Benlunar - Episode 29
We find out what happened to Mr Attorcop after his disappearance.
The city, like a hive is teaming with life
People crawl over it like insects or parasite
It’s a place you can thrive or die in a ditch
Where you can step on the poor to get slightly more rich
When the mountains are flat and the seas are dry
The towers will stand stabbing the sky
As long as there is freedom and people in chains
Humanity dies, Freedos remains
“I don’t remember much from the latter part of that night. I remember the farm and the day we spent preparing and fighting. I remember one of the mercenaries was injured and I had to help him. We were outnumbered and thankful for the carts that would take us to safety. You were on one, I remember seeing your face disappearing into the distance. I tried to join you, I tried to jump onto the cart but… I was stopped. My body was petrified and I felt that thing’s twisted fingers freeze my muscles and hold me still. It whispered to me. It said that it had come to collect and that I owed it for a favour. This was true of course and I didn’t fight it, that would only have made things worse. What worried me more was the thugs that had been chasing us, but when they saw it they ran away as quickly as they had come.
I don’t remember leaving but I was suddenly somewhere else. I was walking and it was raining. Grey, leafless trees flanked the sodden path which was illuminated by a dark, dying sun. That thing, the demon was walking slightly ahead of me and I spoke out to ask where we were going. It turned and smiled. I shudder still at the memory of it. They are strange creatures and it is no wonder humanity has long cast them into the realm of nightmares. It gave no answer. I could hear the damp and decaying cloth it used to cover itself scraping along the ashen road behind it. It left a strange indent as it walked, like a slug might leave a sickly sticky trail as evidence of its passing. Like a slug too it seemed to slither rather than step, although I did detect the occasional footfall through its shabby garb. I had no choice but to follow, for running at that point would have been foolish. I had no idea where, or even when I was. I assumed it to be some realm or place where demons roam or call home. I had caught glimpses of such places when making my deals with them in the past, but seeing the hint of a shadow and actually being there were two very different experiences.
The rain fell incessantly, it was cold and seemed oddly thicker than mere water. I was careful not to let any fall in my mouth. The floor was covered in ash and what looked like dead leaves. There was no colour in the forest, I remember looking at my hands just so that I would not forget what life looked like. The monotonous decay was... maddening. It reminded me of a forest after a great fire had passed through it. But even in the midst of such an inferno one could look up and catch a glimpse of blue sky or red flame. There was no such hope here. The sky was scorched brown and grey and even the words ‘life’ or ‘love’ would seem out of place when leaving lips, which they never did.
After what felt like hours, but may have been minutes, we reached a clearing in the trees. In the clearing there was some strange altar. It stood tall as two men and was constructed of dead wood. I saw the skull of a deer at its peak and several other smaller bones littered around the construct. Had it been found in this world I would have called it a place of worship, but the act of reverence here seemed too pure to exist. It was merely a place, perhaps a point of interest or even just a spot different enough from the surrounding area so as to be distinguished from the forest. I watched the demon crawl around, sniffing and gathering twigs and bones and placing them on the central structure. The act reminded me of those path markers we would pass on the road up to Benlunar’s peak. The piles of stones that we would add to, just to tell future travellers that we had been there. After it was satisfied with its “offering” it sat down and bade me sit opposite it. As you know I am no lover of dirt and grime and so was hesitant to even touch the ground. But I sat a while and waited.
Demons are strange things, not because of their appearance (although strange would be the kindest word to describe that), no they are strange because they are very hard to read or predict. They are like children in this way. It sat and stared at me, at least I think it was staring at me for its face was thankfully shrouded, and for all I knew it might have been waiting for me to speak or to die. I have dealt with their kind before but this one seemed especially odd to me. I elected to wait and let it break the silence which it did after just a few minutes.
“So now we ask the question.” Its voice was cold and sad. I had an idea of what it meant but did not want to interrupt.
“You know by now Cromwell,” it continued, “that you are here to pay your debt to me. I have elected to remove you and allow you to pay me in time. But the question remains.” I understood fully then and responded by saying
“How much time here was your favour worth?” I caught a glimpse of rotted teeth through the rain and dimness, the demon was smiling and nodding. I considered the question. “Of course,” I said, “we should also consider the circumstances surrounding my capture.” It nodded again.
“They have been considered and were chosen intentionally.” Then it laughed its chilling guttural chuckle. It knew what it had done, it had waited patiently for a moment of vulnerability and it acted without hesitation. You were as much a victim of its intervention as I was, a fact that I reminded it of quickly. It was met with a similar answer. My primary concern was that it might wish to keep me there for a hundred years, for a human lifetime might only be the blink of an eye for one so old and wretched. I asked if it knew the result of the favour it granted me, it said that it had seen the circle and Kissandra’s fate after stepping into it. I breathed a small sigh of relief, for if it had thought that I had killed Kissandra then a life for a life might have seemed like a fair trade. I thought for a while and then we began our negotiations.
