Nobility

by Mason Dakota

  “Well then I guess that makes me superior to the great Sherlock Holmes then,” I joked, with a bow and wave.

  Chamberlain shook his head and replied, “Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble.”

  Before I could respond, Chamberlain tossed my fedora at my face. I caught it.

  “Gabriel wishes to see you,” Chamberlain said. That instantly killed the jovial atmosphere. But, I knew business was at hand and the sooner it was done the sooner I could get some sleep.

  “Has he even mentioned why he wanted that specific file or access into the bank’s records? We did all this tonight because he asked us to, and does he still refuse to tell us why we did it?” I asked.

  Chamberlain shook his head and said, “You know Gabriel and his secrets. He was quite furious that you got on that train when he told you not to. But whatever possessed him to have those files must be important to him. There’s always a reason behind everything he does. But don’t blame him for your unwillingness to follow his command. You practically drooled at the opportunity to put on that mask and make a show of it. The rest of us only followed because you would get yourself killed without some help.”

  “You can’t blame me for being tempted by a bit of excitement. That’s beside the point. Gabriel will have to wait. I was told by an NPFC officer tonight that the Mayor himself has requested to see me tomorrow morning at his office,” I said, with a hint of ironic pride in my voice.

  “How hard did you hit your head when you landed on that train?” he asked.

  I scowled and said, “Harder than I like but not hard enough that I’m making this up.”

  Chamberlain’s eyebrows shot straight up as he eyed me questionably and asked, “Are you sure that’s wise to see him after you just robbed him tonight?”

  I scoffed and said, “The Mayor is a buffoon that only cares about champagne and fat checks. He only got the position because his uncle is the Emperor and he’s as dumb as a bat. He has no hint of my involvement. He merely wishes to reward me for saving those citizens tonight. In a single hour I have become both a renowned thief and a hero of the people. But, I will admit this changes a few things, and if we are smart it could benefit our plan.”

  “Your plan to drink champagne all day and get fat checks?” Chamberlain asked. I was only half sure he was joking now.

  I scowled and said, “That is not the plan.”

  Chamberlain straightened up and asked carefully, “Then remind me what your grand plan is. I get the feeling it’s changed since Ziavir stepped into the picture and you suddenly became a public spectacle.”

  I turned my gaze outside into the dark early morning. Dawn would soon come. My mind flashed back to my youth. Chamberlain and I met when we were just boys. I had a reputation for pickpocketing rich Nobles to make just enough to feed myself on scraps. The orphanage I grew up in was too poor to feed every child on a regular basis. By a certain age the kids were responsible for their own sources of food. Most found small jobs since child labor was legal for Outcasts, but some like me took to thievery. Most did not survive long.

  Chamberlain had caught me stealing from his own home as a boy, taking food from his pantry when I thought nobody was home. Chamberlain was blessed to have parents who loved him enough to hide him away. His mother, an Outcast, I had always been told was attacked and impregnated by a Noble, but she had fallen in love years later with a good man, an Outcast, who raised Chamberlain in secret like his own son. On that day when Chamberlain caught me, he spared and gave me food to eat. Our friendship began and it wasn’t long before I was welcomed into the family, though never officially adopted on paper. After Chamberlain’s parents died in a car wreck (caused by a drunk Noble who walked away free of any charges), I couldn’t resist returning to my life of taking from Nobles.

  Chamberlain had more forgiveness in his heart, and believed we could help hurting people. So, we took from the corrupt and gave to the weak, and slowly we began to believe that we were making a real difference in helping those who suffered. Along the way we met Alison and Michael; they joined our little crew of misfits. Eventually, Gabriel came into the picture and became something of our mentor. My history with Gabriel coincided too much with my own with Ziavir to be anything short of chance.

  Gabriel has this talent of giving those around him real purpose and direction. He had done it for me when he, as the original Shaman, had passed his mask on to me. In that moment he planted a vision in my mind, showing me that we could do so much more than feed a few folks on any one night. He showed me that with his help we could make real changes in our city, where Outcasts and Nobles joined in equality, with no legal or genetic separation, a society in which segregation itself was outlawed and each man and woman had the right to the pursuit of happiness.

