With Footfalls of Shadow

by Donogan Sawyer

  ~Æ~

  Most of the men in the chamber knew each other. Some of them were close friends, but by tradition, and for the purpose of security, they never called each other by name while in session. Some of the younger members thought the ways of the Chamber arcane and steeped in needless ritual. But, as some of the elder members knew, to be identified with this elite group could put one’s life in danger. They acquired enemies from those they threatened, and from those who misunderstood them. As recently as the reign of King Tobias, Chamber members had been hunted down and killed.

  Only one man, the Chairman, was addressed by any identification. The Chairman was a mystery to the rest of the Chamber. He had preceded all of the current members, and was the only one to successfully conceal his identity from everyone. Privately, some of the members believed it would be better to elect a Chairman, and trust in each other to keep their identities secret. These men were accustomed to being in charge, and accustomed to positions of prestige. They would have preferred the Chamber to have been run like an exclusive club. They wanted the opportunity to compete for leadership of the Chamber as they competed for other positions in their lives. But the wiser members understood that the real power of the Chamber depended on the utmost secrecy, and it depended on the level headed guidance of the Chairman.

  The chamber men each had his own compartment, most in the city, but some outside it. By some ancient marvel of acoustical engineering, or perhaps by magic, the sixteen chambers were all connected in such a way that the voices from each chamber could be heard by all of the others. Each meeting would begin precisely at a predetermined time. The time was normally decided at the previous meeting, but occasionally the Chairman, who was the only one who knew the identity of all the members, would see to it that each member received a message that only they would see or understand. Sometimes they would find a message under their pillow in the morning, or in their sock drawer, or a shirt pocket, discovered only a few minutes before the meeting was to begin.

  Tonight there was a meeting called for one hour after sundown. The members were all in their chambers just before the specified time, upon which they heard the Chairman call the meeting to order with a simple, “Welcome, chamber men.”

  In unison, the chamber men answered, “May we provide a guiding hand of wisdom.”

  Aside from promoting a positive ambition for the chamber men, this opening ritual provided a very important security measure. As the chambers were all in different buildings, there was little chance of members bumping into one another on the way to a meeting. This aided in anonymity, but increased the likelihood that an imposter might make his way into a meeting. This had only happened a few times in the long history of the Chamber, but all were prepared in case the Chairman followed their recitation with one of two responses. ‘The council is assembled’ would indicate that there may be an imposter present, but the chamber men must carry on without revealing anything important, while the spy was fed misinformation. The other response, ‘The council is adjourned’ indicated that there was a clear danger to the members, and possibly to their families. Each of the chamber men would then take suitable steps to protect themselves. Somehow the Chairman could listen to the fifteen voices in unison, and could tell if one were an imposter, or if a member were missing.

  Tonight all were present. There were three new members this evening, as three had been hung in the recent clan rebellion, but no introductions were made.

  The Chairman skipped any further pretence and began the discussion, which, aside from occasional guidance from the Chairman, was an open forum. Each chamber filled with disembodied voices of the most powerful people in Jeandania.

  “There is news from the south and from the north,” began the Chairman. “It seems the popular General Riley has been disgraced at the town of Jayden.”

  “Yes, I have a relative in Jayden, who told me that General Theron came into town, tossing food and jewellery into the crowd.”

  “Loot from Anderath is what I heard.”

  “That it was, but Theron claims he recovered it from Riley. The official report is that Theron and his men, in plain clothes, awaited Riley in Jayden, posing as citizens of the town. Riley attacked the town, as he had attacked Anderath a few days earlier, but this time, with the help of Theron and his men, the people of the town were able to fight them off.”

  “So you are saying General Riley has become a criminal? I don’t believe it. The man is a hero. Are you suggesting that he was the one who burnt Anderath to the ground, and attacked Jayden?”

  “No, I am not saying he attacked anyone, but that is the official report. The mayor of Jayden swears they were attacked.”

  “The same mayor who is now Secretary to the King?”

  “That’s the one. He’s a worm. He’d say anything to gain promotion.”

  “What of this Theron then? The valiant saviour of the people of Jayden.”

  “Well, he’s a hero now. The people of Jayden seem confident about the whole story.”

  “He leads a motley crew of soldiers; he took many of them from the prisons.”

  “In the heat of battle it is difficult to tell who shot the first arrow.”

  “So none of you believe that this really happened?”

  “It’s difficult to say what really happened. It just sounds a bit odd that a former war hero would suddenly, and randomly, turn his sword against the innocent people of a farming town like Anderath.”

  “It’s impossible. I knew the man. It’s just impossible.”

  “So, what happened then?”

  “The general was becoming very popular among the masses. Perhaps the King felt threatened?”

  “Do you really think the King ordered Anderath destroyed, and then blamed it on Riley? That would be madness.”

  “It was either a mad King or a traitorous Riley. Take your pick.”

  “Then why did Riley go to Jayden?”

  “I know a man in Riley’s company. The orders were top secret, only the general and that beast servant of the King’s knew what they were.”

  “Gastious?”

  “Yes, Gastious. He was identified at Anderath, and then seen walking beside Riley as they approached Jayden.”

