Marcellus and I were walking through a dark place. The sky above was dim if present at all, the land around us hidden. There was no moon. There were no stars. There was just enough light to see by. Around us, the green and brown blades of waist-high grass waved in the breeze. The path on which we tread was smooth and made of hard-packed dirt. It looked well travelled. There were occasional stones, and tossed here and there on either side were much larger ones. We walked hand-in-hand, I slightly in front, gently pulling him along. Sometimes we came across other paths that intersected our own. I would pause and wait for him to indicate a way, but he never did.
Marcellus was silent. I was speaking. “A man was frantically looking for something under a street light. A kindly passer-by noticed and asked, 'Sir, what are you looking for?'
“'My key,' mumbled the man. 'I've lost my key.'
“The passer-by put down his briefcase and got on his hands and knees and began to search for the key. After some time, the passer-by thought to ask, 'Where did you see it last?'
“'In my house,' mumbled the man.
“'Then why are you looking for it here?' exclaimed the passer-by in frustration, leaping to his feet.
“The man looked up. 'There's more light,' he said.”
After a moment, Marcellus spoke. “Are you saying I should be looking for the key to happiness in this place?” He looked around at the winding and criss-crossing paths and was met only by a veil of concealing shadows.
“I'm not saying anything,” I replied.
“Cut the crap!” exclaimed Marcellus. “You told me that story for a reason.”
“You ought to look for what you seek in the place it is most likely to be found. Happiness can only be found within, Marcellus. These paths,” I told him, indicating the one on which we were currently standing, “are all paths to enlightenment.”
“It feels like a maze to me,” Marcellus breathed and shivered slightly.
“It will if you spend too much time on them.”
We came to the brink of a cliff. The path ended at its lip. In front of us spawned a huge void. It was a place Marcellus had never been before. He peered carefully over the edge and laughed nervously. “Well?” he asked, looking at me for direction.
I disengaged my hand from his and leaped from the lip of chasm. I flew upwards and blinked out of sight. Marcellus gasped but otherwise stood patiently as if waiting for something to happen. When after some time I did not return, he grew anxious. He peered behind at the forlorn land of grass with the paths (should he turn back?) and then at the yawning expanse before him. He did not know what to do.
“I thought you said these are the paths to enlightenment!” he finally shouted.
I answered. “They are the paths that lead to the place where you can creatively leap there.” My voice rolled at him from out of the chasm.
“You want me to jump?” he called out incredulously. When I did not answer, he tried again. “But I don't know where I'm going!” Still I did not answer. So Marcellus stomped his foot and sat down on the cliff's edge and put his head in his hands.
Icarus peered up at the lifeless panel suspended above the doorway. “Anyone figure out what these things are for?”
“It's a light, stupid,” Jennifer purred.
“Yeah, I know.” Icarus turned and eyeballed her. His voice, though, lacked the edge it usually carried when they bickered. “But what does it do?”
The acrid smell of nail-polish wafted across Maya's living room. Jennifer, seated in the middle of a plush, off-white couch, was painting her toenails a garish color of orange. “It turns on. It turns off. It's a fucking light, Ikkie.”
Maya's quarters were familiar to them all. They had been assigned apartments in the same wing, five apartments in a neat little row. Each had a spacious living room with a gas fireplace that no one had yet figured out how to turn on. A short hallway facing the entrance led towards the bedrooms in the back. A cramped kitchen was tucked to one side. A door at the other end opened into another, smaller hallway where two bedrooms and a full bath could be found. The only windows were in the bedrooms. They overlooked a rather well-travelled, cement road and some trees. The thick walls of the White House extended in both directions for some distance. Across the way was a small, unmarked building made of brick. A few military vehicles were parked out front. Maya kept her drapes and the windows closed. She had lain awake the first few nights, deprived of sleep by the incessant commotion outside.
Jango – dressed in leather pants, red and yellow alligator skin boots, gold chain, and leather cowboy hat – was standing in the center of the room. Carefully, almost suspiciously, he was observing Icarus and Jennifer each in turn. They both carefully avoided meeting his eyes.
“There's one in the bedroom, too,” Maya said, sitting in a plastic chair in the corner. She was dressed in a long, simple, beige skirt, a white sweater, and flimsy sandals.
“One what?” Jennifer asked.
“One of those lights!”
“They've got them all over,” Icarus said. “Sometimes they're green, sometimes red. But I can't make sense of it.” He reached up a hand, dunked it into the unruly mass of curly hair, and scratched his head.
Jango waited expectantly, but the vicious retort never came. “Are you two fucking?” he asked.
Before anyone could react, the light above the door came to life. It was a brilliant shade of green. They all stared.
After a few moments, Icarus detected a muffled voice at the other side of the door. “Someone's here!” He quickly gestured towards Maya. “You better open it.”
“But how do I know who it is?”
“The light's green, isn't it?” Jango pointed out.
“I'm supposed to trust a light?” Maya shot back sarcastically, but she got up anyway. She pulled a brown card out of her pocket and waved it at a section of the wall next to the door. It swung open, revealing an angry Marcellus. At his appearance, the green light extinguished.
