Chapter 1066
Chapter 1066: “Dear Boss” [9]
“Boy.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes you, one in the brown shirt, come here.”
“Why should I?”
“I have a job.”
“Okay,” he perked up on hearing money.
“Take this and give it to the guy right there,” Igna pointed at a gentlemanly dressed journalist.
.....
“Okay?” the boy furrowed, “-how much you paying, old man.”
“10 Exa.”
“Holy shit!” the boy caught his mouth, ‘-money for a whole week,’ he gulped and hastily took the money and parcel. “-Thank yo,” the old man vanished, only the empty street headed to the harbor remained.
The apprehensive journalist took his focus off his camera and looked at the boy, “-what?”
“I have a letter,” the boy extended his hands.
“What letter?” the moon’s ray just lit the sender’s name, “DB.Killer,” he jumped and snatched the item, ‘-another letter from the killer,’ he gulped, “-kid, did you see the man?”
“No,” the boy tilted his head, “-the man was old I guess?”
“Good, good,” he rushed towards his car, “-good job there sonny. Come with me,” he pulled the backdoor open, “-we need to get a portrait of the man. You’ll make me money, you’ll make us wealth,” the reflection of currency muddied the man’s eye for justice, or what he thought was justice. A selfish agenda for haunting others’ secretive past; such was journalism.
One hour short of midnight. ‘-The cool and refreshing silence,’ Igna sat atop a viewing station fixed at the edge of the port. Direction, southeast, where the city’s cliff rested its massive foundation. Lookouts were made for hunting stations, the latter of which was built in kilometer’s difference – giving reference and landmark for hunters calling the unbridled wild.
He sat with legs crossed and puffed, “-the police will have a handy surprise tomorrow morning. For the meeting,” Vengeance and him swapped places. A frequented well-lit street carried into a shopping district. The distant outer walls and better buildings spoke high-class in comparison. He scanned and shuffled to a sidewalk. Horse carriages clopped. Men and women were dressed in old Victorian-styled clothes. Women wore long dresses, the focus placed on their busts and bottoms. Veiled hats and expensive jewelry salivated the mouths of budding pickpockets. The gentlemen wore black suits, often of three pieces with top hats, rounded glasses, and bejeweled canes. The illustrious of the gentlemen had mustaches, often curled, without beards. The accent was distinguishable from Iqeavea’s upper echelon. ‘First time I entered the city,’ he walked to a tailor’s shop and caught his reflection, ‘-I don’t look good,’ from clothes the hairstyle, ‘-it reeks of laziness and tactlessness. Living in the slums has made me a lesser man,’ he took a harsh look at himself then smiled, ‘-a chameleon,’ he chuckled and entered the establishment. Formally dressed attendants bowed their heads with courteous, “-welcome, sire.” The nicely dressed tailor turned his well-groomed head at Igna with a scowl, “-pardon me,” he approached Igna, “-are you perhaps from the slums?”
“Why does it matter?” Igna reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his wallet, and threw it on the nearest display table, “-my suit has seen better days,” he pulled off the jacket, “-does your shop serve quality attire?” he pointed at the embroidered maker on the inside, the tailor’s demeanor changed, “-yes my lord, you need not worry. The weather gets rough during the night.”
“Glad we’ve reached an understanding,” he walked deeper inside, “-I will need this,” and thus presented a well-detailed list. The tailor could but drool, ‘-a man in the know about suits,’ he swooned, albeit inappropriate, “-a custom made, my lord?”
“Yes, and I will need one for tonight. Ready-made is fine.”
“Understood, we’ll refit one of our best sellers.”
“No,” he scanned, “-best-sellers are for the ones wanting to blend. I want something that reflects me,” he locked onto a particularly gloomy-looking suit, “-this one,” the latter was black and grey, including gloves, a heavy trench coat, and a checkered scarf, “-this will do.” The man took his measurements in the inner rooms. Getting half-nude before another man wasn’t that big of a deal – not to him. The same thing could be argued outside, “-holy mother of all gods,” the attendants snuck peaks, “-he’s so hot,” they blushed. Igna even winked at one of them, ‘-been a while,’ he untied his hair, “-your fitting room, where is it?”
“Inside, my lord,” the tailor rushed to his station and began fitting the pre-made suit. A bubble of water swallowed him into an oval cage, the pressure twirled and drained for a blast of cold air. ‘-Clean,’ he stared at the mirror, ‘-magic, an unpopular art known to Hidros and not the other states. It’s convenient,’ he exited with a freshness that enamored the shop. Even the tailor couldn’t get his eye off the idyllic specimen.
