Brook had mixed emotions about his life and his own power. Although he and Dearborne had been married for thirteen years, this was the first time that he divulged so much dangerous knowledge to her. In Phoride, as elsewhere in the world, the way of life has been one of mistrust and suspicion. Yet, Brook knew that she would tell no one because there were many things that they shared and neither one has revealed them to anyone else.
When Brook finished telling Dearborne most of the important details about the gadgetry, they stood at the window for a long time and just stared at the town, and its people.
The Monastic Guards patrolled the streets while the people went about their day-to-day activity, buying and selling items that they took to the market.
As far as the eye could see down the street people were busy making their livelihood. They talked and laughed with one another and rarely, if ever, paid any mind to the black-clad, helmeted guards that policed the area.
Children played in the streets. Some of the daring one tried to actually annoy the guards who, like zombies, went on their way without showing the slightest hint of aggravation. Afraid of being punished for their children's misdeeds, parents beat their children for everyone to witness. They did not want the "Almighty's Angels" (as they guards were often called), to pour their wrath upon them. They felt that their children's bloody noses and cut lips were enough to show their respect, and submission, to the rule of the Almighty.
Brook put his arm over Dearborne's shoulder and stroked her hair. He set her small and delicate hand into his other, and held it tightly.
Turned towards her, he saw a few shiny tears slide down her rosy cheeks. "They are the ones that I must now tell." he said, pointing out the window at the children.
CHAPTER TWO
The streets were alive with people vending their goods.
The mid-morning was always the busiest time of the day in Pomperaque, and should it have been anything else? Afterall, this city had been the capital of Phoride for some five hundred years. The routine had always been the same. At sunrise the people brought their goods out into the major streets, where they bought and sold amongst one another. When noon-time came around they all gathered their things together and returned to their homes and rarely, if ever, emerged again until the evening when they made their way to the taverns and theatres.
But even in the evening the city wasn't as alive as it was during mid-morning. This was a time when people spoke to one another and laughed at little humours that they created and therefore strengthened the social bonds between themselves. Men drank and talked at the cafes while their women stayed by the stands and kiosks, exchanging goods and talking also.
Sometimes someone came along and bought something with gold bits, which was surprising and not very common, since the usual manner that the people carried on their business was in barter and in copper. However, the attainment of gold was short-lived.
Every day at noon, one of the ArchBishop's tax clerics went amongst those who received gold and exchanged it for copper bits. Usually, the exchange wasn't just or fair. The town's people were most often given two bits of copper for every one bit of gold. Rarely they received five bits to one of gold: that was a great achievement in everyone's eyes if someone were capable of bringing it about. This was dangerous, however. If someone haggled for anything over five bits of copper to one of gold, they were threatened with Divine Punishment — for their sin of greed — unless they payed a fine, which always equalled the exact number of gold bits that the merchant possessed. Thus was the usual mode of business and economics for Pomperaque, and the rest of Phoride. All this was the common practice of the surrounding provinces, and kingdoms; which the ArchBishop directly influenced.
It was one such morning that Dearborne went out into the streets with Boy, to do her marketing. It was the third day of the week and not the second day, which she usually took to do her marketing, and everyone was happy and pleased to see her because they all thought that something bad had happened to her. The merchants weren't prepared for her absence on the second day and all of them questioned her for a reason why she missed her usual day. She just smiled and told them that she wanted to be with her husband, and they sent their heat-warming greeting to him.
For the thirteen years that she had been married to Lord Brook, she always marketed on the second and fifth days of the week. The sudden change in her market day created a great stir in the hearts of the people. Now that they could see that she was well, they rejoiced and treated her with sweets and fruits, and gave her things to take to their Lord and sovereign, Brook Scullion Blue.
Like every day, the streets were filled with people. Their goods were spread about the ground on blankets, or on top of carts, or set on and around the kiosks in the city square.
Dearborne and Boy made their way down the street towards the square, which was the liveliest part of town during any time of the day. It was here where the best produce and meats were to be found during the morning market hours. It was here that the highest quality foodstuffs were brought in from every part of Phoride and elsewhere.
Also, in the city square, jewellery and fine garments were sold and there were amusements for the people. There were games and story-tellers, and machines were there to thrill the children. All these amusements carried-on throughout the entire day and night.
Boy carried a large basket and was slightly ahead of Dearborne. They both walked slowly and looked around the different stands, at the various things of interest.
Dearborne smiled her greetings at some council men that sat at tables outside the café. Business carried on in its usual manner, the sounds of livelihood resounded throughout the streets and into the other regions of the city, out towards the Hill People, who were the free farmers of Phoride. There was some kind of commotion down the street but it didn't appear to be any different than usual to Dearborne, and she paid little attention to anything but her own thoughts, anyway.
She had never known about the holocaust that had occurred over a millennia ago. She had known that something cataclysmic happened but no one could ever find out the whole story because it was a taboo topic, according to the written Laws of Canon; which denied any kind of knowledge about the past.
She was confused by the Canon's Law, which said the past was a disillusionment. Afterall, there were history books and subjects at the Blaisaman, right here in Pomperaque. The Blaisaman had, at one time, been one of the largest learning institutions of its kind, anywhere on the Northern Continent. This was the very place that Dearborne and many other "Prominents" completed their studies. She remembered the extensive teachings of history and how it had influenced and changed life in Phoride. Only now, four years after she had received her Darmaclust, she realised that even in the highest levels of study, no one knew, or at least there was no one who would disclose their knowledge, about the history prior to a thousand years ago.
She never questioned why this was so at the time and apparently, no one else questioned it either. She hadn't realised that there was no written or taught history, concerning that period before the officially declared beginning of the world. The only stories that were told to the scholars, about the before-time, was that there was a fiery chaos in the cosmos, before the Almighty created the world and its first earthly family. But anything that was taught to the student-scholars, even concerning this, was very limited. Still, there were no questions.
Dearborne couldn't believe that anyone, not even she, thought to pursue the topic any further than that which was told to them.
She came out of her thoughts for a moment when she noticed that Boy had wandered-off somewhere and without her permission.
She reconnoitred the square; the different stalls and the kiosks then saw him standing with some pretty town's-girl, of the same age. Both watched some dark-skinned woman, with golden hair and sapphire-like eyes, levitate herself and many other weird things, including some of the audience, on the fringes of the stage.
About to call on him, she heard some quick steps behind her and a familiar voice that calling her name.
"Lady Dearborne! Good morning, my sweet friend." said the voice.
She turned quickly to the caller and smiled as he reached her, and kissed her hand.
"Miel, my dear friend, how are you?" she asked him in a surprised and happy manner.
"I am fine. My wife is well, too! She just birthed our twelfth child a son!" he beamed with pride.