  The segregation began many generations ago, during the Abandoned War, when the world was thrown into ruin as the governmental superpowers battled. Leaders unleashed massive bio-weapons onto the world and destroyed entire countries over night. The Dark Ages return quite literally across the globe. Everything reversed hundreds of years. The last gift of the war, Nobles—created in hopes of making a fighting force capable of ending the war short of annihilation. But it was just too late.

  The original idea was to create a super soldier immune to sickness and disease, and without harmful genetic mutations. They were a species strong and faster and healthier than the rest of humanity. Years later it was discovered these “super humans” could pass on their unique genetic make-up if they bred with other Nobles. Thus, their numbers grew, separating the world into either genetically superior Nobles, or Outcasts, who were once characterized normal but now considered inferior.

  Meanwhile the world became a vast wasteland torn apart by nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons. Few places like Chicago were lucky enough to remain intact and free from most of the bombings and fighting. When the dust settled, and the major superpowers of the world were demolished, people followed those with power and resources. It didn’t take long for the Noble Empire to rise up and dominate the Western World as the largest Empire in recorded history.

  Noble superiority meant Outcast cruelty. The blame for the fall of civilization fell upon Outcasts. We’ve been carrying the punishment ever since, just one step away from concentration camps and gas chambers. Good men and women—innocent men and women—people like Chamberlain—find the most cruelty aimed at them.

  Justice has been the plan. It always will be.

  Looking at Chamberlain, I shrugged with a heavy burden. “The plan has never changed. Complicated now, yes. But we can use this to our advantage.”

  Chamberlain crossed his arms suspiciously and asked, “And what about Ziavir? You’ve survived two encounters already in your lifetime. He won’t be too fond of that. And now that you’ll be in the spotlight you’ll be an easy target for him. Just forget about the Mayor and go underground like we originally planned.”

  I shook my head and replied, “Cannot afford to do that. If I disappear it would look too suspicious, and I might be suspected as Shaman or with something to hide. If that happens I’m dead no matter what. We’ll have to figure out a way to work around Ziavir’s presence.”

  “Why do I doubt you’re going to avoid him?” Chamberlain asked.

  He knew me too well.

  “He’s planning something, Chamberlain—something very bad. You weren’t there. You didn’t see what he did and hear what he had to say. He’s going to cause some sort of panic and get people killed. If tonight is any example, countless lives are at risk. I won’t let him succeed. Not after tonight. He’ll be stopped, I promise you that.”

  “Why you, though? Why not just let the authorities handle Ziavir? Now that the NPFC know he’s here its only a matter of time before they find him,” said Chamberlain. I saw in his eyes his own determination to stop Ziavir. Something in Chamberlain’s nature demanded to stand against darkness, especially darkness that haunted the weak. Here he was, very possibly the last of his kind—certainly
the oldest surviving—compelled to risk everything for what was right. He wasn’t trying to get me to stand down really. He was testing my motives for what we both desired.

  Except he knows my motives aren’t as pure as his.

  “Because, if Ziavir plans to murder, we are the best line of defense. Ziavir will have to work with criminal contacts. That’s our department.”

  “And if, hypothetically, you find him, what then? Do you plan to tell the authorities?”

  I sighed and said, “Chamberlain, I’ve never lied to you. I’m not going to start now.”

  He knew what I meant. He didn’t like it, but he knew. Just as he also knew I was too stubborn to argue with—especially at this time of night. Chamberlain nodded his head and said, “Get some rest, Griffon. We’ll speak again tomorrow.” Then he moved toward the door and walked out giving me a quick head nod of farewell.

  It took me a second to realize what I’d done. I introduced the city to Shaman, a beggar’s hero, and minutes later I got my first nemesis—like I was some sort of comic book hero in a classic tale of good versus evil.

  The good guys always win…right?