I would argue that I offered Kissandra mercy and that although my own death was avoided surely a few hours would be more than enough payment. I offer you here a tactic when it comes to negotiating anything: never give the first offer, try and guide your counterpart into making an offer and then calmly say that you are sorry but that their offer is quite impossible for you to comply with. Now you might at this point think that I had no advantage, no cards to play and nothing hidden up my sleeve. But you would be wrong. It’s true that I was a captive, held against my will in a dark and desolate land with no means of escape. You might think that under these circumstances I would simply have to accept any offer the demon gave, as it surely had control over my every move. But this was not the case. The creature had not said much, but even in its few words it managed to show its hand. The demon wanted to negotiate. And that was it. It wanted to play the game. It had no interest in keeping me there, a mute prisoner for years and years. Torture was not its goal. It had taken me away from you at a crucial moment knowing that I would want to get back as soon as possible. That was its first move in the game. A simple one to counteract. Whenever he mentioned you or Freedos or the living world in general I would shrug and pretend to admire the forest or the sculpture, I even said once how impressed I was at its construction. I needed it to believe that I would be happy to spend years in this place and that no pressing matters awaited me in this world. Fortunately, the act was not a hard one. I have trained you, taught you and watched you become a confident and competent person. So truly, in my heart, I did not worry about you or your safety. The demon sensed this, and grew angry. Another mistake on its part.
“If you like this place so much, then you are welcome to stay here for a decade. 10 of your stupid human years that you all watch slip by so zealously.” And there I had my first offer. I pretended to consider it and shook my head gravely.
“I’m sorry.” I said, “but that is not going to be possible. How am I to survive?” I asked looking around, “my offer of a few hours was generous enough seeing as there is no fresh water, or food here.” At this the creature smiled again.
“Sustenance can be provided.” It said. I explained that I would need proof of this before agreeing to anything. This seemed to further irritate it, which I took as another victory. It tried to wriggle out of it and even had the gall to ask me to trust it but I refused to continue negotiations without proof of my survival and well being. Finally it acquiesced. Standing and shuffling over to the strange sculpture, it began to scrape at the dirt beneath it. I watched its long, dextrous fingers move piles of mud and muck aside. After just a few seconds of this it revealed a fish. Dead and perfectly cooked. The air was thick with its delicious scent and I suddenly realised just how hungry I was. I was sure to not look too impressed as it offered it to me as proof along with a large hollow nut that was filled with fresh water. I went to take the fish but the demon pulled it away. It said that negotiations were still underway but I explained that all the negotiation in the world would not save me from a poison fish. I had to eat the entire thing and drink the water and wait to see if they had any ill effects on me before continuing with any negotiation. Once again the demon protested, it even went so far as to threaten me with violence, but I said nothing. Frustrated, it let me eat the fish, which was exceptional by the way, and drink the water and even wait an hour in silence after I’d finished, to see if I had any cramps or pains. I did not. The whole time I kept watch on the demon and saw it growing increasingly irritated. Its fingers would twitch, its shroud would ruffle. These were small details, near imperceptible, but they had not been there while we had been talking and so I knew my refusal to speak was getting under its skin. Another victory. I told you that what it seemed to want more than anything was to negotiate. I wager that had I simply tried talking my way out, I would have ended up agreeing to 20 or 30 years in that horrible place. But I refused to engage. I played games, I waited in silence to digest fish and it got increasingly bothered by me. And then I got my first big win. It broke the silence by saying,
“You see then. You will survive here. 10 years on fine food and clean water.” I shook my head and simply replied,
“I’m very sorry, but I cannot agree to that. The fish was rubbery and bland and I’m not about to give you 10 years for mere survival. I am alive and I must live, not just survive. If I had known that I were to spend the next decade merely surviving then I would have let Kissandra put her knife in my neck.” It clenched its hand into a tight ball, I could hear leathery squeaks as its skin rubbed together.
“Five years then. More than fair when you consider how I saved your life.” And there it was. It had dropped its offer once and so I became confident I could get it to drop it a further 3 or 4 times before having to concede. And so I shook my head.