"My, my! You do keep yourself active!"
"Yes! That is why I could not answer the invitation to your anniversary celebration."
"You are coming, are you not?"
"Oh, yes! Of course, I'm coming. I wouldn't miss it for anything." he assured her.
"And Aria?
"I don't know yet. She doesn't recover from child baring as quickly as she had at one time. Nevertheless, I will be there."
"Well, thankyou … Brook and I shall watch for you!"
"Goodbyes till then!" he exalted, then after he kissed her hand again, he walked off in the direction of the café, and shouted greetings to some men sitting at the nearest table.
Dearborne turned and called to Boy. He glanced over his shoulder to see her waving him in with her hand. He motioned to the girl to stay where she was and ran over to Dearborne.
They strolled over to Empal; the biggest seller of fruits and vegetables, herbs and spices, known on the face of the continent, and perhaps in the whole world.
He greeted her and Boy with the usual good-hearted smile, and warm hello. Then as always, in his brawny Virunese accent he asked about Brook, his favourite Lord, while he slowly filled Dearborne's basket with the best of his produce. In turn, Dearborne asked about his family — his daughter in particular, and unobserved slipped several gold bits into his hand when they shook.
Dearborne wasn't the only one of the nobility to do this. Many others had done it, as well. Not because of pity or any such sympathies but rather s a show of respect for his strength and his odd position in their society.
Everyone in Phoride, except for the ArchBishop and his train of followers, admired his position against the ArchBishop when he was requested for Gaena, his daughter, to bare the child of "The Almighty". He refused to allow his daughter's virginity to be taken by anyone other than a mountain tribesman and so immediately arranged a wedding to take place between her and her betrothed love, Tucker. Tucker was a Krolalin Mountain goat-herder.
Although everyone overpaid Empal for his services, he was forced into near poverty when he dared to live in Pomperaque or anywhere else in Phoride, for any lengthy period of time. This was caused by his obstinacy towards the ArchBishop. In the beginning, after a few months of hardship he returned to Exendria, the capital of Virune. He rebuilt his fortune, and later returned to Pomperaque. Since then, he had kept to a cycle of return to Exendria. Like a migratory bird, he headed North every summer then returned to Lower Phoride in the winter.
Even though extensive and constant travel was difficult on most people, it didn't seem to affect Empal in a very harsh way. In fact, he soon came to enjoy his cycled migration because he made a greater fortune selling his produce during his travel than he did selling in either Pomperaque or Exendria, combined. Now, in his seventh cycle, he had accumulated more wealth than what the ArchBishop could dream of taking away from him; in fines, taxes, licenses or tariffs. Brook had dared to veto the ArchBishop's plan for all merchants, farmers and artisans to pay a monthly tribute to the church, to encourage the building of roads, buildings and the like.
Brook knew that no buildings would ever come out of the plan and that it was just another one of the ArchBishop's ploys to keep the people of Phoride poor and ignorant. His veto helped all the working class people in the land and also greatly boosted the economic strength of Phoride. He made it the wealthiest and most powerful land on the Northern Continent. And all of this was begun by the will of a simple old man, who chanced his standing up to the ArchBishop's tyrannical order of life.
Dearborne and Empal said their farewells and he asked her if she will be back on the fifth day, as usual, but she shrugged unknowingly and smiled a good-bye at him.
Boy carried the basket for a while until Dearborne saw that he occasionally looked back to where the town's-girl stood, waiting for him to return to her. Being a kindly woman, she took the basket from him and let him go to the girl, telling Boy that she would not need him for a while.
She was pleased to see Boy and the innocense of childhood that he, and all those like him, possessed. Their's was the future. This, she understood through her husband's guidance. She knew that it was the responsibility of the Elders to prepare a secure and stable life for their children. It was this idea that caused Brook to become so sensitive to the uselessness of killing the transgressors of the Canon Laws: those laws, more than half of which, were written only to benefit the Great Church of The Almighty.
She was saddened when she realised that Boy, and all those of his age, might not have any kind of future at all.
She continued to look at the boy. Her mind remained deep in thought about him and his vague tomorrow. She almost cried.
"He's a hardy boy, Lady Scullion-Blue!" A sudden, slow and taring voice, that sent a cold flush down her back and that raised the small hairs on the nape of her neck, came from behind. She quickly turned, and when she saw that it was the Cardinal Allen, she curtsied to him and kissed his hand.
"Is your household faring well, my child? asked the Cardinal.
"Yes, Cardinal Allen. We are happy for our blessings." she moved away from him.
"I am happy for you … I am surprised to see you in the market today. It's not your usual day?" his voice sounded scheming and distrustful as he eyed her. Dearborne felt uneasy, as if she were being prodded or groped by someone. She felt as if swarms of army ants were crawling over her entire body, and were devouring her alive. She didn't answer right away. She quietly looked to see if Boy was still by the stage but he had moved with the girl to another one, where some magician made small animals and shapes transmute in their appearance.
Dearborn turned back to the Cardinal and answered.
"No, it's not my usual day for marketing. I stayed home with Brook, yesterday!" she said.
"No doubt talking about raising a family — I wager?"
"Yes! That is so! We feel that we are now prepared for children."
"True, true! — Just a few days ago I was speaking with some of the Brothers, at Halls, about you and Lord Brook. We prayed that you may soon be blessed with many sons. All of us look forward to your sons' future attendance at out vicarage." Dearborne became somewhat disturbed and briefly lost her pleasant smile. She answered him in a subdued, but still obviously denying tone of voice.
"Yes! Definitely that!" she said then became silent, once again.
Cardinal Allen slowly looked over Dearborne's whole body and sighed. He imagined the pleasures that he could experience if he were to bed with her; to meet her full mouth with his and to touch the full softness of her bosom.
Dearborne moved her long hair allowing it to fall upon her breasts, covering herself from the Cardinal's intensive gaze.
After a few moments of silence, Cardinal Allen glared into her eyes, and in a dishonestly gentle voice, asked her if she cared for refreshment. She couldn't but answer him, and soon she tried to smile as she conceded.
"Shall we sit, then?" asked the Cardinal and escorted her to a vacant table at the café, where several of the men sat about, eyeing them and mumbling with questioning discontent and accusation. Soon, however, they returned to their talking and did not pay attention to the Lady, and the Cardinal, sitting nearby. They resumed their previously gaiety and laughter, and heavy-handed talk.
A large, blond tavern maid soon came to the table. She toted a tray of dirty tankards. With a big smile, she winked at Cardinal Allen then looked at Dearborne. She chuckled a little when he smiled back at her.
"How you, Cardin' — What do?" she asked. Her eyes jutted back and forth between him and Dearborne.