An hour passed, and Igna dawned the new outfit and looked rather suave. “Excellent job,” he took the tailor’s hand, “-you, my dear sir, are a genius,” the warm smile paired with a charismatic compliment, “-thank you very much.”
“I will come for my custom order sometime during the week. Please have it ready.”
“Will do, my lord, will do. Please come again,” the shop’s door closed. The staff stood in line with a warm goodbye. He stepped into the street and caught the attention of many ladies. They threw an inviting gaze, to which, he simply returned a friendly smile and walked towards a more exclusive district, the town square. Richer couples walked here and there. Highly established restaurants, shops, and hotels lined the square. Asphalted streets led into stone-brick sidewalks and walkways. Such was the first he’d noticed since the arrival to Istra. ‘-Takes me back home,’ he sat on a bench facing a street headed south. Guards patrolled, they threw suspicious glares. Some locked onto Igna and even walked toward him; his aura dissuaded their concerns. ‘Vengeance scanned the area and says the man’s located somewhere around here. I should call him,’ he toggled the phone and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Good evening.”
“This voice, do I know you?”
“For a man who cruelly trashed my hospice and killed one of my nurses, I’d expect some level of recognition.”
“Oh, the doc,” the tone rose, “-why have you called?”
“The sooner the better?”
“I forgot,” he paused, Igna lit a cigarette and waited, ‘-the tough leader’s mellowed. Guess God’s Ale has the effect of a downer.’
“Sorry for the wait, doc. Where are you?”
“Town-square,” he returned, “-the city’s very pretty compared to the harbor.”
“Town-square you say... fair enough. Give me a moment, I will be there soon.”
He puffed. Just as the cigarette neared its end, a man came from the southern street.
“Doc,” he rose his hands. Igna nodded.
An exhausted sigh saw him slide onto the bench, “-sure gets tiring. Good choice of outfit, doc. A part of me knew you were noble, are you a noble?”
“Who can say? Istra’s a place where people hide their deepest desires. The past means nothing, only the present weighs the future. Shall we get to the matter at hand?”
“Allow me a monologue.”
“Go ahead.”
“Thoas Duquant, the mayor of Istra. Mirai’s his one and only son. I was there when you shot and killed one of my men. Master Duquant’s severity has driven him to be an absolute figure in Istra. The Duquant family comes from a lineage of prestige and nobility. They can be traced to the founding of the empire; a family that came and went. They kept their assets closed and were subject to scorn by the other families, especially during wartime. My knowledge of the past stops here. I’m head of security for the mayor and also the leader of the city guards. No official title or anything glamorous, they know me as Svipe.”
“Thoas Duquant wants my employment?”
“No, on the contrary,” he crossed his fingers, “-doctor, you’re a smart man, tell me, why would I ask for your help?”
He paused, ‘-he’s testing me. Severity – absolute figure, the sentence, the details. Mirai’s his one and only son. Nobles make a point to procreate... wouldn’t be possible if the wife didn’t agree. The wife, a family traced back to the empire – marriage in high society. I get it,’ he rose an understanding smile, “-Duquant’s aren’t on good terms. There’s a fight in the family on the inside, keeping up appearances on the outside. I’d guess there are two major factions within the family, and perhaps even a third for whatever branch family it can be. Svipe, tell me, who do you serve, the master or the mistress?”
“...” dumbfounded, ‘-how did he? Who is this doctor...’
“Confused? The silence is telling. Svipe, stop holding back; if I wish to know the truth, I’ll find the answer. Confess, it’s the only way.”
“I yield,” he held up his hand, “-my gut’s telling me to stop. Doctor, the persona about you isn’t inviting. The moment crucial information is given... your brain, it’ll conclude, and most often is the truth. You’re a formidable fighter and a greater intellectual. Pair those attributes with your mannerisms displayed here, you’re someone from a prominent family. Someone whose lineage far surpasses the Duquant, perhaps even a ruling monarch. You hold the same level of power... I’ve met many influential people before, nobles from other countries, you know, the same caliber of people ruling nations. Vous dégagez le même sens d’autorité.”1
“And?”
“I rather not give you the full rundown.”