“What took you so long?” he growled as he entered.
“Hi, Markie!” Jennifer chirped at him. “Isn't this place wonderful? All the hot water you want! No quotas here.”
Marcellus stared as if he were confronting a talking cat.
Maya pushed the door closed and returned to her seat. “How'd it go with your mistress?”
“Mistress?” Jango echoed.
“Shut up, Maya,” Marcellus growled. “You know what I've been through today.”
“It's a dangerous business,” Maya insisted, brushing off the front of her skirt and looking boldly up at him. “She's the President's wife.”
“You're out of your mind,” Icarus murmured, walking over to him. “You're after the President's wife? You're going to get yourself killed. Not to mention us.”
“I'll tell you what's going to get me killed,” he hissed furiously, glaring at Maya in particular. “They can hear every word we're saying!”
Jennifer smirked at him. “You can't be satisfied with what you've got, can you? You have to have the best.”
Jango, though, was amused. “That a boy,” he applauded. “Go for the gold.”
“I am not interested in the President's wife!” he insisted rather loudly for the benefit of anyone, real or imaginary, listening in. “Stop making jokes.” He managed to squeeze out some forced laughter. But even as he did so, Marcellus jabbed an accusing finger at Jango. “You left me out in the cold today.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Listen to me. I want you to buy some goons. As many as you can. From now on I want protection, twenty-four hours a day. I'm not going to get stuck with my thumb up my ass again. Got it?”
Jango's eyes narrowed. “I don't have any money.”
“I've got a budget.”
Jango's mood lightened. “I'll be the head of your bodyguard?”
Marcellus nodded vigorously.
“I get to go wherever you go and boss people around?”
Marcellus nodded again.
“Hell yeah!” Jango breathed and smiled broadly. “Think of the impression we'll make.”
“Don't go overboard.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jango mumbled, but clearly he was already making plans in the dark vault of his mind.
“What happened out there?” Icarus wanted to know. “You're acting strange.”
“You mean Maya didn't tell you?” He shot her a stiff look.
“Tell us what?”
Marcellus let out a belaboured sigh and headed for the kitchen. “I need a drink.”
Marcellus, barechested, silver chain hanging loosely about the neck, sat on the carpeted floor, leaning against the couch. He held a steaming, plastic cup in one hand. Inside was a brown, murky liquid. Jennifer – who had finished painting her toenails – and Icarus were sitting on the couch above him, peering curiously over his shoulders. Jango stood to one side. Maya had pulled her chair over. Their eyes, too, were trained on the cup.
“What's it taste like?” Jennifer wanted to know.
Like all their kitchens, Maya's was equipped with a Drink-O-Matic. There were a variety of buttons labelled with pictures – fizzy drinks, fruit drinks, coffee, tea – but the one that interested them the most was called the Arthur Dent Surprise. None of them had ever heard of it.
“Well – ” Marcellus said as he took another sip. He shook his head. “It's hard to say.”
“Is it sweet?” Maya asked.
Marcellus shook his head.
“Bitter?” Jango suggested.
Again, Marcellus shook his head. “I've never had anything like it before.”
“Must be full of chemicals,” Jennifer surmised.
“It smells like tea,” Icarus observed, leaning forward to catch a whiff.
“It's definitely not tea,” Marcellus replied coolly. Again, he sipped. After a moment, he said, “I quite like it, actually.”
Icarus leaned back in the couch. “Who do you think Arthur Dent was, anyway?”
“Stop asking stupid questions,” Jango grumbled.
Marcellus shrugged. “If you want to know what it tastes like, you'll have to try it yourselves. Anyway, we've got other stuff to talk about.”
“We do?” said Jennifer curiously.
“We've got to start acting like a team. Otherwise they're going to pick us apart. We're the only friends we got.”
“Why do they hate us, Markie?” Jennifer asked.
Jango
snorted. “Because we're invading their territory.”
Jennifer
frowned. “Territory?”
“Yeah. You know how dogs piss over things?”
“Jesus Christ,” Icarus moaned. “Another enlightening lecture from – ”
“People!” called out Marcellus suddenly. “Let's stay focused. Now Icarus, you're my chief of staff.”
Icarus perked up. “Yeah...”
Marcellus shrugged uncertainly. “It's time you started acting like one.”
Icarus blinked at him from behind his squarish lenses. “Anything to get rid of the boredom. But you haven't exactly been around much!”
“Sorry about that. Things got out of hand.”
“What's a chief of staff?” Jango wanted to know.
“He'll make up my schedule, for one thing.” He leaned his head back and looked up at Icarus. “That's important, you know. Gessus will probably get in touch with you every once in a while. And not to mention other things I'm expected to do. People will want to see me. You'll decide, Icarus, if and when they should. It's a big responsibility. You up to it?”
“Sure, sure,” Icarus said, beaming with excitement. “Finally, some real action!”