"A small rose wine, please." she finally said.
The tavern maid grinned, then once again winked at Cardinal Allen. With a quick and brisk "it's good!", she left them.
The strange commotion that boomed on the street most of the morning, had grown and spread right down to the café where they sat. Cardinal Allen wasn't too disturbed by the loud shouting of some young man and the discontented, riotous mob that shouted back at him. He was preoccupied with his interest in Dearborne. They said very little at the table or at least, nothing that was of any great significance. Dearborne watched the crowd as they started to throw stones and ripe fruit at the you man, and Allen watched Dearborne's breasts rise and fall with her every breath.
Once more, he continued his deceit and his lecherous manner.
"Ah, yes! Lord Brook is a very lucky man, to have wed such a woman as you!"
Dearborne became even more upset and she began to fidget. She looked around to see if anyone was listening; most were interested in the young man that was creating the disturbance, and Miel had long since left.
"If I had not become a man of the Almighty, I could have wed such a precious fawn. I, too, could have cleaved to a woman whose blood boils for only the one man that she loves."
Dearborne was surprised by what the Cardinal had said to her. Uncomfortable, she tried to speak while she looked around to make certain that no one else heard him.
"Cardinal Allen — I pray, explain the meaning of that remark, or I will have to tell Brook!"
"I beg your forgiveness, if I have offended, my Lady. It is known throughout these lands, that women who drink of the rose, are warm and passionate to those men that they love."
He looked at her and smiled, his one gold tooth reflecting the sunlight.
No one else, in the café, heard their exchange. Their attentions were rivetted on the disturbance that rumbled a little ways down the street.
The tavern maid brought the drinks, served them, and winked at Cardinal Allen before she left. "Enjoy, Cardin'!" she said, then went to serve someone else.
"I'm sorry, Cardinal! I misunderstood the intent behind your words."
Cardinal Allen bowed his head and smiled at her a forgiving little smile. In his norm, he turned his own decadence around and once more had come clean.
"The mistake was unintentional, my child. Let us pray that this does not happen again." he clasped his hands and lowered his head.
Dearborne bowed her head, as well, and sighed.
The Cardinal, however, did not pray. He looked up at her and only thought about how wonderful she was, and the joys and the pleasures that Lord Scullion must feel when he takes her. He thought about the intense heat that he felt, just sitting near her; watching her smooth glow and the inviting look in her eyes, as if saying "I will take you, my Lord Cardinal." But soon his thoughts brought him back to his place, as it was, at Halls. There was the devotion that he had to show, and the tributes that he had to give, to the other brothers there, and also the obligation that he had to The Almighty, Himself. He sighed and said "amen" and Dearborne echoed him.
"I must leave you, now, Cardinal." she continued with a silent hesitation. "Thank-you for the refreshment, and of course the compliment." She saw him, still over by the magician and the girl. She called to him and before he came he kissed the girl and waved to her even though she stood right beside her. She giggled and Boy ran to Dearborne when she called to him again.
"Here I come, Lady!" he shouted as he ran to her. Along the way he stumbled and dirtied himself, but he sprang up quickly and continued.
Cardinal Allen took her hand. She spun around in surprise and faced him. She glared at him as his voice, heavy and wet, filtered into her mind.
"Before you go, my Lady, please do not forget to request a visit with Lord Scullion. The ArchBishop does very much wish to see him." She pulled her hand out of his, in a slow and obviously repulsed manner. She than walked away. Boy ran after her and she handed him the basket of fruit and vegetables.
As they headed in the direction that they had come from, the commotion that was down the street was now before them. They tried to make their way to the main boulevard but when they made it, Dearborne stopped to see what the problem was.
People pushed and shoved one another and screamed obscenities at a man, about Dearborne's age, who jumped up on the magician's stage, knocking the magician to the ground. Throughout the clamour and confusion, the man yelled at the people, but no one listened. He finally had to hit a few individuals, sending them careening to the ground, in order that he could stay on the stage.
"Listen!" he yelled. "Listen — Hear Me!" Now, on stage, the noise of the crowd heightened. Every single person screamed at him. Most screamed insults and profanity while others screamed at him calling him a blasphemer and a heretic. Some men tried to pull him off the stage but he kicked and swung his fists, and made a mark on their faces.
The man lifted a tattered book into the air to show the people, and yelled in desperation at the people to listen to what he had to say.
"Listen, people of Phoride! Hear the truths that have been! Listen so that you too may know!" he screamed.
The anger of the people was coming to a boil and some men shouted as loud as they could at him.
"What truths? Words that we don't understand?" hollered one, in anger, back at him.
"Blasphemies and heresies to destroy our faith in The Almighty!" shouted another.
"We don't listen to lies! — Remove him!"
"These are not lies. These are truths, of the great things that had once been and can be, again!" pleaded the man from the stage. The murmur of the riotous mob grew; people yelled to others to take him away and kill him, and to close their eyes to his devilish words.
"Hear me, friends! Hear the words of the "old ones" from that age that had vanished! — Hear of those who have been in shelter, and who waited to be born again. All of you are the witnesses to them, to reason and to understand them, again!" said the man on the stage as he waved his book in the air, over his head.
Dearborne and Boy moved into the shadows of the adjacent street. She was curious to hear what the man had to say.
Cardinal Allen still stood by the café table and watched some woman grab at the leg-bindings of the man's sandal. Allen waited. The woman screamed.
"This demon tempts us! Call the Almighty's Angels to destroy him!" and Allen pulled from his habit a small flat, triangular device and passed his forefinger over its surface. Instantly, bells echoed throughout the street and the roar of the mob died down as they moved back, away from the stage.
Two tall male figures, dressed totally in black, with dark helmets and shiny metals adorning them, entered the square in haste, beside the café. Cardinal Allen pointed a bony finger at the man on stage and the two monastic guards stepped up to the stage and drew their weapons on him.
The man on stage was certain that they would fire upon him. He knew that he couldn't allow his book to be taken from him, for then no one would ever see it. He quickly took a glass ball from his hip sack and threw it down at the guards. A twangy sound echoed though the air and the man fell from the stage, to the ground. The glass ball that he had thrown down poured-out a grey green smoke, giving him the chance to drag himself into one of the nearby alleys.
The monastic guards stopped in their tracks. Their guns were still pointed up towards the stage but they did not fire any more.
The mob, aimless and panicked, ran into one another and screamed in horror that they were blind. Others fell to the ground and crawled off, crying and praying to the Almighty to deliver them from the evil that had befallen them.
Cardinal Allen ran off in the direction of Halls, still rubbing his forefinger over the surface of the device. The roar of the mob subsided, giving way to the eerie sounds of the bells that echoed through every part of Pomperaque. As Allen approached Halls, he fell over his habit, dragging behind him, and in final desperation, made it through the gateway and collapsed by the fountain in the courtyard.
