PART TWENTY-NINE:
The gift that keeps taking:
Smoke along with muffled echoes, rose simultaneously into the dense atmosphere of the dark and dingy crypt. The lone candle burning at the top of the only present door frame, hardly lit up the large space. The dancing flames on it, swayed and flickered. Moving provocatively, in the still air. As it produced a gentle fire, that diligently whispered the existence of crouching shadows. Partially illuminating a passage way, that led its occupants in and out of the diabolical chamber. In that eerie and hollow room. Two monitors plotted….
“It will be time and resources wasted, to wait until she is done tending to blisters. We need her right now and she must be ready.” Heinus the first monitor spoke unfeelingly. Simultaneously turning away from the image he had been watching in the mirror. The sight of the young woman’s discomfort was irritating him. So much of a fuss over nothing terminal. At least not yet. And even if it was fatal, the monitor thought to himself. There was always another willing and ready vessel. Swiveling his whole body systematically, on the high stool on which he sat. He faced Xitus the second monitor, who had just walked into the crypt.
“As much as we do not care about her pain or suffering. A fleshly wound of such magnanimity, is as hideously unsightly as it hindering. Even we who periodically need their bodies to function time and again. Will find that it is useless and repelling in such a state.” Xitus paused before stating his actual point. Much like building up a moment for a serious but dreaded punchline. “We will have to perform a temporary fix, so that our mission can move along.”
“A temporary fix?” Heinus felt his initial disgust and irritation was starting to mount up. “This is not about her comfort, as we do not care for her speedy recovery. In case you have forgotten, we are not healers. And we definitely did not create her. So you should quickly lose that sentiment of fixing.” The first monitor struggled to contain his wrath. His comrade’s attempt at a charitable suggestion, was very annoying.
“Of course we are hardly healers. And who says that I am being sentimental? You know that is a highly impossible concept. I was merely stating what has to be done to protect our interest and work.” Agreed the second monitor. “However, we are still capable of a surface and temporary fix. You know the process in which we shift their problems around, or exchange the ones they know about. For the hidden ones that might not be detected for a while. We can handle that. At least for the duration of the mission. You must not forget that she is a key and viable agent/vessel.”
Heinus pondered his comrade’s speech for a few moments, while their sudden silence reverberated against steely walls.
“Okay then,” began the head monitor. “As long as you remember this is not a charitable agenda. We are not the One who chose to love the nuisances and then give of Himself. We are about getting. And getting some more. All in the guise of giving. Never forget or compromise that.” He glared at Xitus briefly but pensively before continuing.
“Something has got to give here. We will steal something from her. Then out of what we have stolen, we will pretend to give from our ‘goodness’. Oh how I hate that word." The first monitor grimaced.
“So in exchange for her soul. Eternal access and the use of her physically body. We will temporary fix her skin. The surface will look new, but the destroyed and dead cells will remain hidden until a later time. It will be a cosmetic operation. Such as is palatable to their shallow minds.” Heinus thought for a few minutes and continued. “For good measure, give her a seemingly new start. And then promise to fulfill any incredible dream she may have. Enough of course to convince and keep her hooked.” Xitus nodded, marveling at how easily history repeated itself.
The foolish mortals willingly believed they had struck the perfect deal. All the perks, so easily laid at their feet. As the mere pittance of their existence, was hyped and heralded beyond plausible relevance. But that was not the part that ticked him off. It was when they came back for everything they expected. And the human in question. Appeared to be confused, full of fear and questions. What were they even thinking in the first place? Or were they even thinking at all? A contract had been signed and sealed in blood.
This would encompass everything about the person and all that belonged to them. Their very essence, past, present and future was involved. Whether they saw it or not. Or simply chose to dwell in denial, was entirely up to them. Both parties had seemingly arrived at a deal, but only one was bound to pay.
“I guess it’s time to pay my girl a visit.” Stated Xitus, as he enlarged the image of scorched flesh.
Misplaced or mistaken identity?:
“It was part of your job, to keep tally of who comes and goes from this room.” The first magistrate’s tone was flat and his face strong and unreadable. He might have been scolding the palace guard, but he remained stoic and expressionless.
“Yes sir and I have done that.” The guard responded quickly, nervous as he did. “I have an updated record, written and signed by every entrant.” He finished carefully. Then gingerly placed, a slightly tattered collection of parchment sheets before the counselor. The older man scanned each sheet briefly. Yet knowingly and expertly.
“But I don’t see it recorded here. That any magistrate or counselor for that matter. Borrowed a leaf from the ‘murder investigation’ parchments. Are you sure everyone signed in and out?” The magistrate tried to sound calm. Maybe if the guard saw that he was not angry, he was likely to be more forthcoming with some information.
“Maybe you forgot to ask them. You can let me know the truth. This is a very important and highly confidential document.” He continued. “I would rather you admitted it was an oversight and the document can be located. Than not know what or who happened to that information. Thereby rendering us with the inability to resolve what is still unknown.” The first magistrate felt himself terse up and struggled to keep his voice low and calm.
“Master, everyone I let in. Signed in and out. And I never saw any of them touch or move the parchment.”
“Everyone you let in?” Repeated the older man with focused intensity. “Could there have been anyone, magistrate or otherwise. That you never let in, but they got in anyhow? Probably bullied their way in, maybe?” He tried to inject his voice with some measure of understanding. Bigger than someone being penalized or losing their job. Was the fact that very sensitive information was floating around in the wrong hands.
“No one sir,” the guard started to say. Then stopped suddenly, as if he had just been hit with a bolt of recollection. “Just a minute, sir. I think I remember something now.” He banged his left fist slightly on his head.
“Go ahead now,” coerced the magistrate. His voice rolling out like a growl. “What do you remember?”
“The other magistrate was here briefly, about two weeks ago." Started the guard tentatively. "He walked right past me and in. It happened real fast, while I was preparing to make my rounds. He said it would take a second. He just wanted to drop off an important sheet.” He paused, as the magistrate now stood to his feet.
“What other magistrate? Could this have been the sixth magistrate Dezen? Is that who you mean?”
The head of the magistrates, could not help sounding desperate at this point. He really did not intend to mention any names before the guard had finished his long coming revelation. But the whole scenario, sounded like something the sixth magistrate would do. Dezen could have easily brushed past the servant, refusing to log in. Unless it was brought to the attention of another party. Preferably a higher authority, than the stubborn magistrate.
“No sir,” the guard calmly and respectfully answered. "It was not the sixth magistrate. It was the fourth."
“The fourth? Tufad you mean? You are definitely mistaken.” Chuckled the surprised master. He was shocked to say the least. It was so unlike Tufad, to come barging into the records room. And definitely not during off hours or when the session had ended for that matter. Nevertheless, the older man inquired further.
“The fourth magistrate,” he repeated. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes sir. I am sure, because when I asked who it was. After they had rushed in from behind me. They identified themselves as Sir Tufad the fourth magistrate.”
“Do you know what Tufad looks like?”
“Yes sir I do.”
“Did you see his face as, having been the one who spoke to you?”
“No sir. The room was dark inside. But he did say that Dezen the sixth magistrate was waiting for him at the magistrate’s chamber.”
“So?” That piece of information, did not make sense to the first and head of the magistrate’s.
“I walked by the chambers real quick. The door was slightly opened. So I took a peek inside, for security purposes.”
“And?” The older man felt he could not take the dragging suspense any longer.
“Just like Sir Tufad said. The sixth magistrate was sitting right there. Inside the chambers and on his seat.”
.