“Svipe, you’re a cautious man. Alas, what is caution without gamble? What is life without death? What is white without black? One cannot exist without the other. If one always chooses the straight and narrow – one’s life ought be a simple, unimportant existence. Gamble, on the other hand, makes life interesting. In good measure, the synergistic effect propels one to greater heights or a nose-dive to failure. Such the nature of life, Svipe. What will you choose?”
He thought hard. Crinkles expression, a furrowed brow, and a small tint of flushness in his cheeks. ‘Svipe’s drank God’s ale before coming. He made a big mistake. When the elixir climbs to one’s head, tis akin to a truth serum. You can’t resist the hold, it’s not worth the trouble. You want to speak the truth,’ he smiled, the man cracked.
“Gamble!” he slammed the table. “-The family’s broken into three factions. The master, the mistress, and the branch family. They each rule a portion here in Istra. The town is overseen by the mistress, and the industrial area as well as the port is ruled by the master, as the branch family, they leech off the main family. You know, bastard of the master’s adventures into the slums. The title of mayor doesn’t hold much meaning. The master hates dealing with the town’s trouble, it is a waste of time as he says. The mistress loves the city, she loves tending to the upper echelon. Her lineage is one of royalty from an independent nation fixed in the Yian-Dho. I work for the master, and I serve him loyally. Before my position, I was a slum dweller. It was the mistress who found and fed me, she made me into the person I am before I was snatched by the master. I owe her a great level of gratitude.”
“Why look for me?”
“Her attendants came to me with troubling news. The mistress fell gravely ill. Rumors speak of poisoning... it’s under wraps. When I heard about you, I thought you’d be able to help the mistress. It’s not her, many another affluent fall ill. Despite their wealth, health care in Istra’s inexistent. Physicians are below-standard – most fly to Hidros for treatment... alas, since the war, there’s been a restriction on travel. Only the vetted fly, not to mention Hidros’ policy. Tis hard to get acceptance, even for a noble. The best way for flight is endorsement... a subject of much deliberation,” he exhaled, “-I want to repay my debt. Lyoko, would you help the mistress?”
‘A power struggle. This is perfect.’
“Lyoko?”
“I’ll do it. One expectation, I won’t give up my hospice in the slums. They need healthcare, otherwise, the working class will suffer at the hands of Thoas’ tyranny.”
“I don’t guarantee safety but I give my word.”
“Boy.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes you, one in the brown shirt, come here.”
“Why should I?”
“I have a job.”
“Okay,” he perked up on hearing money.
“Take this and give it to the guy right there,” Igna pointed at a gentlemanly dressed journalist.
.....
“Okay?” the boy furrowed, “-how much you paying, old man.”
“10 Exa.”
“Holy shit!” the boy caught his mouth, ‘-money for a whole week,’ he gulped and hastily took the money and parcel. “-Thank yo,” the old man vanished, only the empty street headed to the harbor remained.
The apprehensive journalist took his focus off his camera and looked at the boy, “-what?”
“I have a letter,” the boy extended his hands.
“What letter?” the moon’s ray just lit the sender’s name, “DB.Killer,” he jumped and snatched the item, ‘-another letter from the killer,’ he gulped, “-kid, did you see the man?”
“No,” the boy tilted his head, “-the man was old I guess?”
“Good, good,” he rushed towards his car, “-good job there sonny. Come with me,” he pulled the backdoor open, “-we need to get a portrait of the man. You’ll make me money, you’ll make us wealth,” the reflection of currency muddied the man’s eye for justice, or what he thought was justice. A selfish agenda for haunting others’ secretive past; such was journalism.
One hour short of midnight. ‘-The cool and refreshing silence,’ Igna sat atop a viewing station fixed at the edge of the port. Direction, southeast, where the city’s cliff rested its massive foundation. Lookouts were made for hunting stations, the latter of which was built in kilometer’s difference – giving reference and landmark for hunters calling the unbridled wild.