Amidst the confusion in the city square was the man's body. It dragged itself into a doorway, his hand cupped over the open fist-sized wound in his side. The intolerable pain made him sway out of the doorway and onto the cobble-stone street. He dropped his book as he tried to stand up, and vomited into the gutter before he passed out.
Some figures quickly rushed towards him. One of them grabbed the book and concealed it with their clothes, as they took him under the arms and quickly spirited him away.
Overlooking pomperaque stood Mount Benitar the rock of wisdom. There sat a man of wisdom, who watched everything that occurred in that great city.
The man of the mountain was not pleased with what he witnessed taking place over the centuries. Alone, he contemplated his descent into the valley.
CHAPTER THREE
Some birds chirped outside, perched on the branches of the giant junipers, hidden by the shadows of the leaves, hiding from the heat of the afternoon sun.
A breeze gently sighed through the window, the lace coverings flapped about their hangings, animating them into a lively dance and scattering the shy sunlight that intermittently peaked into the room.
The room was large and fragrant with exotic incenses. The blue and white of the polished Lazurite walls pleased the eye, as did the intricately carved sandalwood furniture and bed frame. All of this added a most natural aura to the naked smoothness of the marble and the stone, utilized throughout the building.
In the white, fur-lined bed lay a man. His upper torso was propped up by blue satin pillows, stuffed with fluffy swans down. The pillows showed the unmistakable signs of dampness, from his sweat. He lay still, tiny beads of sweat streaming from his brow. His nostrils flared with each painful breath that he took. A blanket was drawn up to his waist. His arms rested on the blanket's end and to his side. His chest was circumscribed by clean bandages that held a herbal poultice against the wound in his side — an attempt to relieve his pain.
The sounds of people outside returned to normal. Business carried on in its usual way and the people carried on in their usual disarray.
Outside the room, in the hallway, was heard the whispering voices of a man and a woman. The woman was describing an incident that had occurred within the city square, that had injured their guest.
Within the room, the man on the bed stirred and woke up. He tried to sit up quickly but let out a deep, painful groan as he again lay back. His pain subdued him in silence. The voices outside the door hushed for a moment and the man's voice was heard again. It speculated that the injured man, in bed, may have regained consciousness.
The man in bed touched the bandages and grimaced in pain. He was motionless in the bed and looked about the room. The exquisite, luxurious beauty of the walls and patterned ceiling, with the many crystals hanging from it suggested "home". He looked towards the window, just in time to see a tiny swallow turn and fly from the ledge, and a red-breasted Bourbon, was balancing on a branch and singing its aria to him.
The latch on the door clicked as it was opened. The man in bed, lifted his head for a moment and watched three people approach him; the smaller one carrying a tray of food and drink.
For a long time, silent looks were exchanged between them all.
The cautious servant placed the tray over the man's lap and helped him to sit up. He placed another cushion at his back.
The man looked at the food and at the others, until finally, the host smiled and took a bite from the food and sipped the drink.
"Eat, my friend! You will not heal quickly if you do not eat." he said, then stepped away from him.
The man in bed devoured the food as if he has never before eaten. The host and his wife glanced at each other as they watched him.
After a minute, the injured man suddenly stopped and looked at the others who stared at him while he at. There was thick quiet until the injured man spoke, with a serious mistrust, in the tone of his voice. "Where is my book?" he asked.
The host smiled at him and looked over to his wife. "Your encyclopedia is safe, my friend." answered the host, as he slowly neared the bed.
The servant helped him sit up more comfortably in the bed when he showed too much pain, trying to so do by himself.
Suspicion burned in the injured man's flaring eyes. He questioned his host further.
"Who are you to know of such books?"
"I am the sovereign of Phoride — I am called Brook Scullion. This is my wife, Dearborne and our … servant, Boy!" said the host, the Lord Brook. He continued. "We know of that book, and about much more!"
There was quiet again for a few moments as their injured guest drank, his thoughts and fears sculpted across his wide hirsute face. "No!" said Brook. "It happens that we have common interests and like goals. You, however, have a strange courage, trying to speak out your knowledge. This is dangerous! — No, my friend, if I were to kill you, it would be like preventing a cure for a rampant plague!"
Dearborne neared the bed and looked at him while she explained to him, how he came to be there, in the room.
"I was in the market today. When I was leaving I saw you, shouting and waving a book over your head, but no one listened. I did not leave, for the sake of curiosity, then after you were hurt, Boy and I brought you back here." when Dearborne finished, a small, thankful smile drifted across his face, then finally grew into a sincere completion when Boy added his thoughts. "You're heavy!" she said, rubbing his arms.
Brook stood right up against the bed and checked the bandages. He sighed and shook his head in disbelief.
"You are a very fortunate man. Never before have I seen anyone survive a blast from those —- "
" — Electrophoric guns!" interrupted the man.
"Yes! You know much of the last millennia!" he smiled.
"I do, sir! So do others from where I come. I am Lloyd Bartlet, and I am from Besten."
Brook turned to Dearborne. They looked at one another, their expressions bordering on apprehension, puzzlement and a somewhat odd pleasure.
"Besten?!" Brook ejaculated with surprise.
Lloyd nodded his head and with a smile, he detailed.
"Besten, the 'Hopeless City', as the ArchBishop calls it. We have no tyrant rulers there and no monastic institutions, and because of this we are called 'evil', by him. Well …" he shrugged at his thought.
"Why are you here, if Besten is so free?" asked Dearborne, confused and now becoming interested about his motives.
Lloyd took another drink from the goblet on his lap tray while Lord and Lady Scullion waited, in anticipation, for him to explain why he had come to Phoride.
Boy stood by. He watched and listened. His face showed its usual bewilderment. He handed Lloyd a large napkin and Lloyd wiped his mouth. After the wiping he sighed and finally explained his presence here in their land.
"My people (my father, Harvard Bartlet, especially), had sent me to try to alter the ArchBishop's trade embargo on Besten. I suppose that I went about it the wrong way by trying to talk to the people first!"
Brook put his hand on Lloyd's shoulder and assured him that he made no mistake. Dearborne agreed with her husband's opinion and she released her suspicions.
"It wouldn't have made much of a difference. Actually, avoiding the talk, directly with the ArchBishop probably saved your life and I believe that you may be fortunate enough to have created a question in some of the citizen's minds. Your injury, I suppose, may be considered a payment for giving men new ideas!"
"I think it to be a little too expensive!" added Lloyd, with humour, laughing at his own pains and inequities while he touched his bandaged chest.