  “But Riley was not identified at Anderath?”

  “No, just the Bok. There were only a handful of survivors. One look at that thing and I’m not sure if I’d look around anymore.”

  “Where is Riley now?”

  “He’s nowhere to be found.”

  “And Gastious?”

  “Captured, brought back to the palace in a cage. Swears Riley coerced him. He is supposed to be hung tomorrow.”

  “So we agree, gentlemen,” the unmistakable voice of the Chairman resonated, “that the circumstances are suspect at the very least.”

  A general murmur of agreement echoed through the chambers.

  The Chairman continued, “Then we must decide how we are to move forward. The force of opinion spread from men of the Chamber will go far to sway the people, one way or another.”

  “We already spread the stories about the clan chief conspiracy. I was close to some of those men. I still lose sleep over the lies I told.”

  “They weren’t all lies. Those men would have done the same to Arconus had they lived another day!”

  “Gentlemen, that is finished business,” the Chairman interjected. “We have another decision before us.”

  “I think the King goes too far.”

  “There is no doubt about that, but perhaps we have all come too far to move against him at this stage. It may compromise our leverage.”

  “He has not only destroyed Anderath, but all of our trade with Anderath.”

  “For every lucre lost in Anderath, we have earned two in the city.”

  “The way he rules is unjust and immoral.”

  “We are in a transition in this country. In time the violence will stop. We must be patient.”

  “Agreed, it is unfortunate that the innocent must s
uffer, and sometimes heroes must fall, but sacrifices must be made in order to build a nation.”

  The Chairman spoke once again, “It seems we are divided nine to six in favour of supporting the King.”

  “Wait. Sorry, just wait a moment. My apologies. I’m new to the chamber. Are we not going to vote on this?”

  “Welcome, young man,” said an older voice. “We are happy to have you with us. We were all new at one stage. I have been on the chamber for many years. The Chairman always knows. I never know how. Just for future reference, it saves time to trust him. However, we all have the right to call a vote whenever we choose.”

  “Well, thank you, sir. I would like to call a vote.”

  “I second the motion,” came another voice.

  A few sniggers followed.

  “Well, it seems we have at least one other new member, welcome,” came the older voice again. “May I just advise you that things like motions and seconds are not necessary here.”

  Then the voice of the Chairman said, “Of course, gentlemen, we will have a vote.”

  The vote was made and the Chairman’s number was confirmed.

  The Chairman ended the discussion, “So goes the vote ...”

  “So goes the Chamber,” returned the chamber men.

  All present, even the new members, would now go the way of the majority. They would support the King, and vilify General Riley, in whatever capacity was available to them. They would pass information along in social circles. They would exaggerate, even fabricate some stories. They would write or publish propaganda in favour of the King; they would even persecute those who sided with Riley, refusing them business or employment. Such was the power of the Chamber.

  “And what news from the north, Mr Chairman?”

  “Santaque is dead.”

  A few sighs, a few moans, and a few knowing guffaws passed through the Chamber.

  “His days were numbered. He was teamed up with those kids, was he not?”

  “The ones with the tattoos.”

  “I understand those kids are pretty tough.”

  “Gentlemen,” the Chairman interrupted, “do you recall the tavern keeper from Snake’s Mouth called Liam Foster?”

  “The one who killed all of those soldiers when Gastious paid him a visit?”

  “He’s becoming an icon for the resistance movements, the way he fought to the death for his right to be free – that sort of thing.”

  “Some are convinced that he’s still alive. There is a rumour that someone dug up his grave only to find it empty.”

  “You know, he’s becoming a kind of legend in pub talk, and children are running around with wooden swords, pretending they are Liam Foster.”

  “Bah, it means nothing. Next week the children will be pretending they are someone else.”

  “Most of you will remember the days of King Tobias,” the Chairman said to a general murmur of agreement. “Perhaps it is time to refresh your memories of the Sha’grath ...”

  ~Æ~

  Travis descended the narrow steps in Chestertown, as he had so many nights in his youth. They seemed even narrower now that he was a grown man. The air was warm and moist. The smell of detergent drifted up through the stairwell. It was a smell that gave him immediate comfort. He always enjoyed his visits with Aunty Jules, but these steps also conjured some unwelcome memories.

  He felt his arm, and deemed it to be healing fairly well. The bandage was secure, and he was wearing a new shirt. He didn’t want Aunty Jules to know he had been injured. He thought back to that night, so many years ago, when Aunty Jules explained the orphan’s curse.

  Aunty Jules had been the vineyard laundry lady, and it was she who had saved the lives of Travis and Biff on the day of the attack. She had appeared behind them as the carnage began. She guided them safely off the hill, out of the vineyard and into Chestertown. Aunty Jules had looked after them from that point on. She rented a two-room flat and used one of the rooms as a laundry, which earned enough to support the three of them.

  One day Biff had stolen a nobleman’s wallet, and the man had sent his guards after them. The penalty for stealing was the loss of a hand, and Travis was genuinely afraid. It was normally fairly easy for them to lose a pursuer in the maze of alleys and rooftop passes that they had discovered over years of mischief, but these men had managed to keep up with them. They thought they had lost them when making their way back to the apartment, but the men were close behind. Aunty Jules was waiting at the bottom of the steps. She pointed a stubby finger at them and then pointed into the laundry room, an unambiguous order to the boys to get inside.