He sat with legs crossed and puffed, “-the police will have a handy surprise tomorrow morning. For the meeting,” Vengeance and him swapped places. A frequented well-lit street carried into a shopping district. The distant outer walls and better buildings spoke high-class in comparison. He scanned and shuffled to a sidewalk. Horse carriages clopped. Men and women were dressed in old Victorian-styled clothes. Women wore long dresses, the focus placed on their busts and bottoms. Veiled hats and expensive jewelry salivated the mouths of budding pickpockets. The gentlemen wore black suits, often of three pieces with top hats, rounded glasses, and bejeweled canes. The illustrious of the gentlemen had mustaches, often curled, without beards. The accent was distinguishable from Iqeavea’s upper echelon. ‘First time I entered the city,’ he walked to a tailor’s shop and caught his reflection, ‘-I don’t look good,’ from clothes the hairstyle, ‘-it reeks of laziness and tactlessness. Living in the slums has made me a lesser man,’ he took a harsh look at himself then smiled, ‘-a chameleon,’ he chuckled and entered the establishment. Formally dressed attendants bowed their heads with courteous, “-welcome, sire.” The nicely dressed tailor turned his well-groomed head at Igna with a scowl, “-pardon me,” he approached Igna, “-are you perhaps from the slums?”
“Why does it matter?” Igna reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his wallet, and threw it on the nearest display table, “-my suit has seen better days,” he pulled off the jacket, “-does your shop serve quality attire?” he pointed at the embroidered maker on the inside, the tailor’s demeanor changed, “-yes my lord, you need not worry. The weather gets rough during the night.”
“Glad we’ve reached an understanding,” he walked deeper inside, “-I will need this,” and thus presented a well-detailed list. The tailor could but drool, ‘-a man in the know about suits,’ he swooned, albeit inappropriate, “-a custom made, my lord?”
“Yes, and I will need one for tonight. Ready-made is fine.”
“Understood, we’ll refit one of our best sellers.”
“No,” he scanned, “-best-sellers are for the ones wanting to blend. I want something that reflects me,” he locked onto a particularly gloomy-looking suit, “-this one,” the latter was black and grey, including gloves, a heavy trench coat, and a checkered scarf, “-this will do.” The man took his measurements in the inner rooms. Getting half-nude before another man wasn’t that big of a deal – not to him. The same thing could be argued outside, “-holy mother of all gods,” the attendants snuck peaks, “-he’s so hot,” they blushed. Igna even winked at one of them, ‘-been a while,’ he untied his hair, “-your fitting room, where is it?”
“Inside, my lord,” the tailor rushed to his station and began fitting the pre-made suit. A bubble of water swallowed him into an oval cage, the pressure twirled and drained for a blast of cold air. ‘-Clean,’ he stared at the mirror, ‘-magic, an unpopular art known to Hidros and not the other states. It’s convenient,’ he exited with a freshness that enamored the shop. Even the tailor couldn’t get his eye off the idyllic specimen.
An hour passed, and Igna dawned the new outfit and looked rather suave. “Excellent job,” he took the tailor’s hand, “-you, my dear sir, are a genius,” the warm smile paired with a charismatic compliment, “-thank you very much.”
“I will come for my custom order sometime during the week. Please have it ready.”
“Will do, my lord, will do. Please come again,” the shop’s door closed. The staff stood in line with a warm goodbye. He stepped into the street and caught the attention of many ladies. They threw an inviting gaze, to which, he simply returned a friendly smile and walked towards a more exclusive district, the town square. Richer couples walked here and there. Highly established restaurants, shops, and hotels lined the square. Asphalted streets led into stone-brick sidewalks and walkways. Such was the first he’d noticed since the arrival to Istra. ‘-Takes me back home,’ he sat on a bench facing a street headed south. Guards patrolled, they threw suspicious glares. Some locked onto Igna and even walked toward him; his aura dissuaded their concerns. ‘Vengeance scanned the area and says the man’s located somewhere around here. I should call him,’ he toggled the phone and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Good evening.”
“This voice, do I know you?”
“For a man who cruelly trashed my hospice and killed one of my nurses, I’d expect some level of recognition.”
“Oh, the doc,” the tone rose, “-why have you called?”
“The sooner the better?”
“I forgot,” he paused, Igna lit a cigarette and waited, ‘-the tough leader’s mellowed. Guess God’s Ale has the effect of a downer.’
“Sorry for the wait, doc. Where are you?”
“Town-square,” he returned, “-the city’s very pretty compared to the harbor.”
“Town-square you say... fair enough. Give me a moment, I will be there soon.”
He puffed. Just as the cigarette neared its end, a man came from the southern street.
“Doc,” he rose his hands. Igna nodded.
An exhausted sigh saw him slide onto the bench, “-sure gets tiring. Good choice of outfit, doc. A part of me knew you were noble, are you a noble?”
“Who can say? Istra’s a place where people hide their deepest desires. The past means nothing, only the present weighs the future. Shall we get to the matter at hand?”
“Allow me a monologue.”