They continued their palaver throughout the afternoon and into the early evening. They learned many intricacies about one another; about their individual lifestyles and their social ideologies.
They discussed the progress that had occurred through the many generations that grew and nurtured along with it the disease of corruption and immorality; the same diseases that were present in all civilised peoples. These powerful progression had meant the inevitable downfall of all the great Empires which once reigned on the Earth. From the first humans that walked upright, to the last of the brave that went into space, in the late Twentieth Century, it had been the same until the fall of man, in his greatest conflagration. Brook and Lloyd exchanged little bits of knowledge about the Twentieth Century and the three great wars that were fought. There were endless columns of living flesh, where people were herded like animals by other people, and transported to large camps. While there, many who were not fortunate enough to die, were made use of in the endless experiments of new drugs, surgical techniques and endless studies of the individual's body tolerances to torture.
The atrocities, that every war carried with it, seemed to grow and spread. They were pandemic. Yet, these atrocities were allowed to continue, where social morals degenerated further with every proceeding conflict and the outrageous brutality that was let to worsen, by the lack of authoritative controls on those madmen. They spoke of the GREAT NATION's 'Proposition Blue'; devised in the last half of the Twentieth Century, to preserve human life, in the event that global annihilation would become reality. Learned men and women were chosen and assembled, and were taken to subterranean cities. There, they were to carry-on with their work and with their lives, in the perfect safety of their restraint.
In the years that proceeded, and no major wars were fought, the young chosen became old and were replaced by newly chosen young intellectuals. They too, continued in the sealed cities.
Lloyd reached for his book and opened at a particular spot. He had read aloud to Brook; Dearborne and Boy listening:
"Two generations of the Proposition Blue personnel lived-out their lives, underground. In the Omega 1-SGI, restless dissention had spread when the time of the last global war had finally come to pass. When the news of war spread through the ranks of The Blue, many scientists forcibly left their protective cities and went out into the world to let the common people know of some meagre ways to protect themselves during the inevitable nuclear strikes and the subsequent fallout.
Some scientists published papers, that they called "The Blue Prospectus". It told the world about their government's secret cities and it made demands for regular people to be admitted into them, also. The people then rebelled, all of them wanting in. In the Far and MiddleEast, the Red Forces fought. They had left death and destruction in the wake of their advancement towards (what was then) the world's greatest, and most Holy of cities.
The masses were terrified.
At home, people fought amongst one another, crying at the terrible lies that the men in power told to them. They desperately tried to understand why some of them were not allowed into the "Proposition Blue" standards. The final chance to allow one young worker from each of the State's counties, an admission into one of the seven Omega SubGround Installations.
FLIGHT FOR SALVATION GINN — 2030
At dusk, as the twilight colours gave way to darkness and the pulsing stars, Brook and his guest had sup and continued with their exchange. Dearborne and Boy attentively sat by one another for many of those passing hours. They said very little but listened a great deal.
Lloyd told Brook of a great vault that was uncovered in the centre of Besten by historian scholars, many years ago. The vault contained a great number of books, journals and visual ribbons which showed the dire panic of the masses when the first bombs began to fall upon their cities.
Pictures showed masses in exodus to the mountains just before the escalation. Those people who left early, during the desperately unsuccessful peace negotiations, had made it to the safety of the mountains, where they hopefully found some degree of protection from the deadly fallout. Those who waited and moved too late, perished in the desolation that came to pass. And the world cried, for the final prophesy was not fulfilled. The Son of Man had failed to return and put a stop to the killing, the persecution and the corruption. Some people died from their lack of Faith, while other stayed with the hope that His return was still to come upon them, a little while later.
Their talk lead them into their own historic backgrounds, to the sum of knowledge which was allowed by the original Canon Di'Vaticanus, in the middle of the Twenty Seventh Century. He declared that this two score and eleventh year (2651 C.E.), was the beginning of the long-promised millennium, as heralded by the ancient prophets. His declaration was made after an eleven-year-old girl gave birth to a son. The eleven-year-old was a foundling in an abbess hermitage, left there by someone who could not care for her.
"She was found, wrapped in richly garb and placed in a golden cradle. As the girl grew she became beautiful, like the sun. She shone with inner light. Her hair was white — shiny like snow and iridescent like the moon. Her olive-skin flesh colouring contrasted her naturally reddened mouth and she possessed dark, almost black, almond-shaped eyes. Her beauty was near Holy and many men felt a jealousy within themselves when they just looked upon her. Then, at eleven, she was in size and stature, and appearance, to that of a full-grown woman; she birthed a son. This son, the Canon had proclaimed as a "Saviour" and sought to conduct a sacrifice in honour of the child, but he told the world that nothing was precious enough for this. It was soon determined, however, that there was one thing of great value, in all the land; the boy's own young and beautiful mother. In the shortness of time, and as if for the redemption for her death, the boy became weak and also died. The child's milk of life was taken from him and nothing else would sustain him.
The child's death was hidden from the ignorant masses and all the people believed in a falsity for nearly a half millennia." Lloyd recounted the story about the foundling that came to be called Sunshine by the old Abbess Mariot, in the common year of 2640. This was the same little girl that resulted the subsequent formation of the spiritualism that has been followed for the last four hundred years.
As the twilight evening gave way to the dark of night, Brook told Lloyd about his own lineage, following it as far back as he was able to, and confessed to him the peculiar ancestry that he had with the Canon Blue. He explained that his father's line originated with the woman Dioneza, the half-sister of the Canon. In 2660 C.E., she had agreed to be artificially inseminated with Twentieth Century seamen from a physicist, who was called David Sannstein. He confessed to Lloyd that this wasn't really his own line and that he didn't know from where his line actually stemmed. Brook admitted, truthfully, that he was a foundling.
He spoke about that one day, long ago, when Smith Blue and his wife Miri were returning to Phoride, from the Virgin Mountains. Miri was heavy with child and in that mid-summer's afternoon in 3001 C.E., she gave birth to a son and called his name, Manguino. In a thankful rest, while his wife nursed the newborn, Smith Blue walked in the woods, following a babbling stream and a strange distant sound which was like the crying of a babe. And in his curious search, he came upon a hollow, where there was a child, wrapped in a sackcloth and left within a lion's skull. Smith gave the baby to his wife; seeing the baby abandoned and crying from hunger. And upon seeing the unfortunate child, Miri brought it near to her milk-laden breast and let it suckle beside her own son. Having hearts of gold, they accepted the babe to their bosom as their own, and Smith called his name, Brook Scullion; after the fashion that he had been found — by a stream, lying in a lion's skull.
