Plague's: Fiction

"Devon and Damien"

Chapter 4: Act 1 Act 2 Act 3

Chapter 6: Act 1

Devon followed alongside Mr. Everson, contemplating the ease of which he had spoken earlier. Either by his own desire or of consequence of his host’s hospitality, Devon had compromised himself by going into too much detail of his past. It occurred to him that he did not know Everson personally, and as such, could not adequately discern his intentions. If Devon’s host were to discover the First General’s true identity, it could lead to either salvation or tribulation; he simply did not know what to expect. Devon felt certain that Reklaw would have scolded him if he had been there as well.

Devon found his interest held by the walls of the great hall that he now walked down. He had not realized until now that he had actually been walking down it for over two minutes. At first decorated by pieces of fine art, the walls slowly transitioned into a deep variety of flowering plants and ferns. Light caressed Devon’s skin for the first time in nearly a day, a welcome change from the dank interior of the mansion. The high ceiling above him had just transitioned from stone to glass – apparently, Everson had led Devon outside of the main estate.

“Do you like the addition I installed?” Everson asked, his vision still locked forward towards a shining light at the end of the hallway. “It’s only been in open service for a year now.”

“It’s very nice,” Devon began, “but where does it lead?”

“To the most spectacular garden in the two kingdoms, in my own opinion,” he replied with a smile.

“A shame it was undoubtedly bought with blood,” Devon thought.

Everson seemed to pause in a way; Devon wondered for a moment if he had actually spoken his thoughts out loud.

The two suddenly stopped, as though pulled by an omnipotent force towards the left side of the hall, which had now transitioned fully into a window. Before them lay the beginnings of Wood Lake, which was more of a massive river than an actual lake. Its width was slightly greater than that of any mere river, but its sheer length, spanning the two kingdoms and even countries beyond, was enough to qualify it as a cousin to an actual river. The hall in which the two stood actually sat within a trough between two massive networks of caves, which ended directly below Devon’s feet. One of the largest waterfalls in the world fell unseen below the two men, its deafening roar softened by the craftsmanship of the Estate’s structure.

“Do you know who I am?” Everson solemnly asked.

Devon hesitated, realizing that Everson was now speaking frankly. “Do you know who you are?” Devon replied, his eyes still following the gentle undulations of the water below them.

“I’ve since forgotten, Mr. Tristam. …I suppose I died with my old life, years ago.

“That lake,” Everson continued, “is… the cause of my fortune, my fame... Twelve years ago, I killed for the first time on that lake.” Everson paused, then ran his fingers through his hair. His stiff, formal stance had changed to that of an indolent, free man. “I was the prince of an underground kingdom back then. It was small, reluctant… I was too aspiring.”

“Then… your father?”

“He ruled this land in secret: manipulating trade, falsifying intelligence to foreigners, and holding the reigns of the kingdom’s economy. He was pleased with himself – too pleased for my own desires. I let myself be tainted with the arrogance of youth, the aspirations of a fool. The men that followed him were thirsty for more power, and I was eager to give that to them. However, no one would dare strike at my father. He had too many enemies, yet too many allies. Only his son… only his son could take over.”

The scene bled into Devon’s mind as Everson continued. “It was foggy that day, twelve years ago. My father was an avid fisherman – one of the few things we had in common. When we set out that morning, just before dawn, I had already planned for only one of us to return.” Everson faintly raised an imploring finger towards the left side of the lake. “There… that’s where I pushed him overboard. He had become unhealthy from living luxuriously for the greater part of his life. I knew he wouldn’t be able to swim to shore in his condition. Even as he was drowning, I tried to give the impression that I was trying to rescue him. In retrospect… it was for myself. My father knew that I was trying to kill him.”

The two stood for quite some time, staring out at the dark, menacing surface of Wood Lake. It undoubtedly was home to many murder victims.

“Where does that leave us today?” Devon thought, trying to put the knowledge of Everson’s sin to one side.

“I haven’t fished since that day,” Everson said with a laugh. “I like to tell myself it’s because I don’t have the time.

“I apologize for before. When I said that I had buried my past, I was not being entirely truthful. I’ve put it behind me, but it’s still a burden. …I suppose that you reminded me of what sort of person I wish I could be, if not for my position in the world.”

“Sometimes,” Devon began, “we find ourselves living two false lives. One is the life we create out of what we see as necessity. Society, work, obligation… they all push us forward into something we don’t want, although it’s the easiest road to travel. Our second life is the reality we construct in our minds. ‘Things will get better,’ we say. ‘People don’t understand the real me,’ we enjoy telling ourselves. But, although we may think this is who we are, behind the lies, that in itself is a lie. To be the person we want to be – the person we know we are, we have to follow the path less traveled. We have to be the person we don’t expect ourselves to be.”