Almost imperceptibly, Jennifer jabbed him in the ribs. “What about me?” she asked. “I've just been sitting around, too, you know.”
He had promised her she'd be his political advisor, but they both knew it wasn't a working arrangement. “I was thinking,” he began. “I'm going to be on the link a lot. People are going to be watching.” He paused uncertainly. “I need to make the right impression. Have a good appearance. You know.” He waved his hand vaguely. “People have to like me.”
Jennifer frowned. “Are you asking me to be your media consultant?”
“Look, Jen,” Marcellus began defensively, “I think you'd be really good at it – ”
“What a great idea!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Because you really need what I can do for you, what with those rags you're wearing and all.”
Now it was Marcellus' turn to frown.
Jennifer pressed on. “I have so many great ideas! You'll love them.” She leaned over and grabbed Marcellus head. His long, soft hair felt warm in her hands.
“Everyone's going to love you, Markie. I promise.”
Marcellus wasn't so sure. He glanced hopelessly in Maya's direction.
“I'm sure you'll be the talk of the town,” Maya told him as steadily as she could.
Jennifer threw a barbed glance in her direction. “Oh, keep out of it, Maya. What do you know about presentation. You look like a fucking slob. Anyway, we know what Jango's doing, what I'm doing. What's your job around here? Huh?”
“What do you keep that girl for?” Epstein asked as he attacked the plate Betty had set in front of him.
“Which girl?” Marcellus asked.
“Watch out,” Betty said brightly as she slipped a similar plate on the table in front of him. “It's hot. Just came out of the oven.”
“That girl!” Epstein shouted testily, jabbing his fork towards the west entrance. “Not the pretty one. The other one. The one my wife told me about. The one we interrogated on the moon.”
“Oh, Maya. She's my free agent.”
“What in tarnation is that?” Epstein demanded as he stuffed a huge piece of red, dripping meat into his mouth.
“She takes care of all the non-official stuff,” Marcellus explained, pushing the steak around on his own plate. It wasn't cooked enough for his liking.
Epstein laughed. “What's the matter? Can't stand the blood?”
“Want me to take it back?” Betty asked in her motherly voice.
Marcellus looked up at her hopefully. “I'm not hungry.”
Betty retrieved the plate with one of her gloved hands and spun on her heels, heading for the east entrance.
“Sounds like a waste of money to me,” Epstein muttered and stuffed another piece of dripping meat into his mouth.
Jewel, sitting at the other end of the table, cleared her throat. “I think it's an excellent idea.” She was eating from a heaping plate of fish salad. Marcellus wished Betty would offer him some of that. He hadn't seen fish in a supermarket since he was a child. But he remembered the smell.
“You would,” Epstein growled.
The passed the rest of the lunch in a strained silence.
After Betty had cleared away the remnants of their meal and Epstein had wiped himself down, they went for a walk in the White House gardens. Outside the west entrance, Maya, Icarus, and Jango were waiting along with a few goons Jango had hastily acquired. The Dutchman, too, was with them, although he had made a point of standing down the corridor some ways and pretending he didn't know the others were there.
When the President and his wife emerged from their private quarters, the party awoke from its dull reverie and made to move off after them. The Dutchman approached and shook his head darkly at Jango's goons. “Only the President's Praetorian guards are permitted near his person. Yours will have to wait.”
About five of the Praetorians joined them on their way. As the party proceeded down the deserted corridor, Marcellus caught bits and pieces of their conversation. He was surprised to hear them speaking in some rough and guttural, unfamiliar language. They didn't all speak the same one, apparently, because occasionally they switched to a heavily accented English.
“Are your goons foreigners, too?” Marcellus whispered to Jango.
“One was bred in Scotland. Talks funny. Likeable chap, though. The rest are normal. Why? Should I get rid of him?”
Marcellus shook his head.
“I got them on the black market.”
Marcellus stared at him aghast. “Lower your voice!” he hissed. “The black market? What are you trying to do, get me injected?”
Jango looked at him peevishly. “What the fuck did you want me to do? That's where you get mods unless you grow them yourself. The black market.”
“Oh,” Marcellus agreed reluctantly and looked around. “Where's Jen?”
“She didn't want to come. I think she's going to pay a visit to Harvey Cash.”
Marcellus frowned. “The Secretary of State? What could she want with him? I certainly hope not his taste in clothes.” He smiled garishly up at Jango, but he wasn't laughing.
“I'd be careful about her if I were you.”
The smile melted from Marcellus' face. “That's a hell of a thing to say. Why?”
“If you don't watch out she'll get you into trouble.”
Marcellus bit his lip thoughtfully. “So could one of your goons.”
“That's different,” Jango replied gruffly, sounding slightly offended.
At that moment, someone opened a thick-set door and a weak daylight streamed into the corridor. Marcellus quivered with a sudden excitement. It was winter and he didn't have a jacket, but it was the first time Marcellus would taste fresh air since their arrival a week ago. They stepped out onto a small cement way. Soldiers at attention saluted stiffly. The hustle and bustle of men and women on the move was all around them.
