Into The Maze

by Euan McAllen

  ‘Take him away. Let him collect his personal possessions then escort him off the premises. Make sure he talks to no one.’

  The police monk clicked his heels and led the zombie like Timothy away. The rebel inside Timothy suddenly wanted to punch the Chief Monk in the face. He was just too perfect.

  ***

  Gregory walked into the tavern, urgency written across his face. It was only late afternoon so the tavern was near deserted. Like the police monk he had been tipped off: there was Timothy, drink in hand, looking half miserable half asleep, perhaps a tiny bit suicidal. He looked sore and stuck out like a sore thumb. He was dressed in civilian clothes. Timothy looked up and saw Gregory. Beaten, with a pinch of self-disgust added in, he now had to contend with Gregory who was here to witness his downfall; assault his senses; berate him; demand he change his ways. Timothy looked back down, hoping he had not been spotted - but of course he had and Gregory rushed over to stand over him.

  ‘See you are celebrating your fall from grace.’

  Gregory sat down. He had something important to get off his chest. But Timothy got in first.

  ‘Sorry, let you down again.’

  ‘You didn’t let me down.’

  ‘No?’ Timothy was suddenly bemused.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about all that time now gone to waste, up in smoke?’

  ‘It wasn’t wasted. The experience will prove useful. You can read and write and count: many things most boys your age can’t do, nor most men for that matter. And you draw. Who can draw like you!’

  ‘I don’t think I would have made a good monk.’

  ‘I agree, probably not.’

  ‘You agree?’ Timothy felt like he was in the wrong conversation.

  ‘Yes.’ Gregory just needed to know one thing. ‘Why did he expel you?’

  ‘Brothel. I visited the brothel.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Gregory feared that would happen, ever since the brothel had been allowed to stay open, but only with the Chief Monk taking a cut of the profits of course. Timothy had the blood of the warrior class in him, not that of a thinker or a holy man or an industrious man. Education could not alter that. Timothy was born to lead, not to be led, not to take orders without questioning. He was born to fight.

  Timothy continued to drink and Gregory make no effort to stop him.

  ‘How many of those have you had?’

  ‘This is my third.’

  ‘I’ll join you for one. There’s nothing worse than drinking alone. Make it your last though then I’ll get you home. You know you can’t hold your drink.’

  ‘Home? What home? I have no home now. They threw me out remember?’

  ‘My home. My home is always your home.’

  Timothy was grateful but didn’t show it. (He didn’t want to look weak or needy.) He watched Gregory order a pint of ale at the counter. He could always count on Gregory to pop up at the right time or the wrong time. This time it was a case of both at the same time. Gregory sat back down opposite Timothy and raised his glass to make a toast - which surprised Timothy.

  ‘Here’s to the future, your future, my future.’

  They clipped glasses, spilling a little beer.

  ‘There must be something I can do,’ pleaded Timothy.

  ‘Of course there is. We just need to find out what it is, and time to find out, and the place.’

  ‘What do you mean the place?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Could I go back to the village?’

  ‘Possibly, it’s an option. You think you could go back there? There’s not much there.’

  ‘Don’t know. Don’t know anything right now.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that. I once knew bugger all about anything, caught up though.’

  ‘Would anyone there remember my parents?’

  ‘No, don’t think so. Can’t think of anybody.’ Gregory hated having to lie.

  ‘They wouldn’t be proud of me.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, of course they would. I’m proud of you.’

  The slip into intimacy made Timothy fall back into silence.

  Drinking done - Timothy had a fourth, Gregory had a second - Gregory led the boy home and helped him navigate his way to the bed, lowering him down gently. Timothy looked like he had been crying inside. He looked up one last time. Now he was counting on Gregory to take charge again, like he had always taken charge when needed.

  ‘Have I failed?’

  ‘No, just a change of game. That was a child’s game. Time to play the adult game now.’

  That last comment was enough to overload Timothy’s brain and send him to sleep, the safest place to be right now.