  Travis and Biff walked in quickly, and Aunty Jules grabbed the rubbish barrel that was beside the door and rolled it outside. Then she shut it behind her noisily and locked it. Travis had been terrified. The noise had surely alerted the guards. Travis was about to protest, but Aunty Jules put a harsh finger in the air and said, “You think they didn’t notice the door open? Every door opened has to be closed, boy. So you in real trouble this time, ain’t ja?”

  Already there were footsteps on the stairs. Travis answered simply, “Yes.”

  Hard knocking started on the door.

  Aunty Jules grabbed three short pipes, and handed one to each of the boys. The third she put in her mouth, looked up to the ceiling, and breathed loudly.

  The knocking grew louder. “We are the personal bodyguards of Royal Ambassador Dunkin, of the House Turin. Open this door immediately or we will force it open.”

  Aunty Jules then turned to the door. “Hold your codpieces boys, a woman’s at work in here.” As she spoke, she pointed to a large washbasin full of water and suds, and Travis understood. He climbed in quickly, submerged himself, and breathed through the pipe. Biff followed a moment later. It grew dark at the top of the water, as Aunty Jules threw some sheeting in on top of them. Then he heard the muffled sound of the door opening and voices. Travis could not make out the words, but the voices were clearly agitated. Then he heard Aunty Jules’s again, closer now, over the basin. She was speaking in relaxed, but condescending tones, as if explaining something to a dull child. Suddenly something long and sharp pushed through the laundry on top of them. Travis nearly panicked, sure that the guards were poking around with their swords, but eventually the metal was withdrawn. There was more conversation, and then the sound of the door opening and closing again.

  Travis had been agitated at the glee in Aunty Jules’s voice afterward as she explained what had actually happened. “I gotcha, didn’t I?” she said through laughter, as the soaking boys listened in bewildered silence. Aunty Jules grabbed two large towels from a pile, and handed one to each of them.

  “I was pokin’ the sheets into the water. I needed to show them I was workin’, cause that’s what I told em. They were mad as a pig in a fox trap. I seen that once, you know, drove him craaazy!”

  Travis shook his head at Aunty Jules’s familiar ramblings.

  “Don’t you shake your head at me, boy,” she said, smacking him with the poker she still held in her hand.

  Then she broke out into a great smile as she finished her story. “They said they saw the door open and they were sure the boys they was lookin’ for came in here. I said no sirs, I was just puttin’ out the trash. One of ’em looked out the door, saw the bin there, and decided I was tellin’ the truth. ’Course I helped him along a little. Oh, that was fun,” she said, clapping her hands together.

  “Now, hand me the wallet,” she ordered, hand outstretched, waiting to accept the booty.

  Biff’s flat expression broke for a moment. “Aunty, those men steal from people like us on a daily basis, what is the diff ...”

  And before the next syllable was uttered, Biff had suffered two wicked slaps on his left arm.

  “Don’t make me put the whuppin’ on ya.” She raised the tool again, menacingly.

  Hesitantly, Biff handed the wallet over. She took it and tossed it on a laundry pile, and said, “Look boys. I don’t know if I do
ne right by you. All I know is I tried. But what you gots to know is I always knowed. You orphans, and you diffr’nt. A child’s world is small. It’s supposed to be that way. You got you mamma, you papa, you friends and you home. When you grow up, you grow out. You go out the house, you get mo‘ friends, but you keep you home. You keep you mamma and papa, and you friends. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. That’s the way you learn how to live in the world. You learn slow, wit’ love, and a safe place to lay you head down at night. Then, when you ready, you move out, you move on. That the way you turn into proper folk, and then you do the same fo’ you own kids.

  “An orphan is diff’rnt. An orphan has his whole world stripped away, and there ain’t no tellin’ where he’s gonna go, cause the orphan don’t know where he is in the first place.

  “I ain’t yo mamma, but I kept you fed fo’ a long time, and I’ll keep you fed and keep you safe as long as you keep comin’ back.”

  Then tears welled in Aunty Jules eyes. Travis had always hated to see sadness on her face, a face much more accustomed to smiles and laughter, even at the worst of times.

  “But I also know that pretty soon you won’t be comin’ back, least not in no regular way. It’s the orphan’s curse. You and the world got to work it out ’tween you selves. But you hear me now,” she said, waving the steel rod in front their faces. “You know where Aunty Jules is, and you know this is you home as much as mine. I don’t know if I can always help, but I’ll always be lookin’ out for you.”

  Not only had Aunty Jules raised him and Biff after the tragedy at the vineyard, but Travis had learned as he grew older that she had an extensive network of connections. She seemed to have been employed by everyone in the town and in the big city at one time or other, and Travis had always been amazed at how she was able to find every detail of everybody’s life with whom she came in contact.

  Travis wondered if Aunty Jules might know something about Verkleet. He doubted it, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  The door suddenly opened at the bottom of the stairs, and there stood Aunty Jules waiting with open arms.