  My nightmares that night told me a different story. I only saw a repeat of that Noble woman on the train dying and Ziavir laughing it away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I woke to the sound of a strong knock on my door. Whoever it was sounded frustrated. “Mr. Nightlock! Are you home? I’ve been sent to drive you to the mayor’s office this morning. Please, Mr. Nightlock, if you are in there, please answer the door. I’ve been knocking for ten minutes.”

  I grumbled and tried to get to my feet. I failed and landed on my side in the floor in a hot pain. My shoulder ached terribly. Whoever was at the door heard me collapse and started knocking with a greater intensity.

  So much for sneaking away quietly.

  I crawled to my feet and slouched to the door, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with the palm of my hand, and snarled menacingly.

  I peeked through the peep-hole and saw a lone man in an ill-fitting suit and tie. He looked younger than I was, maybe in his early twenties, and he had curly brown hair under his driver’s cap. He was shorter, too, by at least four inches. I spotted a dark birthmark on his neck, callused finger tips from playing the guitar and a cheap, cracked watch that he nervously checked.

  “Please, Sir, we’re running late,” he called. I wondered if his cracked watch even worked.

  Never let someone judge you on time when he is wearing a broken watch!

  He looked around as though he felt out of place…like he was scared to be in a raggedy old apartment in the heart of the Outcast District.

  Clearly, he’s a Noble.

  Only a Noble would act so anxious. I sighed, brushed a hand through my messy bed hair, and unlocked the door. The man greeted me with a sigh of pleasure which soon vanished when he saw how I looked in my old food stained T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. His face showed disgust as he said without thinking, “Is that really how you intend to see the mayor? You Outcasts are so…” His voice broke off when I looked him in the eyes.

  This is not why I opened the door, moron.

  “So…what? Please continue with what you were about to say. Just forgive me when I slam this door in your face,” I grumbled. (Not a smart response to a Noble, but I was sleep-deprived and didn’t care what this twerp thought or wanted.)

  He cleared his throat and said fearfully, but politely, “Um…I—I only mean—are you ready to leave now…Sir?”

  I so wanted to shake my head “yes” and walk out with my slippers and my bedroom attire, just to rub it in his face that I didn’t care what he or anyone else thought. But I decided that wouldn’t be smart. First impressions mattered. I slowly shook my head, never letting my glaring eyes leave the young man’s own, and shut the door…spitefully.

  I grumbled about sleep schedule and respect as I headed to my bathroom. I didn’t have enough time for a full shower so I quickly soaked my hair and face with cold water. I towel dried my hair and applied deodorant. I quickly put on socks, old faded jeans, a T-shirt with a videogame logo on it and a long sleeve shirt on top. I hobbled toward the door as I fought to put on my sneakers and throw on my jacket. I opened the door and before the young man could speak, brushed past him toward the stairs. The young man was at my heels in a flash.

  “You can call me Thomas, Sir. It’ll be a pleasure to be your driver this morning in transporting you to meet our honored mayor,” he said as though he was repeating a speech he loathed and had given dozens of times.

  “Pleasure?” I growled. (I’m not a morning person.) Thomas got the hint and stopped talking. I was not expecting the scene I faced outside the lobby doors.

  Greg, the landlord, had locked the front lobby doors and stood shouting through the glass to a crowd of noisy people outside. Men and women, all Nobles who normally wouldn’t be caught dead in my part of town. Each one a reporter. They worked as one cohesive body and urgently tried to get into the building. Several had cameras hanging around their necks and many waved their hands with electronic notepads or microphones in them.

  The press! I cringed a little and felt suddenly under dressed.

  Maybe I should have taken that shower after all.

  “Oh, come on,” complained Thomas, “how do we get through this mob now?” I rolled my eyes. Thomas didn’t see me.

  The spoiled brat is getting on my last nerve.

  Trying to enter the lobby, the crowd of reporters practically jumped up and down like little kids at birthday parties when they seek presents and cakes. They shouted and pointed at me, and I heard their muffled questions through the glass doors. I’d never heard of any Outcast receiving such publicity—especially in my city.