As midnight approached, they talked of their governments. Lloyd proudly explained to Brook, Dearborn and the quiet Boy, about the Democratic system of government that his people accepted from the ancient Twentieth Century. In Besten, the people found it the most suitable form of rule for a civilized people. And even though, in the beginning there was corruption and immorality, their land had eventually overcome it all and soon gleaned a people of extreme honesty and cooperation. It had made Besten a very powerful, and important, centre on the northeast coast of the continent.
Lloyd became depressed when he thought about the Phoridenes closing their minds to the knowledge that he tried to give to them, and he experienced repeated visions of the monastic guard's electrophoric guns wallop him over and over again with their charges.
"My people hoped, that if the Phoridenes were to know the truth about the past, they would rally to oppose the ArchBishop. Maybe then, he would resume trade with Besten and the other territories so affected."
Brook thought that Lloyd's people had a logical plan but he also saw they were too innocent of the facts about the man in the great Halls Cathedral.
"The hopes of your people are too great!" Brook prepared an explanation that shattered any hopes that Lloyd may have had for the success of his mission to Phoride. "These people of Phoride … they are ardent followers of that weasel at Halls. They follow him as if he is a god. It has been that same way, since the time of Canon. This following has been an deviation, in this land; this worship of him as some Almighty, who is nothing more than a man — a madman!"
Dearborne now broke her long silence and also commented about the people.
"They are all children, in mind, and follow the ArchBishop as if he is their father. To keep this maniacal worship, he has banned citizens from acquiring knowledge; limiting their scholastic learning to the monasteries and to the Blaisaman, and limiting only this to his own supporters' children. These places and their people are controlled by him. He prefers to keep the people as ignorant as he can, for his own ease to rule them." her voice quivered from her constricted soul.
Then, to Lloyd's amazement, Boy joined the conversation. His bewildered expression left him, as his hopeless and saddened voice carried right into the hearts and minds of the adults, in the room with him.
Brook turned to Dearborne, surprised. His eyes questioned her for a reason for Boy's interjection. "Everyone does what they are told or they are made to suffer!" said Boy. He rose to his feet, looked at Brook and Dearborne and walked about the room. He continued to speak his mind while the others quietly listened. "Not long ago, the servant-girl of one of the Cardinals — she was just older than me — refused to bare the Cardinal's holy child. With that refusal came her death, because the Cardinal declared that she will, therefore, never have children … and in the view of all the people at Halls, and the Phoridene Council, the Cardinal had his vicars cut open the girl and all she had inside was pulled out and thrown to the floor. She did not die right away. The Cardinal wanted her last sight to be the death of her entire family." Dearborne turned away from what Boy had described. The horrible sight of the execution had returned to her. She and Brook were required to attend the execution — as was their slave, Boy.
Brook went to her and embraced her. As he consoled her, Boy continued, his eyes on the brink of bursting into tears.
"Then, they said that she was a demon and impure, and displayed her naked at Halls, for all of Phoride to gawk at."
Boy stopped and lowered his head but his expression showing a determined refusal to cry.
Lloyd was horrified by Boy's story and under his breath he could just sigh, "Barbaric!"
Brook and Dearborne held each other, tears slowly dribbling down their cheeks as Boy went to them for comfort, as well. To Lloyd's surprise, he watched them embrace the child.
"But why? — " Lloyd pleaded. "Why, my Lord, would such an atrocity be done to so young a girl? What was there to be gained by such barbarity?" he wiped his eyes as he thought of his little sister, still in Besten, and imagined that this could also become of her, if they lived in Phoride.
"Lloyd, my friend … the ArchBishop has made some strange laws, that I could not veto. One such law was that the refusal to bare a child by a monastic was a sin, punishable by death. Nothing could be done and fear prevented me from asserting what powers I do have over him, at Halls. More of Phoride follows his words and requests than they follow mine. My power is possessed just out of respect for my Blue heritage. He, with whom I had ruled, died early in our lives. Our co-sovereignty, that we promised to Smith Blue, died as well. It was I who united Upper and Lower Phoride but that Almighty ass of hypocrisy and immorality, took hold of my people's hearts."
Brook became very angry and felt so vulnerable and alone. He stood up and moved away from Dearborne and Boy.
"He banned all forms of learning, unless all the teaching was conducted by his monks, in the monastery. I tried to oppose him with all my power on that resolution. All I accomplished was the formation of our small Blaisaman. The masses listened to him when he told them _ "The Devil is in Knowledge, unless that Knowledge was conveyed by a righteous man of the Almighty" … but as you see Lloyd, we know the real devil."
Lloyd came to realize Brook's thoughts and confirmed them with a nod. He could see that Brook had some real influence in the local government but no real power.
For the first time since the afternoon, there was a still quiet in the room. A morose presence hung in the air and it felt cold and ugly.
Outside, the people began to yell and scream in ecstasy as the warm drizzles finally began to pour on them. Their moderate prolificacy grew stronger with the coming of the rain; where the men chased their wives and daughters, their mistresses and their whores, out into the streets. In their uncontrolled lust, they rolled around in the mud, like swine, and fornicated with anyone or anything nearby. It mattered very little to them whether it was man, woman, child or animal. That rain was the ill-begotten legacy of the Twentieth Century war. The rain fell only once or twice a year in Lower Phoride. It was the same rain that caused the beautiful vegetation to grow into its remarkable splendour. Throughout the year, the green would survive by the watering from the artesian seas beneath the ground, until the next rain came. Some citizens eagerly waited for the rain to come, on that one day or night, where they believed that the evil within them would be fully satisfied and would leave them if they allowed themselves to be fully indulged in whatever manner of perversion happened upon them, during that season.
There were those who were afraid. Mothers, who didn't want to see their innocent ravaged, hid in their homes until the rains passed, and after the rain, those who hid came out into the streets. They wouldn't be afraid of the pools and puddles because the rain lost its strange properties shortly after touching the ground.
When the rains eventually ended the hiding people would emerge to see their naked friends and relatives in their frenetic prurience. They would walk amongst them, covering their mouths and noses from the stink of the forced orgasms produced by their uncontrolled reaction to being caught in the rains. They would gather-up the injured and cart-away, to the incinerators, those that had died from their over-exertions. The legacy of the rain was a strange one caused by the chemical intermixing of, the now weakened, radiation and the bacterial layers that encircled the world high in the atmosphere, released by that unspeakable war so many years in antiquity.
Several hours passed in conversation within Lloyd's room.
Dearborne cradled Boy, now asleep.
Brook and Lloyd devoured the contents of the book Lloyd had brought, and Brook reciprocated by showing Lloyd some of the materials and relics that he had in his possession.
The rain, stopping not long before, had resumed. This time it was coming down harder, stealing the attention of the two new friends, as they read.
Dearborne, quietly sitting and relaxed, was jolted by a flash of lightning and a loud bang of thunder that quickly reported itself.