“And that’s the impasse we both share, Mr. Tristam,” Everson said with a sigh. “I don’t pretend to know what obstacles you must face to be who you want to be, but hopefully they’re not as entrapping as my own. You can imagine what would happen to me if I took up life as a fisherman. …Let’s be off.”

The two left the dark spirit of Wood Lake behind them, and progressed towards the deceitfully beautiful garden at the end of the hall.

Reklaw slept peacefully in a velvet chair, basking in the warmth of the morning sun. This was the first real sleep he had gotten in three days.

Joshua, the attendant Everson had assigned to act as Reklaw’s guide, stood by the door, resigned to wait until Reklaw dictated otherwise. All of Everson’s servants were obligated to speak only when spoken to – a rule punishable, on paper, only by expulsion. Because of the connection with events that casually transpire in the mansion, however, Everson usually had most former employees killed. Most of the many employees knew better than to ever even discuss where they worked with their families; their salaries were great enough to make this a mild concern.

Joshua had been serving in the mansion for only three years now; he was the son of one of Everson’s older servants, whom had died under mysterious circumstances. Joshua knew better than to ask questions.

A picture of grace and elegance, Joshua was obligated to look his finest at all times. A visible blemish meant no pay for a month. Misaligned garments meant assignment to waste disposal for a week.

Pride in his work was also very important. A broken syllable or a misused word resulted in a punch to the gut later in the day. Physical punishments were always light or carefully performed to be unnoticeable to visitors. Joshua was grateful for this, at least.
Everson had never been a man of true compassion. He would sometimes find a problem intentionally when none made themselves available, simply to reinforce awareness. Occasionally he would badger men until they broke, either falling to the ground in tears or actually trying to kill Everson himself. No one knew why. Some assumed that Everson saw them all as toys. Others thought that each of these men had done something to offend Everson that was not punishable directly.

Joshua was one of the few to understand the motivations of his employer. His father, before his death, had spoken to Joshua of Everson’s private life, his past sins. Everson was a bitter man, not only because of the mask he wore each day, but also because of his upbringing. His father was a cruel, unjust man – a man that made unrealistic demands and even more outrageous accusations. He had pushed his son to become an appropriate heir, a fitting ruler for a hidden kingdom. The beatings Everson endured occurred almost daily, sometimes carried out by servants, as per his father’s wishes. Everson had no childhood, only decades of psychological torture. The torture had worked though, too well in fact. Everson was a warped man, so warped that at times he could not distinguish his personality from his job description. He no longer possessed a grasp on who he was; he lived only to succeed.

Perhaps if Everson’s father had seen his fate, he would have done things differently. Although he had never met the first “Everson,” he was sure that he knew exactly what his son intended.

Joshua’s own father was a similar man. Desirous of power and fame himself, the old man pushed his son into the same business. This was partly to achieve the success he never had by living through his child; mostly though, it was because it was all he knew – it was the only thing he could teach his only son.

Joshua was a trained man, trained to serve his job, not his peers. Everson was the same. Both men would die doing their duty, or die for failing in it. There was no possibility of deviation from this path: the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and these men have never walked another. Their father’s hopes for the provisions of the future only condemned their children to a lifetime of enslavement.

Joshua understood his fate only vaguely, Everson more so due to his experience. Men desiring power such as these always find blame in those around them, never with themselves. It was too much to admit that they had chosen their own path. This was why Everson was an expert in humanity, and its greatest opposition. In his mind, even though damned, he would drag as many men to hell with him as there were outreached hands to grasp. Everson knew of Joshua’s inherited knowledge – it was what had killed his father. Joshua would be dead by next year.

With Devon now sharing that knowledge as well, although under different circumstances, his fate remained uncertain. Thankfully for Devon, he had a much better Father.

“Is Mr. Reklaw with you, Joshua?”

The servant was broken from his trance quickly, realizing the consequence for hesitation.

“Yes, sir! He is napping amongst the Perennials, sir!” Perfect delivery, perfect diction – Joshua’s father would be pleased.

“Very good. You may leave, Joshua.” Everson exchanged a textbook smile with his employee and the two parted ways. He had noticed the hesitation; he would orchestrate a punishable failure later.

“So, what do you think of my garden, Mr. Tristam? The luxury, décor and majesty of the garden were without parallel in Everson’s eyes. Devon was honestly more impressed with the Hessean royal castle.

“It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.” Everson found the implication that something may be more splendid offensive. “It makes me wonder why I had never heard of it before.”

“Well,” Everson began with a laugh, “it’s not as though my particular business is widely advertised. I tend to discourage site seeing. Would there be a reason for you to have heard about it?”