He didn't have much time to take in his surroundings. Very soon after emerging, Epstein choose a little used path off the cement way. They were leaving the dim commotion behind them, exchanging it for the charming if misplaced bit of nature they had caught a glimpse of through the windows. It was not an experience Marcellus had often had before. Back on the outside, the only real trees he had ever seen were trapped in artificial and disused, public parks. No one was allowed to touch them.
Epstein and Jewel, short and tall, craggy and delicate, the one stomping along moodily, face aimed at the ground, the other gliding lightly over the grass staring fixedly ahead, led them through the White House gardens, hand-in-hand. Next to and slightly behind the President trod Marcellus. Every once in a while he would run an exuberant hand through his hair and glance thankfully up at the sky. Behind him followed Icarus, Jango, and Maya. Maya, too, was showing a genuine interest in their surroundings. Icarus and Jango, though, were whispering to each other in subdued tones, Icarus with eyes trained on his feet and Jango casually observing the President and his wife. Taking up the rear was the Dutchman, walking stiffly and looking for the next opportunity to take notes. The five Praetorians in black suits had spread out around them and kept a respectful distance.
The White House gardens had been built just for Epstein. He hadn't set foot outside the compound in fourteen years, and after only a few of those he found he missed the greenery, so he had it installed. In an area that once covered several city blocks there now grew a forest of trees, maple and birch and oak mostly. The richest of the provinces had fawningly contributed lavish gifts. Those of Central America were not particularly valuable or eye-catching, but they had provided the funds for the bulk of the trees, no to mention the tall, finely carved wooden sculptures that could still be found dotting the landscape. The Northern Europeans, on the other hand, had offered gifts far more elaborate and shiny. They had striven to outdo one another in ostentation, especially the Burgundians, who had a special taste for it. It was they who had supplied the fountains fashioned with vulgar stone carvings of what they imagined to be angels, dancing in the happy sprays of the water. A most pretentious and wasteful use of a natural resource, it is true, but so their authors had intended. Not to be outdone, the Germans and Austrians sent marble benches with black, ivory armrests which they placed next to the fountains. The benches were impressive to look at, but extremely uncomfortable to sit on unless you were eight feet tall.
Of course, there was not a province anywhere that could ever hope to compete with an empire. Undoubtedly the most magnificent prize of all had been offered by the Chinese. It was an extraordinary tea house. Their architects had planted it next to a dripping pool, artfully situated in front of an artificial cave in a secluded spot near the compound wall out of sight of either fountains or marble benches. This was Epstein's favourite spot of repose. It was doubtless where they were heading now.
Epstein had been chewing on something for some time. “What business do you have demanding an audience with me?” he finally snapped at Marcellus out of the side of his mouth. “You're a Senator! A Secretary in my Cabinet! When I need you, you'll know.”
“Secretary of the Environment!” Marcellus remarked sarcastically and reached for a stone. “Couldn't you have thought of something better?” He tossed it moodily into a nearby fountain.
Jewel eyed him sombrely.
“Did you have something else in mind?” Epstein retorted. “Father of the Country maybe?”
“When I'm good and ready.” He was feeling slightly sour. He hadn't been expecting a row.
Epstein swallowed a retort. They trudged on.
Marcellus decided he wouldn't be deterred. “I don't like the other Secretaries,” he announced.
“Why not?”
“They don't treat me with respect.”
“Well how do you expect them to treat you? You're the newcomer, Marcellus. Go mingle.” He snorted and looked up at his wife, shaking his head derisively.
“I'm new at this, Judas! You're supposed to be teaching me, remember?”
“All right,” Epstein growled. “Don't get your dander up! So you're not a natural.”
“It's your responsibility to see me through this.”
“My responsibility,” Epstein repeated incredulously. “Look, son, I didn't drag you here! And I'll tell you another thing: by hook or crook you'll make friends with the other Secretaries, ring or no ring.” Suddenly, he turned, eyes bugging furiously from their sockets. “I don't give a flying fig whether you like it or not!” His beard bristled defiantly in Marcellus' direction.
Marcellus could hear Jango chuckling dimly behind him. He was about to say something he might later have regretted when Jewel spoke up. “Gentlemen!” she called out. “Gentlemen!” Then, in a softer voice: “Marcellus, you have to understand, there is a way we have of doing things around here. Vassily is angry enough, you know, about losing one of his Secretariats.”
“What am I supposed to do about that?” Marcellus whined.
“Use your brain instead of your arse!” Epstein grunted.
“Enemies ought to be earned,” Jewel quickly continued, “not made nilly-willy. Now in your case, Marcellus – well, just put yourself in his position. It takes a real man to do whatever is necessary to get what he wants. Anyone can nurse his ego. Are you understanding me?”
Marcellus wouldn't look at her. “Judas, don't get me wrong. I appreciate what you're doing. I'd have made a mess of things by now. I know.”
Epstein grunted in agreement.
“But the environment? Couldn't you have thought of something better? You think I care about climate change and crop failure?”
“And water,” Icarus pointed out.