“Go ahead.”
“Thoas Duquant, the mayor of Istra. Mirai’s his one and only son. I was there when you shot and killed one of my men. Master Duquant’s severity has driven him to be an absolute figure in Istra. The Duquant family comes from a lineage of prestige and nobility. They can be traced to the founding of the empire; a family that came and went. They kept their assets closed and were subject to scorn by the other families, especially during wartime. My knowledge of the past stops here. I’m head of security for the mayor and also the leader of the city guards. No official title or anything glamorous, they know me as Svipe.”
“Thoas Duquant wants my employment?”
“No, on the contrary,” he crossed his fingers, “-doctor, you’re a smart man, tell me, why would I ask for your help?”
He paused, ‘-he’s testing me. Severity – absolute figure, the sentence, the details. Mirai’s his one and only son. Nobles make a point to procreate... wouldn’t be possible if the wife didn’t agree. The wife, a family traced back to the empire – marriage in high society. I get it,’ he rose an understanding smile, “-Duquant’s aren’t on good terms. There’s a fight in the family on the inside, keeping up appearances on the outside. I’d guess there are two major factions within the family, and perhaps even a third for whatever branch family it can be. Svipe, tell me, who do you serve, the master or the mistress?”
“...” dumbfounded, ‘-how did he? Who is this doctor...’
“Confused? The silence is telling. Svipe, stop holding back; if I wish to know the truth, I’ll find the answer. Confess, it’s the only way.”
“I yield,” he held up his hand, “-my gut’s telling me to stop. Doctor, the persona about you isn’t inviting. The moment crucial information is given... your brain, it’ll conclude, and most often is the truth. You’re a formidable fighter and a greater intellectual. Pair those attributes with your mannerisms displayed here, you’re someone from a prominent family. Someone whose lineage far surpasses the Duquant, perhaps even a ruling monarch. You hold the same level of power... I’ve met many influential people before, nobles from other countries, you know, the same caliber of people ruling nations. Vous dégagez le même sens d’autorité.”1
“And?”
“I rather not give you the full rundown.”
“Svipe, you’re a cautious man. Alas, what is caution without gamble? What is life without death? What is white without black? One cannot exist without the other. If one always chooses the straight and narrow – one’s life ought be a simple, unimportant existence. Gamble, on the other hand, makes life interesting. In good measure, the synergistic effect propels one to greater heights or a nose-dive to failure. Such the nature of life, Svipe. What will you choose?”
He thought hard. Crinkles expression, a furrowed brow, and a small tint of flushness in his cheeks. ‘Svipe’s drank God’s ale before coming. He made a big mistake. When the elixir climbs to one’s head, tis akin to a truth serum. You can’t resist the hold, it’s not worth the trouble. You want to speak the truth,’ he smiled, the man cracked.
“Gamble!” he slammed the table. “-The family’s broken into three factions. The master, the mistress, and the branch family. They each rule a portion here in Istra. The town is overseen by the mistress, and the industrial area as well as the port is ruled by the master, as the branch family, they leech off the main family. You know, bastard of the master’s adventures into the slums. The title of mayor doesn’t hold much meaning. The master hates dealing with the town’s trouble, it is a waste of time as he says. The mistress loves the city, she loves tending to the upper echelon. Her lineage is one of royalty from an independent nation fixed in the Yian-Dho. I work for the master, and I serve him loyally. Before my position, I was a slum dweller. It was the mistress who found and fed me, she made me into the person I am before I was snatched by the master. I owe her a great level of gratitude.”
“Why look for me?”
“Her attendants came to me with troubling news. The mistress fell gravely ill. Rumors speak of poisoning... it’s under wraps. When I heard about you, I thought you’d be able to help the mistress. It’s not her, many another affluent fall ill. Despite their wealth, health care in Istra’s inexistent. Physicians are below-standard – most fly to Hidros for treatment... alas, since the war, there’s been a restriction on travel. Only the vetted fly, not to mention Hidros’ policy. Tis hard to get acceptance, even for a noble. The best way for flight is endorsement... a subject of much deliberation,” he exhaled, “-I want to repay my debt. Lyoko, would you help the mistress?”
‘A power struggle. This is perfect.’
“Lyoko?”
“I’ll do it. One expectation, I won’t give up my hospice in the slums. They need healthcare, otherwise, the working class will suffer at the hands of Thoas’ tyranny.”
“I don’t guarantee safety but I give my word.”
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