“None,” a voice interrupted. Reklaw was awake.

“None at all,” he continued. Devon had nearly implied his past position as First General. “Blacksmiths typically don’t invest much interest in our line of work, Mr. Everson.”

“I see you’re awake, Mr. Reklaw. I would assume that the two of you have some matters to discuss between yourselves, so I will give you that time. Feel free to look around my garden, Mr. Tristam. I will return in approximately five minutes to begin our meeting.”

The host smiled and left, and a previously unseen servant filled his role at the doorway, as Joshua had once done.

Devon found his attention grabbed not by the garden, but at first by Reklaw’s new attire. It took a moment for him to recall the change the day before, which had slipped his mind during the night. “Why the new outfit, by the way?”

“The one you’ve been accustomed to was from my contract before this one. I change clothes at times so descriptions don’t match up, and since client privacy is a bonus here…”

Devon nodded. “And the new sword?”

“Same reason mostly, but I anticipate that we’ll need to fight armored opponents soon, mainly from your own kingdom.”

“Why would we need–”

“It’s just a premonition,” Reklaw interrupted. “By the way, I hope you didn’t divulge anymore vital information.”

“No, and I wasn’t about to. You should have more faith in me.”

Reklaw laughed, somewhat condescendingly.

“You seem to think he doesn’t know who you are.”

“How would he? And how would you for that matter? I don’t remember ever telling you anything of the sort.”

“Practically anyone that’s been following the politics of this country would know your name instantly. I can’t believe you insist on using it everywhere that you go. As far as Everson is concerned, aside from knowing your name and history by heart, since he’s most likely tracked the life of every prominent political figure of the past twenty years, I doubt he’s going to believe that a blacksmith has suddenly taken up black market information trafficking.”

“Then if he knows, then why has he been so sociable?”

“This is what we do, First General. In this line of work, we tell sweet lies to one another so there’s no trail left at the end of the day. I doubt Everson cares who barters or buys information, even if it’s to kill or damage another paying party. That’s why we’re still alive. And that’s why I wanted you to keep your mouth shut. As long as we tell Everson we’re magic pixies he’s inclined to believe us. As long as we play the game, we’re all winners.”

Memories of his recent conversations with Everson darted through Devon’s mind. If Everson knew everything about Devon’s past, perhaps even his reasons for leaving his position, then this meant their entire conversation had been one-sided. Had everything Everson had said up to this point been a lie? Devon was sure this wasn’t the case – too much of the real Everson had come out for this to be true. Perhaps Everson’s knowledge of Devon’s past was the reason for their earlier discourse. This bolstered Devon’s ego, as he was sure Reklaw would have never seen this side of Everson.

“He probably thinks you’re an idiot, you know,” Reklaw scoffed. “All this time you’ve apparently been doing a poor job of covering your tracks, right in front of him. It’s incredibly obvious to anyone that you have no experience outside of castle walls. You’ve been messy, almost too messy. The second either of us mentions that assassination we’ll be killed, because that’s too much information. We only ask about the link between the assassin and the woman he’s meeting with, got it?”

Devon sighed, feeling rather useless at the moment because of all of his major blunders.
“I’ll just let you do the talking during the meeting.”

“Good. I’m glad he had the foresight to give us the time to work this out.”

“You’re saying he purposely gave you time to chew into me?”

“Precisely.”

Devon mentally punched himself for his messiness thus far. Joanna had entrusted him with this investigation, and Devon felt as though he was doing more to hinder its progress more than help it.

“However,” Reklaw said, seeming to interject Devon’s thoughts, “in my experience with Everson and his father, Paulson Everson, I’ve never seen them have much “soul,” you might say. Something in Everson’s eyes is different today. I assume it has something to do with you. …Good work.”

The two words seemed unnatural, foreign, almost painful coming out of Reklaw’s mouth, but Devon knew they were sincere. A sense of achievement quickly replaced Devon’s disappointment. Perhaps he was making more progress than he realized – especially if a man like Reklaw felt obliged to acknowledge it.

“Paulson,” Devon said. “The name you said not to mention?” Reklaw nodded. “Everson killed his father in Wood Lake years ago, right outside this mansion.”

“Do you know… how many years ago, Devon?”

Devon balked for a moment, noticing this was the first time Reklaw had ever spoken his name – a mark of respect perhaps. “A dozen years ago.”

Even with his face hidden, Reklaw was obviously surprised.

“Something wrong, Reklaw?”

“Only one thing. I spoke with his father last year.”

Both men could hear footsteps approaching.

“But how?” Devon pleaded.

“There’s no time to figure it out now. The meeting is about to start.”