“Shut up, Icarus,” Marcellus snapped. “I'm talking!”
Jewel glanced quickly in Epstein's direction. “We thought it was best,” she told him. Then, more firmly, “Marcellus, why don't you look at me when I'm speaking to you?”
Epstein supplied the answer. “Because he feels guilty.”
A sudden chill swept up Marcellus' spine.
“Samuel, not this again!”
Epstein growled and fixed Marcellus with an earthen stare. “I don't want you to see my wife in private any more.”
Marcellus knew he ought to respond, but the muscles wouldn't obey. After a few uncomfortable seconds were drawing out into a noticeable and inadvertent admission of he wasn't sure exactly what, Maya jabbed him lightly in the back. “It wasn't in private!” The words squeaked past his lips.
“You leave my wife alone,” Epstein said coldly.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Marcellus stammered.
“Draw your furrow straighter, son. I'll always know when you're fibbing. ”
“Samuel, we never left the hallway!” Jewel told him and laughed brightly. “There were people everywhere. You're being ridiculous.”
Epstein's eyes narrowed. “I don't like the idea of you two meeting behind my back, in the hallway or anywhere else!”
Jewel turned apologetically to Marcellus. “You'll have to excuse him. He's jealous.”
“I am not jealous!”
“Sometimes he loses control of himself, especially when it comes to me.”
Epstein came to a sudden stop and yanked his hand from his wife's. “Don't talk about me like I'm a fool!” he barked. “I'm standing right here!”
“Then stop acting like one, dear,” Jewel replied and patted him on the cheek. She reached out and offered him her hand.
Epstein grabbed it and stormed off through the trees. “Why don't you like Betty?” he asked under his breath. “She's never done you any harm!”
“What has Betty got to do with it, dear?”
“You could be nice to her!”
“I am nice to her.”
Epstein laughed. “That's what you say now. In a year I'll be signing a warrant for her execution.”
“I promise you, Sammy. No executions for Betty.”
“Good.”
Marcellus wasn't sure what had just happened. He glanced behind him at Icarus, who shrugged uselessly back.
When she had tired of the heavy silence, Jewel exclaimed, “Marcellus, you know, you and my husband are so alike. You're both so moody!”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Marcellus observed drily. “He's starting to loose his charm.”
Jewel frowned at him. She tried to catch his eye, but he was doing his best to ignore her. “What's bugging you, Judas?” he asked pointedly. “You're not picking a fight just to make yourself feel better, are you?”
Epstein was about to respond when Jewel cut him off. “It's the Chief Justice of course. And Munib. And Vassily. They're all conspiring against him.” She grabbed Epstein's hand with both her own. “I've been telling him for some time he's handling the situation completely wrong. But he won't listen to me.”
Epstein grunted and wrenched his hand free. “I'm handling it just fine. You stay out!”
Jewel smiled at him hollowly. “He thinks he's being smart by playing them one against the other.”
“It is smart! Keeps them trading jabs.”
Jewel shrugged. “It just postpones the problem. You see, Marcellus, don't you? I've been telling him all along he ought to team up with two of them against the other and get rid of him. Afterwards they can pretend they're all friends again. Give it a year or two. Be patient. When the time is right, turn on another one. After that, it's one rival instead of three. Much easier to manage.”
“You seem to forget, Jewel, I need these people!” Epstein snapped. “With Margolis gone, I don't have much left in the way of military talent. There's a war on! Not to mention the one stirring up on the moon. And we're not even sure who it's against. I need Munib.”
Jewel raised her eyebrows. “There are other generals. Not as talented perhaps, but capable of doing the job all the same. So maybe we lose a settlement here or Poland there. Those are trifling! Such people could never be mistaken for your equals. Never underestimate the power and appeal of a successful general.”
Epstein's lips started to move silently, mocking his wife's words. He had heard them often enough.
Still, she pressed on. “Munib is popular, and because he's popular he's also a threat. Put someone in his place who will be grateful to you.”
“When the time comes, I'll have him arrested and erase him from the link. The rabble will soon forget about him.”
“He has allies, Sammy.”
Epstein mumbled something inaudible but otherwise didn't answer.
“And Vassily? The ordinaries love him.”
“Vassily is a vain, stupid ass.”
“So you see, Marcellus,” Jewel said, deftly slipping her hand into her husband's, “the best course of action is to eliminate them one by one. Coldly, methodically, patiently. Weakest ones first. My husband is a clever man. He knows how to appeal to another man's ego.”
“Jewel!” Epstein spat angrily, “You're out of your element!”
“I agree with Judas,” Marcellus decided it was time to stake out a position, right or wrong. “I mean, somebody's got to run the combines. Somebody's got to fend off the Russians. And personally, I'd rather have somebody doing it who's qualified.” He paused. “Except Xiling. He has to go. He's too dangerous.”
Epstein stopped and eyed Marcellus cryptically. “He's still fresh fish, but he's starting to show real promise!” A broad grin broke out on his face. The sour mood seemed suddenly to have lifted. “Come over here!” he invited warmly, pulling his hand away from his wife's and holding his arms up invitingly.
