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"Devon and Damien"Chapter 6: Act 1
Devon continued tying a knot to his horse’s rein, absent-mindedly over-tying the rope as he thought to himself. He and Reklaw were a few hundred feet from the main gates of the Paulson Estate – all animals were to be tied to an adjoining stable on the front of the estate’s grounds before entry. As was the case during most of his journey, Devon’s mind drifted back to Joanna. It seemed obvious to him that she still held feelings for him, although he refused to admit this. He was certain that the king was also aware of this, as was much of the political circle that had knowledge of their former engagement. The king, if indeed aware of this, apparently still held a desire for Devon to take his daughter’s hand in marriage, despite the political implications of Joanna’s engagement to Prince Jerrod. In many ways, the king doted even more so on Devon than he had years before – this seemed to be evidence enough. During the party, many of the members of the political entourage that he had known years before, that he felt certain would recognize him, had either ignored him or legitimately not recognized him. If he were to attempt to form a relationship with Joanna in the future, hypothetically, it would be clouded by the personal desires of nearly every political figure he could think of, aside from the king. Indeed, he had become very unpopular among his old associates in the kingdom, despite his reputation with the everyday man. Devon shook his head as he continued to knot his rope. He continued to guide his thoughts into the ends he, in the recesses of his mind, felt must be the eventual outcome, for the sake of Joanna. The possibility that the old Devon, the man that did not care for the objections of the uninformed, could still exist, battled with this outcome, however. These same thoughts, in one form or another, had occurred to Devon every night for years. He was torn by desire, duty, compassion and his own bitterness; in the end, he felt content to reach no conclusion. “Are you afraid your horse is going to float away?” Reklaw asked, having stared at Devon for nearly five minutes by now. Devon looked down to find a mass of knots, tied into one another to form a large, tangled ball of rope. “Sorry,” Devon said, scratching the back of his head. “Why didn’t you stop me?” Reklaw paused for a moment, seeming to consider several answers, eventually choosing one that suited his preferences. “I’m certainly in no hurry to speak to Mr. Everson. I would have watched you for a week more.” Devon laughed slightly, but felt a far more serious tone in his company’s manner – Reklaw was analyzing him, secretly disassembling his personality to discover Devon’s past. Devon shuddered for a moment at the thought; Reklaw seemed intelligent enough to accomplish this goal, although the thought of the mercenary knowing his secrets seemed unpleasant somehow. “I abhorre men like ‘Mr. Everson,’” Reklaw continued. “He’s one of the men of this world that are secretly insecure about themselves – enough to surround themselves in gaudy luxuries to try to assure complete strangers that everything is perfectly fine. He’s never grown beyond his childhood, and never tasted the satisfaction of being a real man, the satisfaction of realizing his own nature and choosing to enrich himself as a result. This man we’re about to talk to is a spoiled little boy that will lie and spit in our faces, and belittle us, just to try to impress us.” A thought occurred to Devon, if only for a moment – he too had abandoned the prospect of embracing who he was, just to please the world. He quickly erased the idea from his mind; he convinced himself once more that his decision to break his engagement with Joanna was one he had made to protect the world, not himself. “So,” Devon began, “this Everson came into his wealth through inheritance?” “Why do you ask that?” Reklaw queried, motioning for Devon to follow him to the main gates. “You said he was spoiled – that he was foolish. I assumed this would indicate that he was incapable of forming a fortune on his own.” “I never said he was a fool. He is, but you read too much into my words. He is very knowledgeable, and understands the ways of men better than most.” “If he’s this smart, then why criticize him in the way you did? It would seem that he already understands who he is, and understands why he behaves as he does.” “Men that seek to amass great knowledge without the wisdom to interpret it are the most qualified of fools,” Reklaw stated. “This is my philosophy: whether atheist or God-fearing, all men abide by the standards set by the society of man; their choices within the laws they have been allotted by man dictate who they are, and who they are dictates their purpose. Those that deny themselves and their choices deny their purpose, and lose their way. This is the manner of sin. A man that hoards wealth, knowledge or love is as good as dead. All seem good and wholesome in the eyes of at least a few men, but none hold any merit towards anyone else. Men that seek these things are desirous of them, and desire is naturally selfish.” Devon suddenly had the inclination to ask Reklaw if he had formed an opinion on him yet, but caught himself – although he wanted to understand Reklaw a little more, he still found something very disconcerting about him. “So, do you have that memorized?” Devon said, forcing a smile. “Of course not. I just spoke what came to mind. I would have to be egotistical to memorize my own philosophy.” Devon strained his thoughts for a moment and tried to wrap an idea of who Reklaw was around his mind. His words seemed to indicate that he wished to live the same life Devon once had, years ago during the better years of his life. However, Reklaw’s harsh words towards Devon seemed to indicate the opposite. Devon felt sure that this man held some dangerous secret within him that contorted and twisted an otherwise powerful soul.