“I’m so sorry. It’s true that I am grateful for your help in saving me. But 5 years in this place with nothing to do, that can hardly be called a fair trade. I should require writing materials so that I can continue my work, regular updates on my friends so that I know they are safe, a bed so that I can sleep, perhaps an animal companion to stave off insanity.” And so my list continued, I needed it to believe that I would not agree to any amount of time without an outrageous list of demands, it had already produced a fish for me, why not other things? I spoke for so long that finally it had to interrupt me.
“You ask too much!” It said, “All these comforts. You show no gratitude, may I remind you that you breathe and live solely from a gift I have given thee? Five years is more than generous.” I snorted in derision. I looked around and said,
“Five years with everything on my list, perhaps.” I pretended to consider the offer. I needed the demon to believe I was close to agreeing to something. And then I got my next big victory.
“Very well. Two years. No list.” It said. 8 years shaved off a sentence in a matter of minutes, not too bad, I thought, but I could do better. The key was not to upset it so much that it retracted its offer.
“Two years in exchange for a life is a generous offer indeed.” It smiled again, tasting victory on its pale tongue. “But I’m afraid I cannot possibly agree to that.” Its expression fell. From what I could see of its eyes through the wet mesh of material that covered its face, they seemed almost upset.
“You insult me Cromwell. After all I have done for you. I should walk into the wood and leave you to rot! Why not take this generous offer?”
“Because the deal is too far in your favour.” I replied, “Consider the facts. You gave me a few secrets and a chance to outwit a rather dim assassin. And in return I am to give you my conversation, my company, my intellect, my secrets, my wisdom and my cunning for 2 years!” I considered spitting on the floor but thought better of it. Instead I just leaned back, shaking my head. “No.” I said. You must understand that none of this was real. I really had nothing to bargain with so I was forced to invent my own worth. Luckily this is something I have been doing my entire life and so the lies came naturally. We waited then. Staring at each other, unflinching. My nerve nearly broke, I could have sworn that at any moment the demon would see straight through me and go back to keeping me there for 10 years or perhaps longer. I was playing a dangerous game. But I had to keep playing. I was close to something reasonable, I could sense it. I just needed to stare it down a while longer. Give it no quarter. Just a little while I thought. And then the demon spoke.
“You are a frustrating man Cromwell. What’s to stop me from leaving you here, hm?” I said nothing. We both knew that the only thing stopping it was its word. Lucky for me I realised that up until now the demon had kept its promises on every count. Duplicitous as they may be, demons seem to be particular about keeping oaths for some reason. I believe it has something to do with the ways they garner power or maybe even life. I never thought to ask, I dared not even speak. I knew that if I was to get out of that dead forest quickly then I would have to play its game and that meant that I needed it to negotiate against itself. You’ll notice how I had yet to offer any concrete time of my own, save the suggestion of a vague ‘few hours’ at the beginning of the conversation. I had to find out what the absolute minimum amount of time the demon would be happy with, and I could not do that by speaking. So I waited.
“Aaaaargh! Six months then. This is my final offer.” Said the demon. I considered this.
“Truly a kindness.” I replied. “Six months with all the appropriate furnishing from my list and I might be willing to settle on this.”
“I said no list. Just food and water.” The demon practically snapped at me. I had found a useful triviality that for some reason the demon desperately wanted to avoid. Most likely to increase my suffering. And so I shook my head.
“Ah then I’m afraid I must decline. Six months in relative solitude with papers, a desk, a bed a cat, a kettle and chemistry equipment might have been manageable. But all that time with nothing is simply unreasonable.” The time had come for me to offer a counter offer, something believable but far beneath what I was ready to commit.
“With none of these things I shall stay here for 2 days.” The demon threw its head back and cackled. Or at least I think that’s what it was doing. Judging solely from the sound, it could have been shrieking in pain. Finally it looked back to me and simply said.
“Three months.”
“Six days.”
“Three weeks.”
“Done.”
Mr Attorcop set down his small glass of plum liquor and looked around the inn. The sun had long set and the place was filled with quiet groups crowded around card games and hushed conversations. Lilian had barely touched her sweet tea, having been too engrossed in Mr Attorcop’s story. She had many questions, but asked the most pressing one first.