Jewel stood beside him, rigid and straight like a statue, eyes blazing. They were riveted hotly on Marcellus, but he ignored her.
Epstein reached out, grabbed him in a bear hug, and rubbed his head affectionately. “We're going to set things right, you and I, ain't we?”
Marcellus said something in reply, but it was muffled by Epstein's chest.
“C'mon,” Epstein said, eyes shiny and red. He held Marcellus around the waist with one of his stubby arms as he drew him forward. “I've got something to show you.” He chuckled conspiratorially, as if about to share a closely guarded secret. “You know, you're right, and if you're right, you're right. I've been neglecting you. Fair and square. Now, if you'll let me, I'm going to make it up to you. How's that sound?”
Not sure what else to do, Marcellus nodded his head.
“You see Sonya for an outfitting?”
“You mean all those pictures she took? Yeah.”
“Good boy. You better send that monkey of yours to see Gessus, too. He's been squawking. You've missed a few gatherings of the Senate.”
“How was I supposed – ” Marcellus began indignantly, but Epstein cut him off.
“I'll set him straight. Just send your monkey.”
“Who?”
“The one with all the hair!”
Up ahead the trees gave way. The tea house loomed beyond. The architecture was simple and yet sublime, the colors – bright red and beige – clear and yet profound. At the same time, he became aware of the pleasant sound of water splashing playfully.
“Wow!” breathed Marcellus. His steps faltered.
Epstein beamed with pride. “Impressive, isn't it?”
“I've never seen anything like it. What is it?”
“A tea house!” boomed Epstein. “A little present from the chinks. Come on inside. We'll have tea.”
“Okay,” Marcellus replied neutrally. He wasn't very fond of tea.
Epstein stared up into his face. “I don't think you follow, Marcellus. We're going to drink real tea, made from real tea leaves. The kind that grow out of the ground. Not that artificial flux that comes out of the Drink-O-Matic. You'll love it. Now come on!”
Epstein, Jewel, and Marcellus pushed on ahead, followed by the Praetorians, but the Dutchman drew the others aside. “We will wait here,” he told them brusquely.
“I'm in charge of Mark's security,” Jango replied darkly. “I go where he goes.” He made to take a step forward.
“We will wait here,” the Dutchman repeated and locked eyes with the big brute. After a tense moment, he elaborated. “I can have fifty black suits and two combat helicopters here in thirty seconds.” He spoke in a drab voice, as if commenting on the local weather conditions. “I wouldn't try anything stupid.”
Jango's eyes darted about as if expecting to spot fifty men in suits hiding among the trees. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you always look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you're about to do something stupid.”
Jango's hands balled into fists.
Icarus laid a hand on one of his shoulders.
Jango swivelled around and nearly decked him.
Icarus threw his hands uselessly in the air. “Don't do it, Jango. You don't want to make enemies with that guy.”
Maya, standing a few meters away, was watching the scene with some amusement.
“Like you fucking care what happens to me,” Jango growled.
“How long are they going to be?” Maya asked. She braced herself with uncovered arms. It was cold, and she didn't have a jacket, either.
“As long as it takes.”
“What's with the silly accent?” Jango wanted to know.
The Dutchman's face stiffened. “I have been told my accent is quite slight.”
“Then you were lied to.”
“I am from the Netherlands. Perhaps you have heard of it?”
Maya nodded. “That's where Jen skipped off to. Yeah.”
“I was once its prime minister.”
“Is that how you got your citizenship?” Icarus wanted to know.
The Dutchman nodded. “I took steps to improve our integration with the mother country. It was I who forbade the speaking of the Dutch language in public places,” he told them proudly.
“So now you speak funny American,” Jango told him, “instead of proper Dutch.”
“It could be,” the Dutchman murmured, scowling.
Icarus was curious. “Is that you how met the President?”
The Dutchman looked at him strangely. “It's a long story.”
“We have time.”
The Dutchman considered for a moment. “It was during the last years of President Sindhra's term,” he reluctantly began. “You're too young to remember, but there was a great deal of civil unrest. A dangerous terrorist element had taken root in our population – across all of Europe! – a Muslim fifth column. At the time we were engaged in a war against their mostly Muslim brothers, some of whom were our neighbors. So the revered leader of our party – Gooey Blubbers – rounded them all up and had them gassed.”
Icarus stared at him in horror. “You mean you killed them all? Every last one?”
“Denmark did it first!” the Dutchman blurted out defensively. “And we only got rid of the Muslims. They put everybody whose skin wasn't the proper color to the gas. After all, ours is an open, tolerant society. We were the first to allow gay marriage, you know. We tried to get the Muslims to leave, but they wouldn't go. It's not our fault no one would take them. Gooey Blubbers was the most important politician in modern history. Of course, President Sindhra didn't think so. She thought what he did was abominable. She had him executed.”
“Good woman,” Maya breathed.