Boy awoke, startled. He looked at his surrounding then jumped from Dearborne's lap and ran towards the window. He pulled a large panel of wood over the open window to prevent the rain from entering the room. But the rain fell of him.
At once, Brook commanded him to lock himself in his chamber and slide the key out beneath the door. The boy quickly ran from the room, in haste to follow what Brook had instructed.
Lloyd, Brook and Dearborne were silent in their concern.
They exchanged several glances of worry about Boy.
"These rains are an evil necromancy over this entire continent. We also experience the rains, in Besten; although, my people do not go into it willingly. We have set aside gardens, throughout the entire city, for those to go, if caught in the rain. We are compassionate towards the cruelty of the madness."
Dearborne looked worried. She touched Brook's hand and questioned him about her fears for Boy. "Will he be alight?" she asked, as he face lost its flushed highlights.
A pounding sound was heard down in the distant hallway. It was coming from Boy's room.
"He made it to his chamber in time. Now he tries to come out. He will have to struggle with the rain's curse until it wears off. It is good that Boy is young and he was not fully soaked. Fortunately, the recovery should not take long."
Dearborne worried for Boy, since he had never-before been touched by the rain and, as far as she knew, he was far too young to have experienced any of extreme, or absurd, sexual drives.
The rain caused his body's glands to react by generating vast hormone secretions, and he convulsed in an insatiable erotic lust, while he poured out on the floor, by the door, by his own hand.
To calm Dearborne and suppress her worry for the boy, Lloyd and Brook continued to talk. Brook told his guest that he recently taught his wife all that he knew about the Twentieth Century, revealing to her the secrets from that now forgotten time.
"Have you taught anyone, other than Lady Dearborne, about the past?" inquired Lloyd.
"Not as of yet, Lloyd! But I am prepared to teach the boy, for I believe that he is ready to understand." Brook answered. "We have no children of our own and though it would be wonderful, without is truly best. Our lives are too short and petty in the existence of this world of miseries. Dearborne is also spared a terrible fate by the monastics who are not permitted their lustful intercourse without the potential of a birth."
Lloyd did not believe in Brook's notion of life being so miserable. He tried to give him a small dose of Bestenese faith.
"That is the very same way that the Old Ones had spoken in Besten, but they found that our lives could be as long as we wished. And our lives could be worth while, too! This may even be our religion. If not, is at least the attitude that we possess!
Lloyd closed his eyes and yawned. The talk that they have had, since that afternoon, was tiring even though it was fulfilling. Now he was weary. A need for rest could be seen in Brook's face, as-well-as in Dearborne. They glanced at one another with tear-soft eyes that craved sleep.
Dearborne checked Lloyd's bandages before they prepared to leave him.
"You will be fine. You are fortunate to survive those evil electrophorics. Maybe the true God is watching over you!" she said as she took Brook under the arm.
"Rest … tomorrow we will talk some more." Brook commanded. "Tomorrow, if you can move around, I will show you more things that you may not have seen before."
"Thanks to you, both _ my friends." exclaimed Lloyd.
Lloyd fell to sleep once he lay back, and his saviours left the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
The rain fell throughout the night and into the early morning hours. Just before dawn, the rain had stopped and the sky filled with rainbows as the sun rose over Carter Pass (named after Brook's grandfather, who made Pomperaque a powerful city-state, nearly two centuries earlier).
On the streets were the people who hid from the rains, in the dry sanctuaries of their homes. They came out and gathered up their friends and relatives, that laid about in the streets half or entirely naked.
Some were still in the dreadful perverted poses brought upon them, by the rain.
The gatherers wore masks while they tried to separate those individuals still connected in their copulation. They wore the masks to keep the abominable stench of the human and animal excretions, from reaching them.
The heat of the morning sun made the horrid reek worsened to an overwhelming degree.
Medical men and women walked about and offered aid to those injured in the deranged mass orgy. Most were young girls and boys, killed by the frenetic desires of those who found it more to their pleasure to fornicate with the bodies of the dead; after having experienced the added excitement of killing them; with their fists or anything that they could find, to use as weapons.
There were men and boys, dead or dying from excruciating pain, after having their genitalia bitten off by some nymphomaniac harlots and other erotopathic bitches — some of who also died, choking while trying to swallow their prizes.
In the final reports given to Brook at noon, eighty-eight citizens were dead. Forty-three were women (ranging in age from fifteen to forty), twelve were men (mostly around fifty years of age), and the rest were children (boys and girls, six to fourteen).
Brook was saddened and alarmed, for this rate of mortality was the highest seen in Phoride for almost three hundred years. He still waited for word to come to him, from Upper Phoride and he didn't want to think of the numbers there.
The reports of those injured critically and seriously were also high. Their numbers reached close to two hundred; again, mostly comprised of children. Many boys developed venereal chancres and scores of young girls would now, never be able to bare children.
Even those who were slightly injured had reddened mouths, anus and genitals covered with runny infections. The more painful pustules erupted with yellowish-brown, jelly-like fluids that seeped from them, resembling the softened putrefaction of carrion. The most frightening, and eerie, result of the rain was the affects that it had on the human spirit. After the rain, there was always a deathly hush over the entire city. Only the gag-like breathing of those hundreds recovering from their scourged vainery, could be heard. This lasted for several days and sometimes continued for weeks.
There were no regular markets and no trade occurred. At night, the quiet was gravely frightening and it gave the entire land the atmosphere of a necropolis. The buildings were the tombs and the people inside were the living dead.
No one ate for days. Most could not eat from the stink of the ejaculations and blood that still covered the streets. The sight of it all caused nausea on its own accord. Those who were injured didn't eat either for they knew that the good food would quicken the runs of pus, as the poisons were forced out of them, and their pain would become even more unbearable.
The clean-up of the dead and injured was hurried on this day because soon after the sun rose, the heat of the day was intense and by noon, the carcasses of the animals that had died from the rain, began to rot. By now, the sane, unscathed citizens began to remove the corpses from the streets and cart them off to the incinerators for burning.
Many vicars, cardinals, novices and other coenobites helped those on the streets. They administered first-aid and prayed for their souls' salvation. But they were the last to appear on the streets that morning, after they cleaned-up their own mess at Halls. Within the Quadrangle of the Cathedral, all the members were locked-in during the rain, with dozens of whores and other town's wenches, that were promised good food and a place to stay for one month, in return for their services when the eagerly awaited rain finally arrived.
These merry women adored the great Halls Cathedral. It was the most enormous structure in all of Phoride and the other lands on the continent. The structure reached for the sky. Its lean, slender appearance was capped by a crystal and gold ornate dome, with a spire. Buttresses flew out, all about from the slender central pillar; where at its base, tall and wide copper doors majestically opened and closed as people walked in and out of the main chapel.