“Greetings, gentleman!” Mr. Everson, in an apparently rare instance, welcomed his guests at his front door. “You are free of dirt, aren’t you?” the man said with a slight look of disgust on his face. “Your foot sentry made certain of it, Mr. Everson,” Reklaw said, now with a slightly charismatic tone in his voice. Devon was surprised by this, as Reklaw seemed, for a moment, to almost be cheerful, although he was sure that everyone in the room knew this was a ruse. Mr. Everson laughed almost condescendingly, and walked down the long hallway that stretched out before them. The man was dressed in fine clothing, even in this late hour; he apparently was expecting company, or simply enjoyed wearing luxurious clothing at every given opportunity. “I’m sure the two of you are tired from your trip. I would suggest that you both sleep here for the night. We’ll do business in the morning.” “Thank you, Mr. Everson,” Reklaw began, with Devon joining in at mid-sentence. A servant approached the two travelers and quickly hurried them to the guest chambers, on the top floor of the mansion, leaving little time for Devon to even examine his surroundings. Finding himself nearly pushed into a darkly-lit room, Devon was left with nothing more than a false pleasantry from the exiting servant. “My word,” Devon began, turning to face Reklaw, “what a bizarre way to do business. I expected he would have at least taken more time to find out who we are.” “I’d doubt it,” Reklaw said. “It’s a good sign, actually. He probably thinks we’re one of the thousands of shady characters that permeate this estate every year. A lot of underhanded business goes through this place, and I would suspect he just doesn’t care who comes through his doors, since there’s enough hidden military force around here to drive out a small militia unit.” Devon noted the previously unnoticed bag Reklaw now plunged himself into. “What did you bring with…” Devon was interrupted as Reklaw removed himself from the bed he was sitting on and escaped into an adjoining bathroom. The former First General sighed and laid back onto his own bed, trying to ignore the notion that many filthy, disease-carrying mercenaries and blood-soaked assassins had once laid in the same place. He was quite unsure of what would happen the next day, but he was becoming quite aware as time passed that he had not slept in two days. The last moment of sleep he had was before he had left the Hessean castle – and Joanna – to search for Nathan’s killer. So far, he had discovered very little: the killer had either mistakenly or purposely left behind a quiver bearing the personal logo of a trader in Vato. Upon seeking out this trader, Devon came upon the assassin himself, who fled to a tavern in Vato while his companion remained behind to kill Devon. Fortunately, in a way, Reklaw had made himself known just in time to kill the attacker. Together they had discovered at the tavern in Vato that the assassin was on his way, somewhere, to meet a woman at a usual meeting place. The man that had delivered this information to the assassin was one of the many nameless thugs in Vato; it seemed that Mr. Everson had paid this man to deliver the information, although the nameless informant had then blackmailed more information out of the assassin. This was unimportant, although it did indicate that the assassin apparently was well-traveled and wealthy enough to readily give away information for the sake of his own lethargy. Now, Devon and Reklaw now resided at Mr. Everson’s “Paulson Estate,” whose name apparently offends the current owner. Apparently, Reklaw now intended to somehow acquire information on whom the assassin was meeting, where, and how Mr. Everson even came to possess this information. Indeed, the situation was becoming more complicated than Devon was used to, as most of the criminal cases he had handled as First General were not of such a grand scale as the murder of the heir to the throne. Nathan’s own wife was now the prime suspect, according to Reklaw. Devon sighed and decided to think more on the subject in the morning. He desperately wanted to bathe to remove the stench of the Vato tavern from his body, but sleep found him first. Reklaw stepped out of the adjoining room, now garbed in a long coat that was covered by armored segments. His smaller, curved sword was now replaced by a much larger broadsword that was attached to a belt that wrapped around his back. Apparently, Reklaw felt that there was the possibility that much heavier fighting was to occur later in the evening the next day. If Devon had been awake, he would have found the fact that Reklaw’s new garments still hid his face to be amusing; it was more likely that he would not recognize the mercenary in the morning. Reklaw noted Devon’s sleeping body on the bed next to his own. The mercenary sighed, recognizing his own weariness, giving into his body’s desires and allowing himself to succumb to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness. Neither of the two men knew specifically what would occur the next day, although the stench of deception already seemed to hover in the air. |