The Dutchman glowered at her. “He became a hero overnight! Anyway, Sindhra soon died and Jimenez began his term. In time, the advantages of our policy became apparent. Not a single terrorist attack in all that time. And we have a well behaved populace that doesn't get mixed up in treasonous activities like demonstrations and other forms of political agitation. Eventually Jimenez allowed us to lift the ban on the party.”
“What's the party's name?” Jango interrupted.
“The Freedom Party, of course,” the Dutchman stated proudly.
Maya laughed.
“What's so funny?”
“Oh, nothing,” she replied with a light flick of her hand. “Never mind me.”
Icarus, too, was smirking.
“If you're going to make fun, I'll stop.”
“Let me guess,” Jango volunteered. “For revenge you gassed the entire political opposition, and now you're the only ones left.”
“We did not gas them,” the Dutchman sneered. “But as events proved prudent, we are now the only political party. When Jimenez' term ended I happened to be prime minister, and I happened to be here in Washington on important business. I never went back.”
“You mean the President knows what you stand for,” Icarus demanded, “and he still wants you for an advisor?”
The Dutchman gripped his notebook tightly with long, bony fingers and stared in Icarus' direction. “Of course he knows.”
“But how could he? That's disgusting!” He shook his head at the ground.
The Dutchman smirked.
“What's so funny?”
“The President needs me. I serve him gladly.”
Maya cocked her head to one side. “Why does he need you?”
The Dutchman shrugged. “He owes me a debt,” he replied mysteriously and immediately regretted it.
“Really?” Maya responded. “What kind of debt?”
“I will not reveal secrets of national security,” the Dutchman stated blithely and signalled that the conversation had come to an abrupt end by opening his notebook and burying his nose inside.
That same evening, the Chief Justice of the United States was entertaining his colleagues in his cavernous penthouse in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Perched at the very top of a huge apartment building, the noises from the city below were flighty and dim if they reached them at all. The room in which he was entertaining was two stories high and stretched from the the front of the building to the back. Most of the back wall was a huge window that looked out onto an ample balcony. A row of granite columns skirted the side walls. Beautifully inlaid mosaics modelled after genuine patterns found in Pompeii and Herculaneum peered out from between them. Between the mosaics in little recesses in the walls were little altars to the favourite of the Chief Justice's gods.
Seated in a perfect circle on large, velvety cushions stuffed with down were the eight Supreme Court Justices and their Chief. They sat with each leg folded so the feet rested at each side of the waist and faced an array of candles made of real wax. The candles were floating gently about half a meter from the ground, rotating slowly. Otherwise it was dark. The light from the candles danced eerily over the painted faces. Each wore a multi-coloured dress of thick, unpleasant material decorated with striking patterns. Their arms and fingers were adorned with bracelets and rings empowered with mysterious and impressive-looking runes. They looked like animals, eyes and noses enlarged by make-up and their dresses seemingly of hide. The fingernails were long, giving the appearance of claws. They looked like the evil shamans of a distant age, powerful and corrupt and terrible to behold. Behind them in the shadows stood nine more robed shapes. They were perfectly still. It was difficult to make out their features.
“Darling,” droned one of the Justices in Xiling's direction, “what a spectacular panche you have on.”
Xiling, face painted in fierce bands of black and white, nodded his appreciation and put a happy hand on Kaela's leg. “How nice of you to notice. You know, it took me four days to make it. The victims kept dying on me.”
“Oh, darling,” sympathized Michael, seated on the other side, eyes fixated on the spinning candles. “Poor thing. It's so hard to keep them alive until the end of the ceremony. And all that screaming.”
“Don't you cut their tongues out?” Xiling asked.
“Don't you know it's bad luck?” Michael rolled his eyes. “My grandfather warned me against it. Darling, I think not.”
“You got the skin off in one piece,” Kaela remarked admiringly. She reached out a hand to touch the panche but never quite made contact.
“Two pieces,” Xiling replied proudly. “The back is always so bothersome.”
One of the shapes behind them suddenly slipped out of the room.
“The consultation isn't working,” Tizoc commented dourly, disturbing the polite, relaxed atmosphere that Xiling had been trying to cultivate.
Murasaki sitting next to him grunted in assent.
A brief look of displeasure passed over Xiling's face. “We cannot command the gods,” he snapped. His voice was all the more bitter because Tizoc was right.
“It has never happened before,” Tizoc added.
Snarling, Xiling gestured brusquely, seeming to slap the air in front of him with the backside of his hand. Tizoc, seated three cushions away, recoiled and brought a hand up to nurse his face. He peered at Xiling over his fingers with a mixture of fear and hatred.
The other Justices calmly turned their gaze to Xiling, who sat before them almost afire with rage. “I have been sitting on this Court for almost forty years, Tizoc. Darling. You are a newcomer.”
Frey stirred. “No one is disputing your leadership, darling,” she murmured. The others concurred. “But you cannot deny the ring is still beyond our grasp. Our joint meditation did not produce any valuable insight in how to recover it.”
“There was no insight at all!” insisted Tizoc, his eyes shying away from Xiling even as he spoke.