Extended behind the pillar and into an oval shaped building was the area of the monastery, serving as the dormitories, rectories, scholarly libraries and private rooms for the monks. This residential building also housed the ArchBishop's office, wherein he conducted all his business of decision. Although this was one day of heavy mourning and discontent, there were plans at hand, and there were thoughts to be exchanged. All this was owed to the ArchBishop's ill-at-ease feeling, that was brought on by Lord Brook's refusal to meet with him for such a long time. The ArchBishop was always in his office, seated in his leather chair, rumpled in holy softness, and able to turn in full circles on its rounded legs. The ArchBishop was the same age as Brook but his hair was darker and the lines on his face were less defined. They framed his jutting, hairy brows and silvery-grey eyes, with a sculptured precision.
His physique reminded one of a defeated athlete. His paunchy flab lolled about his waist like Saturn's rings, and the texture of his skin lacked softness, appearing course and strangely tight.
His clothing shimmered in rich extravagance as he sat in his chair dressed in his ethereal garb made of the finest white satin. His black surplice, thrown over it, opened on the front and revealed his bulging gut as he sat. On his head rested the constant sign of authority, his tall white and gold mitre, studded about with rare jewels, gifted to him by the Heads of other lands. Across the desk from him sat the Cardinal Allen. Unlike the great ArchBishop, he was more modestly clothed in the handmade magenta habit, that all the other Cardinals and monks wore within the monastery walls.
The ArchBishop in his chair, listened to the choral chants coming from the chapel. The melodic resonance was made by the dozens of novices and vicars as they sang their praise to the great forces of the Almighty. They gave their thanks for their lives, their homes, their food and the virgins sent to them, for the pleasures of administrating their blessings to them.
During the 'Praise to the Almighty' hymn, the ArchBishop, with his greatly inflated ego, listened in quiet and not tolerating interruptions. Afterall, their praise was being made to him alone, and he felt obliged to listen to them.
The chants echoed throughout Halls and its Quadrangle. Soon, all the senior monks joined in the melodic praise from wherever they were; whether in their gardens, in their stalls or strolling along the colonnade beneath the dormitory buildings. After a few minutes the whole area around Canon's Butte, where the Halls Cathedral stood, was filled with this song. This was the only sound heard, making its way through to the rest of Pomperaque, as it struggled out of its misery.
The office seemed to have an identity all of its own. On the walls hung the likeness of the Archbishop and the ancient Canon Di'Vaticanus. On the number of shelves about the room were placed rare and antiquated texts that dealt with their faith, and there were equally-rare statues of long-dead saints; those whose names were all, but few, forgotten.
As the 'Praise to the Almighty' ended and another hymn began the ArchBishop sat up in his chair and resumed the talk that he was earlier engaged in, with Cardinal Allen.
"I am pleased that you had found an opportune time to speak with her." he said in his roguish, powerful voice.
"Her thoughts seemed preoccupied, when I first spoke to her. I finally asked her to arrange the visit with Brook and Your Holiness, but that disturbance had occurred in the square and I do not know if she remembered to tell her Lord Brook. We should have had a reply by now!" Cardinal Allen relayed to the ArchBishop his brief encounter with the lovely Dearborne. He also admitted to him, the desires that he felt for her, during it all.
The ArchBishop smiled, his evil, butterflied lips turned up on each end while the rest of his mouth stayed unchanged. His eyes sparkled with intrigue and cynicism, and with the knowledge of predictability.
"Our Lord Scullion never replies. I really don't expect him to — now, more than usual, and we would waste our time to go to him. We would be told by his wretched servants that 'He is not in, call again!'. Then I, like a fool, would wait for another time. Now, more than ever, we must strive for an alliance between us. His power is a great danger to mine and he knows it deep inside his heart. His is a presence to be feared in Phoride!"
Cardinal Allen seemed confused by the change of the ArchBishop's usual attitude towards Brook Scullion. He couldn't see the true feelings in his Master's eyes and he didn't know whether he was frightened or just being careful about the great sovereign of Phoride.
Allen stood up and went to the window that was behind him, across the room. He looked out to see a number of the monks' service-wenches. They all lounged naked by the courtyard fountain, recuperating from their follies in the rain the previous evening. Beside them were a number of young novices and some messeigneurs. He looked over to a picture of the ArchBishop and sighed in a breathless manner, until he finally looked straight ahead again and nodded to himself in approval of his proposed thought. He turned to the ArchBishop. When their eyes met, he knew that maybe Allen had designed a cunning solution.
However! …
"Why don't we just dispose of our Lord Scullion? Then we will have no threat and you will be the supreme One, in Phoride!" he shouted to his Holiness.
"But, my loyal Allen, I already am the most supreme. Why do you think that he hasn't told the Phoridenes about the ancient people? He has the proof, just as we do; and because the citizens regard him as highly as they worship me, care must be taken to keep him alive. Our advantage lies in my hope that he does not know the extent of his power."
"That is odd, your Holiness! If he indeed has the power, the ability, to destroy your authority, then we do not fare well. You remember the other rebellions against you, you Holiness? He, too, can destroy our position of power. He can be just like Martin of Ohigh, Hudson of Netheda, or maybe even like Harvard Bartlet of Besten. And don't forget the single disobedience by those people, like that Virunese pig, Empal. Our unity has become weak and their's has grown!" Cardinal Allen worked himself into a frenzy.
The ArchBishop, with a cool attitude towards the talk of his imminent downfall, calmed his loyal servant and set him straight as to the workings of Brook's mind, and the probability that nothing at all would happen.
He lifted his hands and gestured for Allen to stop. He smiled and swayed his chair to and fro while he spoke. Cardinal Allen slinked back towards the desk. Apparently, his nervousness was greater than the Almighty's himself.
"You worry too much. I still have Phoride under control, my favoured-one. I have the advantage over our Lord Scullion. As I said, I don't suppose that he knows the full extent of his power and the people are also unsure. Confusion! … Confusion, Brother Allen, is our ally. If he tries anything against us, we shall call him a blasphemer, and he does not want this." he smiled at his own deductions, but Allen did not appear to be very pleased.
"Scullion has ruled Phoride for as long as you. Do you really believe that this man, who has ruled for nearly thirty years would cower at a charge of blasphemy?"
The ArchBishop laughed as he arranged his surplice, folded beneath his gut.
"Yes, I do believe it, most favoured. He thinks that the people follow only me. I proved this to him when I passed the Canon Education Law. He will be controlled … in time." He leaned back in the chair, a dry squeak cut the choral hymn in the background and nurtured the evil mechanism within the room.