“If you only stayed there three weeks…”
“Then why did I take so long to get here? A final trick on the part of the demon. I think it felt slighted by our deal and so decided to finally lead me out of the dead woods and deposit me several days north of Freedos. It was my own fault for not stipulating this in our deal. It took me quite some time to find out where I was as the only people I could find did not even speak my language and I did not recognise theirs. Finally I found a caravan of traders and they pointed me in the right direction.” Lilian was glad that he had managed to escape that strange place without paying too high a price. She then got up from their table to buy another couple of drinks, remembering this time to actually drink hers while it was hot. A small fire crackled in the hearth of the Dim Candle’s main room, despite the fact that it was the height of Summer. Rain was falling in the streets outside and a chilling wind rattled the shutters. Occasionally the fire would hiss as a stray rain drop fell onto it through the chimney. Lilian had never been here before, she liked how the walls were painted a bright yellow and the staff were mostly smiley young people rather than the surly, jaded innkeepers she had found in other public houses. The atmosphere was what she enjoyed the most however and after just an hour she could see why it was one of Mr Attorcop’s favourite places. Lilian set down the glasses and Fritha looked up from the floor expectantly, going back to sleep when she didn’t get any food. At that point it was Lilian’s turn to tell her story. Mr Attorcop seemed particularly interested in her progress with gloaming, especially what had happened the night before his arrival.
“You’re sure he looked straight at you?” he asked. Lilian nodded.
“He couldn’t have missed me had I not been… hidden. I want to try and do it again, but I should probably have supervision next time.” Mr Attorcop took a sip of his drink and looked at her.
“Yes I should like to see that. I’ll supervise and help where I can. I actually managed to develop some new techniques of my own whilst in the dead woods. It was a good place for gloaming as all life there had been leached away.” Lilian’s eyes widened.
“Is that where you learned how to do that thing with the black liquid?” Mr Attorcop nodded.
“Yes. Quite a powerful technique but only really useful in an enclosed space with an ally close by. It also used up a fair amount of essence so I shan’t be repeating it in a hurry.”
“Was the demon interested in gloaming?”
“Not really. It has its own brand of power and truth be told after we had finished negotiating it seemed to grow bored of me. It would disappear periodically and return only to give me food and talk to me about various mundane things. We did have quite a good chat about medicinal herbs once, did you know milk thistle can be used to treat toothache?” Lilian shook her head.
A silence crept over the inn. Not an uncomfortable one, not an awkward or unwelcome silence. Rather, it was the silence of contentment. Lilian breathed in a long and calming breath. The rain continued to fall outside, which, while not adding to the silence, did help to create the calm and contented atmosphere. Lilian reached down and touched Fritha’s ears under the table. She sipped her tea and felt its warmth flow through her. Mr Attorcop rubbed his eyes and let out a long sigh. He seemed tired. Lilian told him about Katherine and William, about how kind they had been and how much she owed them for their kindness. She wondered if Mr Attorcop had any close friends in Freedos, but thought that the question might be a little too personal for this occasion. The conversation moved onto the city itself and they discussed the various trials and tribulations affecting the capitol.
“Did you mean what you said the other night?” Lilian had been meaning to ask this for quite some time.
“About what?”
“About…” Lilian looked around and lowered her voice. “About killing the Empress.”
“Oh…” Mr Attorcop sat back in thought. “Well. It would certainly serve her right. But I’m not sure it would fix everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Consider this. The Empress is the leader of Freedos and the surrounding areas, but it takes more than one woman to run a city, let alone an entire country. So any wrongs she might commit would be perpetuated by hundreds of others. Even you and I are complicit in some of them by merely existing and paying our taxes to the state. Now you might argue that we don’t have much of a choice but there are other states, other countries. We could go to live in Doma for example. Now Doma and Freedos have been at war for years and it's largely thanks to the diplomacy of the Empress that we don’t have Domese soldiers marching up and down this very street. So it could be said that the Empress does some good as well. But understand this. Suffering is suffering. And when those in power do not use that power to end suffering when and where they can, then they are complicit in its cause. Add onto this that poor people’s suffering actually benefits those in power and you’ve got a glimpse of the political situation of Freedos.” Lilian considered this for a while before asking,
“How does suffering benefit people in power?”
“Politicians, nobles and rich people in general make their living off of those who have very little money. Consider that tea you’re drinking.” Lilian looked down at her cup.
“That tea can only be grown in the searing heat of the south. One family owns almost every crop and they pay people very little money to harvest it. They then sell it in every city and settlement in Alicium and pocket the profits. Whenever anyone demands more pay or better working conditions they are either beaten, thrown onto the streets or worse. And if they DID decide to pay people more money then their profits would be slashed to ribbons. This would make a lot of investors very angry. Occasionally, someone in politics suggests that the working conditions be improved and suddenly they receive gifts and gems and precious things and after a few weeks their ideals and convictions suddenly become less and less important. This isn’t just true for tea you understand. This is how the entire system works. You saw for yourself that the state will even invest time and money in dangerous chemicals just to find out who is likely to cause trouble. Those people then either die or are put in prison where, amongst other things, they are told to harvest...tea.” Lilian swallowed a large gulp, the sweet tea suddenly tasting bitter on her tongue.
