. ‘Doha’ refers to a utopia where peach blossoms bloom, similar to the Western Garden of Eden, according to my teacher.”

“Peach blossoms, huh.”

Tristan’s face showed interest.

“I’m familiar with that. It’s from Tao Yuanming’s writings.”

“…Yes. It’s a story my mother loved.”

Doha fell silent, expecting a smirk, perhaps thinking the name was too sentimental for a boy. But after a moment of contemplation, Tristan Locke spoke again.

“That’s quite an interesting coincidence. Do you know the history of this mansion?”

“…No.”

“It was built in the mid-19th century, so the building itself is about 150 years old. Before I bought the mansion and the land, it had been vacant for quite some time. But in the 20th century, a nobleman who purchased it restored it and named it ‘Arcadian Hill.’”

“……”

“I suppose he had the ambition to create an idyllic utopia on earth. But in the end, he met a tragic fate, losing everything to gambling debts.”

By now, the sun had slipped beyond the edge of the forest. The sudden twilight heralded the approaching winter. Tristan closed his book and stood up.

“All sorts of paradises, Eastern and Western, are messily intertwined here.”

His voice was firm, as though he were spitting out something bitter. Doha looked up at the man’s cold face, touched by the dimming light.

The long season of night was approaching. The deep blue darkness of the forest crept behind Tristan’s head, faintly casting shadows on his pale skin like patches of mold.