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"Devon and Damien"Chapter 6: Act 1
Devon awoke in the morning, surprisingly alert; usually he would lay in bed for several minutes more, waging a small war within himself to as to whether the tasks of the day were worth giving up such a comfortable bed. Today, however, was different. The restlessness of the night before was gone. He had not woken up this suddenly since his days as First General. In those days, Devon rose with the sun. He always felt it fitting to spout something noble and philosophical to himself as he opened the shades of his window, often referring to the sun as an “old friend” or “the stalwart guardian of the day.” Although Joanna was always annoyed with his strange fascination with the sun, he reminded her often that it reminded him of many of the virtues with which his office was associated: resilience, dedication, and protection. Indeed, the sun had never failed to greet Devon every morning; no matter his mood, its routinely rise to prominence always lifted his spirits. Upon his resignation as First General, however, he stopped observing the sun every morning. Perhaps this was a metaphor for something more serious, or perhaps he just became accustomed to both working and sleeping late, but Devon Tristam ceased his friendship with the sun. Today, Devon had missed the sun’s arrival once again, but he felt a sense of familiarity about this place. He noted that it slightly favored his bedroom years ago in Loria, but he quickly dismissed thoughts of that house, and the events of that night… He noticed that Reklaw was absent; his ally had apparently left to either meet with Mr. Everson or to secretly explore the compound. Reklaw was still much of an enigma to him, so Devon could not figure out which. Whatever he was doing, Reklaw had obviously not deemed it important enough to wake him. Sighing to himself, he ventured into the adjoining room and decided to engage in one of his most enjoyable activities: taking a bath. He quickly noticed a wet towel lying on the floor; apparently he wasn’t the only one that morning to bathe. As odd as it seemed, at that moment Devon felt a slight connection to Reklaw, as if the two finally had something in common. As he lay in the tub, Devon noticed that it, like everything in the mansion, was of the finest quality, ornately decorated with floral designs that even King Faleaon himself would deem too gaudy. Devon amused himself with thoughts of his future meeting with this “Mr. Everson,” for he wanted to see the look on his face if and when he “accidentally” smudged one of Everson’s fine glass ornaments. His thoughts soon turned to more pressing issues: namely, Lady Calista’s involvement in the assassination of her husband. “It just doesn’t seem possible,” he said aloud. Lady Calista was a very dignified woman, yet one could not accuse her of failing to show affection to her husband. The two had always seemed like a wonderful match. Devon felt privileged to have had inside information on the royal family during his relationship with Joanna, and Joanna had never said anything negative about her sister-in-law. “Why would Calista kill her husband?” Devon mused to himself as he allowed the soapy water to eradicate the traces of the bar in Vato. “And even she did, what motive would be so great as to sacrifice her chance at the throne?” Obviously, Nathan’s ascension to the throne would have meant Calista’s ascension to the position of queen, as well. Devon shook his head as he stood up from the tub and grabbed a nearby towel. Devon always found himself frustrated by investigations. He hated trying to piece together clues to solve a mystery. Although he had always respected the king, he disliked the constant investigations of which the king had put him in charge. On the other hand, he knew it would be foolish to say, “Excuse me, Sire, but that is not in my job description.” This investigation was different, of course, for at least two reasons: first, it involved the death of the king’s son. Secondly, Joanna had personally asked him to take care of it. But neither of these factors made him enjoy the situation any more. “Here I am,” he thought, “a washed-up soldier doing a favor for a woman I haven’t spoken to in five years.” Devon cursed himself for his inability to say “No,” a flaw certainly amplified by the fact that the request came from a beautiful woman - one that he still loved. And it certainly did not help matters that Devon had a partner on this mission who had abruptly taken the lead and often treated Devon like he was an annoyance. “Still,” he thought as his mind shifted to Reklaw, “he did seem to want me to come along, although he did a decent job of hiding it.” Indeed, there seemed to be more to Reklaw than met the eye… what exactly, Devon had not yet discovered.“You know as well as I do that the age of the monarchy is coming to a close,” the opulent Mr. Everson stated, pouring himself another glass of what Reklaw could only assume was the finest wine in the entire realm of Hessea. Everson was, as usual, dressed in extravagant clothing. Reklaw failed to see the necessity of a nobleman wearing a crimson cape during morning hours, but earlier that morning he had chosen to respect the man’s taste and choice of possessions. After taking a moment to replay his own words in his mind, Everson continued. “Although the Crown keeps things like this silent, it is no secret that many people in this kingdom are clamoring for a democracy.” Reklaw nodded. “In my own travels, I have noticed that there is plenty of positive support for the idea of democracy. Many of the realms on this continent have joined the so-called ‘United Confederation of Sovereignties.’ It is only a matter of time before their message and ideals spread fully to this part of the continent.” Reklaw paused, thoughtfully took a drink of water, then continued. “Kings and kingdoms… these are antiquated terms in every other part of the world.” Everson took a seat next to Reklaw at his dining table. “It is indeed a credit to the royal line of Hessea that it has endured this long; whether its claims of connection to the legendary Hessean I are true or not is irrelevant. It has endured because of this proud tradition.” Reklaw took another sip of his drink. “As for Boria… the king has never desired to improve either his kingdom or his public relations. Long ago the concept of democracy failed in that kingdom, and the monarchy exists solely because the people are too disillusioned and tired to try anything else. They stand as mindless sheep, ready to go wherever the “Great Shepherd” leads them… in this case, nowhere. It is safe to say that it has survived as a monarchy solely on the distinction of being located directly next to Hessea.” Everson smiled, feeling egotistical in his discussion of worldly politics with an individual as knowledgeable as his self. “Boria…” he scoffed, taking another drink. “I believe I have never met a distinguishable individual from that kingdom, if you even wish to call it that.” Reklaw laughed. “I agree that they are few and far between.”After finishing his bath and dressing himself for the day, Devon decided to stop dwelling on the investigation for a few moments. His attention turned to the ornate decorations that adorned the room. Devon found the thought of hardened criminals and other shady characters spending the night in such a lavish place mildly humorous. Even if Everson’s affluence and demeanor were a bit overbearing, Devon gave him credit for being thorough; even the bathroom was well furnished. Devon found himself so focused on inspecting the quality of the grain in the wood of the walls that he barely noticed the loud knocking on the door. He opened the door to find one of Everson’s many manservants smiling at him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tristam!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Everson requests an audience with you in the main dining hall, at your leisure.” The servant led Devon to the dining hall, where Everson sat in one of two chairs that sat near the center of the rectangular table. Devon took notice that Everson probably chose the center of the table rather than the end so that the two could sit side-by-side, so as not to intimidate him. “Greetings Mr. Tristam,” the host bellowed, beckoning Devon to sit beside him. “Come, let’s have a little talk.” Devon nodded and sat down in the second chair, shrugging off the servant’s offer of a drink. “Do you not like your wine this early in the afternoon?” Everson inquired, taking a glass for himself. “No, I just never liked the taste,” Devon replied, wondering what had happened to Reklaw. “I understand whole-heartedly,” Everson smiled. “I only drink when I have guests… which coincidentally is quite often!” Devon laughed, not in the mood to chat but wanting to know about both Reklaw’s whereabouts and Everson’s ties to the assassin. He decided to take a stab in the dark. “I trust my associate, Mr. Reklaw, has met with you this morning?” “Reklaw? Why yes, he was just in here before you,” Everson replied matter-of-factly. “My servant Joshua took him on a tour of the estate. It’s quite a spectacle.” “I’m sure it is…” “He and I had a chat much like you and I are having. You see, Mr. Tristam, I am a student of people. Before I do business with people, I like to talk with them. We discuss many things… family, politics, recreation, childhood memories… anything to help me to get to know the person a bit better. That way, I can make a decision.” “What kind of decision?” Devon asked, leaning in a little. “Why, whether to do business with them or not,” Everson chuckled, reaching for his glass. “Tell me, Mr. Tristam, what do you do?” Devon seemed caught off guard by the question. “What do I do? I am a blacksmith. I suppose I have followed in my father’s footsteps.” “Oh?” Everson asked, fully expecting Devon to elaborate further. “It’s a family business, starting with my great-great-grandfather. I never wanted to be a blacksmith, however… I guess fate has a strange way of giving us what we want the least.” “Now, that’s not always true,” Everson said. “We become what we choose to be. I fail to see where fate plays into it.” “Then you and I must respectfully disagree, sir,” Devon replied. “I play the hand that I am dealt in life; no use in trying to change something that is unchangeable.” Everson seemed surprised by this response. “A statement like that seems to mask a lot of pain. I do not deny the presence of pain, but I personally refuse to live my life controlled by it.” Devon nodded, forgetting that he had not wanted to discuss anything but the investigation with this man. “I see a difference in being controlled by the pain and accepting the hand that life has dealt you. The two are not the same.” “Once again, Mr. Tristam, you use this reference to life ‘dealing you a hand.’ That is part of life. I do not deny that. But my point is that the ‘hand’ is changeable. Your future does not have to be determined by the events of yesterday.” He took a long, hard look at Devon and continued. “I see you live your life as a type of silent irony.” “What do you mean?” Everson pointed to his holster. “You are a blacksmith, yet you carry a revolver. You project a certain set of ideals to most people, yet you live your life on a different set. Until you determine who you are, Mr. Tristam, and until you make peace with whatever it is in your past that has affected you so greatly, you will remain unfulfilled.” Devon thought for a moment on these things and finally spoke. “The ghosts of my past have returned to haunt me… perhaps you are right; my life is ironic. For years I preached and projected a certain set of values. Yet I cannot summon them now to help me do what I need to do in order to be happy.” “And what would that, be. Mr. Tristam?” Everson asked, seemingly genuinely interested. “I suppose I must confront the one who served as ‘Fate’s emissary.’ But, honestly, I am afraid. It is much easier to live my life as it is now, aloof from the situation and moving on with life.” “No, it is not easier; it is just more manageable,” Everson replied. “And that is no life, a life of regret and fear.” Everson stood up from his chair and began pacing the room, much as he had with Reklaw. “Many people dislike me, Mr. Tristam, because of my wealth. I make no bones about showing it. But that’s my choice.” “At least you know who you are, then,” Devon replied. Everson thought for a moment. “I determined a long time ago to live life the way I wanted to live it. I too have faced these ‘ghosts’ of the past… but I have laid them to rest.” Devon wondered why he had discussed so much of himself with this stranger. Reklaw was right; Everson was a great student of human behavior. He was actually right about a few things. Devon found himself beginning to like Everson, although it was obvious that Everson had clearly allowed Devon to only see his most charming attributes. Everson smiled, beckoning Devon to follow him. “Well, Mr. Tristam, I have indeed enjoyed our talk. I wish we could talk further, but you and Mr. Reklaw are not the only gentlemen I must deal with today. Come, we shall collect your associate. I am ready to do business.” |