  “Aargh! Back away from my doors, Vermin!” shouted Greg as he slapped against the glass door with the palm of his hand. I liked Greg. He never said much but he was loyal and would not turn his back on a friend. He was a short, stout man with a pot belly and fat palms. He had short gray hair with a receding hairline. His face was a combination of puffy cheeks, a short nose, low cheekbones, and a wrinkled forehead. His eyes were big and brown, and dark liver spots dotted his skin: they seemed to grow in size and number as time went by. Greg was sick and dying, but couldn’t get the proper treatment because he was an Outcast. Just another show of discrimination toward Outcasts at the hands of Nobles.

  I went forward and laid a firm hand on Greg’s thick shoulder, not hard enough to hurt the old man but enough to get his attention. Greg spun around shocked, a wooden ladle in his off-hand ready to use as a weapon. When I saw bacon grease dripping from the end of his ladle, I guessed Greg went to the doors while making his breakfast. His red face coated in sweat from shouting.

  “Can you believe these people? They just show up out of the blue banging on the door and they refuse to leave. Well, Boy, I’ll tell yah, if they don’t leave, I’m going out there and getting them off my property, no matter what it takes. They’re vultures, the entire lot of them,” he said.

  I smiled at Greg and said, “Let me see what I can do about it.” I turned, unlocked the door, and pushed my way out. It was such a stupid decision. The press swarmed me like a hive, and pressed against me as they shouted questions into my ears.

  “Mr. Nightlock! Can you tell us about the train ride last night?”

  “Mr. Nightlock! Can you tell us about how that Noble woman died last night?”

  “Can you tell us where you were going that night?”

  “What about the strange device the authorities found you handling? Why do you think the authorities refuse to comment at this time?”

  The questions didn’t stop coming.

  These people know my name and place of residence! How did they find something like that out?

  I always thought one of the reasons I’d never been caught was because I was an invisible a nobody. Very few people knew my real name and even fewer knew where I laid my head at night. Granted, that might never have m
attered if what Lorre said last night was true. Regardless, I still didn’t want my name and place of residence advertised. That was bad for business.

  The press continued to crowd me; they suffocated me like a choking blanket of people. microphones and cameras came at my face and hands waved to distract my line of sight. Colognes and perfumes mixed together in the air to create a foul-smelling, gagging cloud. I had no idea if I was headed in the right direction, and I had lost sight of Thomas. Frustration grew inside me. I hadn’t even had breakfast yet. These vultures and their assault of questions, physicality, and smells were outrageous. The scourge of the earth stood before my very eyes!

  Is this how these people always act? Like piranhas after a wounded fish?

  “ENOUGH!!!” I shouted at the top of my lungs over the roar of the crowd. The crowd grew silent and froze. Dozens of faces surrounded me and stared at me with expressions of shock. Those who were likely more experienced at their jobs recovered first and furiously typed in notes onto digital pads. Then it all started again as they pressed in, closer this time than before, asking waves of endless questions. I felt like I played Tetris, and someone had tied my hands behind my back and cranked the speed up to twelve.

  But it was their proximity that worsened my situation. A man pressed so closely that his chest rested on my shoulder, and a woman to my left stood closer than a lover’s embrace—just close enough to slip her microphone beneath my lips. The perfume and cologne fumes caused my eyes to water as I pushed my way through the crowd with eventual physical force. I knew if I didn’t get through the throng quickly, I’d start swinging fists.

  Eventually sight failed me, and I swam on a dark ocean floor. I shouted and choked as I helplessly pushed my way through the mob.

  I’m going to die in this crowd if I don’t get out of here soon! What a great ending there, Griffon, suffocated by a crowd of reporters!

  Finally, I caught a break and fell forward, colliding with the side of a parked car. The mob of reporters violently crashed down around me. I didn’t care whose car it was; I forced open the back door, pushing a few reporters back as I did, and climbed inside the vehicle. I slammed the door behind me. I fell onto black leather seats and lay there with my face against the interior. I caught my breath. The press slapped against the tinted windows with their palms as they continued to barrage me with their questions.