Xiling bared his teeth in Tizoc' direction before looking grimly around at the others. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Court,” he finally said, and even as he spoke the candles between them started to pick up speed. The flames trailed after the wax as they spun. “We will have our ring. Rest assured. As I keep repeating, patience is what is required. But I do not ask for patience unending.”
The robed figure slipped back into the room bearing a tiny tray with a steaming cup. It approached the circle.
“Not only will we have the ring. We will have unlimited power.”
“The ring was meant to give us unlimited power,” Ramuel reminded him.
This time Xiling did not speak. He merely gazed in Ramuel's direction. Next to him, Kaela on one side and Michael on the other lowered their heads and closed their eyes. They reached out and touched Xiling's hand. In that instant, a flash of dark light sprang from Xiling's eyes and Ramuel's mouth was sealed.
Kaela opened her eyes and reached out a hand, studying Ramuel intently. The robed figure with the tray came to a stop behind her and, leaning forward, presented it. As Kaela absently reached for the cup of tea, she observed how Ramuel attempted to master herself. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Ramuel would prove a formidable opponent. She did not attempt to resist the effect of the spell, a dangerous prospect indeed. For the more the victim resisted, the greater the sense of pain and the longer the duration. Instead, she calmly withdrew into the inner world where she would not be tempted.
The robed figure retreated and rejoined the circle of standing shadows. At the same time, another of the shapes broke away and slipped out of the room.
“As I was saying,” Xiling continued, holding up his hand to the light and vainly examining his fingernails, “the ring will be ours.” He fell silent, seemingly absorbed by his hand. Tizoc and Murasaki exchanged glances. Murasaki looked for support from Frey, but that one's eyes remained fixed on Xiling.
Suddenly, Xiling's hand fell. His head cocked to one side. “Listen,” he breathed. “The cities – this city, is shrinking. More and more people are being absorbed by the camps. Nowadays our economy is driven as much by slave as free labour. The ordinaries don't know it, of course, but it's true nonetheless. The President is leading this – social reorganization, but it serves our purposes, so we permit it. Eventually, this reorganization will have run its course. The number of slaves will suffice for the number of free citizens, who can devote their time to inner development, scientific research, the arts. We will have reached a truly civilized state of existence. It is at that time we will divest ourselves of any Presidency whatsoever.” Xiling drew a deep breath. He closed his eyes. The candles spun yet faster. They emitted a slight roaring.
A robed figure entered the room bearing a tray. On it was a single, white candle. It approached the circle.
“In the meantime, we play our part,” Xiling continued. “It is our courts which sentence the unfortunate to the camps.” At that, Xiling chuckled grimly. “You know, once, when we were still speaking, I threatened Epstein with this. I told him we would announce a willingness to hear cases challenging the legitimacy of the camps.” He shrugged. “Epstein responded that he would send them there anyway, with or without our blessing. I told him that the ordinaries would resist such a breach of the Constitution. A good number of specials as well. He assured me that he had the situation under control.” He opened his eyes. “That test may yet come. Until such a time, we persevere.” Xiling nodded emphatically and glanced around the circle to gauge the effect his words were having.
Frey waited until his eyes met hers before she spoke. “Darling, you are wise and Chief among us,” she told him, lowering her head in submission. “It is comforting to know you have foreseen so much. And yet – ” She looked about herself as if suddenly awaking from a dream. “Where is that – ”
Behind her stood the robed figure with the tray. Leaning forward, she offered it to her mistress.
Frey snatched the white candle and slapped the figure under its hood. “Next time the moment it's due and not one second after!” The robed figure retreated hastily.
“My apologies,” she offered even as she leaned forward and extended the candle into the spinning, whirring mass before her. It caught at once. “You seem very assured, Xiling, darling,” she went on, holding the lit candle before her. “Perhaps you can understand that we are not.” She glanced at the two figures sitting on either side of her. They nodded as if in assent.
Xiling smiled. “I can understand,” he agreed most civilly. He could understand that she was holding a powerful protection device and that Rhea and Talisman were supporting her. Looking around at the rest, he said, “You want to know my plan.”
There was no response. But he felt their thoughts.
“Munib,” he said after a moment, “is prepared to join us – ”
Murasaki almost snorted in contempt.
“– under certain circumstances.”
“Such as?” Frey pressed.
“You have spoken with him?” Tizoc demanded.
“Yes,” Xiling replied. “Now listen. Nothing like this has ever been attempted before. It will require all that we can muster. The power will be great. It will be exacting. It might even claim one of us. But I assure you, it can be done. With a little bit of patience.”
“What can be done?” Kaela's eyes narrowed.
Xiling bared his teeth. They gleamed dangerously in the dark light. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Court, I swear on the teeth of Kerberos I have foreseen it: Dominion is destined to be ours!” And at that, a great gust of silent wind seemed to rush from his mouth, blowing out all the candles, even Frey's.
This site and all its contents are the result of the tumultuous workings of the mind of one Adam Wasserman.