“That’s awful.” she said.
“That’s life.” he replied. And the two sat once again in silence. Only the silence was different now. It was heavy with injustice. Mr Attorcop must have noticed Lilian’s pained expression.
“Honestly Lilian, it doesn’t bear worrying about. We have no control over this system, it was born long before any of us and will survive long after we are gone. Ever since the existence of wealth there has been disparity. The only thing to defy the laws of nature and flow uphill is money.”
Lilian thought of the noble houses she had visited on errands for Mr Twitchett. She had marvelled at their marble floors, wondered at the wonderful flowers that adorned their halls. She did not realise then but she had envied those people. She only ever met servants but pictured the nobles now in their fine clothes sitting by their own private fires and drinking their tea steeped in the sweat of their labourers.
“But there are people who are fighting the Empress aren’t there? Isn’t that what Genaro is doing, him and the, oh what was their name, the sons of… Taymar!” Mr Attorcop raised a single eyebrow.
“The sons of Taymar are about as effective as a wet towel. They’re the children of nobles with nothing better to do than annoy their parents and play at revolutionaries. Eventually they all get jobs in father’s company and give up their rebellious tendencies.” Lilian detected more than a hint of spite in his tone. Did Mr Attorcop have experience with this group? She watched him drain his little glass and wince at the burning liquid.
“The hardest part about real change is that no one really wants it.” Lilian cocked her head. She found that hard to believe. In her short time in the city she had witnessed homelessness, thievery and threats from the very people sworn to protect its citizens.
“Think about it.” Mr Attorcop continued, “The whole system is based on a promise. A promise that anyone could one day become a noble. If they just work hard enough, or have a great idea, or start a big company, they too can have a big house on top of the hill. Anyone who comes along and says, ‘excuse me, but isn’t there enough money in the world to allow everyone to have a big house?’ they get punched in the face and told to mind their own business. They’re seen as thieves trying to take your hard earned gold and put it in the pockets of some lazy layabout.” Lilian wasn’t buying a word of it.
“I’ve never had any money, and the one piece of gold I did have I used to protect that family. If I can do it…”
“You’re a child.” Mr Attorcop snapped at her. Lilian was taken aback. In all their time together he had never raised his voice or said an angry word to her. The rain began to fall harder against the window pane. Mr Attorcop took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry Lilian. I should not raise my voice. You’re right of course. You did a noble thing that day. And yes, if everyone felt as you did then we might all be better off. But you are young. You’ve always been cared for and had your financial needs met by others. Now if someone had given you that crown when you were so hungry that day in the Freedos market, would you have spent it on helping a tired and hungry family? Or would you have spent it on food and lodgings for yourself?” Lilian felt tears building in her eyes. It was true. She cast her memory back to that time and realised that she would not even have thought twice about feeding herself and finding a warm bed. It was pure luck and coincidence that Katherine had recognised her and offered to help. Had she earned or been given her own money, Lilian would not have done the same. The two sat in a third silence. A silence of resignation, shame and powerlessness.
“So…” Lilian finally spoke, “Killing the Empress would serve her right for making so many people suffer. But it wouldn’t change the fact that people suffer.” Mr Attorcop raised his glass in silent agreement.
“It would send a message though.” she said. Mr Attorcop snorted.
“Indeed it would.”
“It would tell noble people that our suffering did not go without consequence. It would tell everyone that no matter how powerful you become, you’re still human.” Mr Attorcop narrowed his eyes.
“Lilian, you’re not actually suggesting...”
“You were the one who suggested it! All I’m saying is that IF anyone was to accomplish such a thing it would have to be done by a very small group with rather a lot of their own kind of power.” Lilian let the suggestion sit there. Like a terrible secret or the revelation of a betrayal. It was conspiracy. It was treason. It was fear, it was excitement.
“Good Gods.” said Mr Attorcop. “What have I created?” Lilian laughed. She wasn’t being serious. Not really.
They finished their drinks and stood up to leave. They both had work to do the next day and the hour was late. Fritha stood up excitedly and they prepared themselves for the short journey home in the wind and rain. This strange older man and the red-haired young woman he was with were off, shutting the door behind them. They hadn’t really paid much attention to the other guests in the inn whilst they had been there. They had not, for example, seen the young couple flirting in the corner. They hadn’t realised that one of the men playing cards was cheating and they most certainly had not noticed the man in the purple jacket sitting one table behind them who had been listening to their every word. The man who had a sallow face, and was drinking a tall beer. The man who was sitting alone and pretending to read a book. The man who carried a cane with a Scorpion tale tip handle. The man who had a broach pinned to his shirt, in the shape of a silver hand.