  Not a monk then, thought Gregory. My mistake. Probably for the best. He’s not stupid. He would have grown to hate that life, perhaps grown to hate me for signing him up. If not that then what? Gregory thought hard, and harder still, until it began to hurt. He looked out of the window. It was snowing again, lightly, just very lightly, falling into water which had once been snow. Is winter early this year? he wondered.

  Before blowing out the candle and closing the bedroom door Gregory looked down at Timothy one last time, like he was never to see him again, or rather the old ‘him’: a new ‘him’ was just around the corner. Timothy would soon be eighteen. A change of plan was required - especially as there was no plan now. Gregory sat down in his own room, on his own bed, having held on to that thought. Yes, a change of plan. Risky? Yes. Dangerous? Possibly. But better than dying a slow death out here in this land run by sanctimonious, god-loving, god-fearing corrupt men of the cloth. Yes we could both do with a change. And with that Gregory said goodnight to himself, stripped naked, and fell into bed, to fall asleep moments after his head hit the pillow.

  ***

  Gregory and Iedazimus - the two insiders as they called themselves - sat drinking late into the night huddled over a game of draughts, in the same tavern where Gregory had earlier sat with Timothy. They shared ownership of it, and the Chief Monk took a cut of the profits as payment for not shutting the place down. They also shared a history which went back nearly eighteen years: they knew each other well enough to know when something was up. Now was such a time. Iedazimus bided his time, knowing that Gregory had something important to say.

  ‘I hate this place don’t you?’ remarked Gregory.

  ‘Yes you know I do.’

  Gregory looked around, as if scanning the horizon.

  ‘From what I’ve heard he’s thinking of closing this place down, for good, and the brothel, in fact anything which is a threat to his reputation. This place has become too successful over the years. Too many drunks.’

  ‘Why now? After all this time?’

  ‘He’s seriously thinking of applying for the top job: may be an opening soon so he tells me. That means careful scrutiny of the applicants. He can’t have his dodgy business deals expose him. His slate must be clean.’

  ‘We can exposure him,’ said Iedazimus, almost with glee, almost with intent.

  ‘Exactly, you’ve hit the nail on the head.’

  ‘Get to the point Gregory, I can read you like a book. You have a proposal, yes?’

  Gregory Iedazimus looked Iedazimus straight in the eye. ‘OK it’s this. Let’s go back.’

  ‘Back? Back to the castle? Have you gone mad?’

  ‘I’ve had reports, from the castle.’

  ‘Reports? What reports?’

  ‘Reports from my brother. Bizi’s gone mad, just like his mother - and like his father for that matter.’

  ‘Must run in the family.’

  ‘Probably, whatever. Anyway now is the perfect time for you to return. He’s going to close this place down. How are we going to make a living? We’ll both be s
tuffed.’

  Iedazimus looked around at the few customers present, just in case they were being overheard, spied upon by the Chief Monk’s secret police. It looked safe. They all had their heads down.

  ‘And what do I do when I get back?’

  ‘Do what you did last time, only this time succeed.’

  The words felt like a kick to the stomach. Iedazimus wanted to kick back.

  ‘Why would I succeed this time?’

  ‘Because you’re older, wiser and because that family is corrupt, mad, and most of the nobles hate them now. Bizi has few allies. His brother is never coming back, probably dead. He’s has no heir.’

  ‘What about Prince Mozak?’

  ‘The prince is not his son. His succession is not automatic. He would have to be voted in by a majority of the nobility. You could stop that, offer them an alternative. And anyway don’t you want to go home?’

  Now Iedazimus was thinking. Gregory could see it in his face.

  ‘And how do I find my way back? I couldn’t even make it as far as the village.’

  ‘I’ll show you, take you.’

  ‘You remember all that?’

  ‘Mostly. I’ve done many trips to the village and from there I have my brother as backup.’

  ‘He’ll be there?’

  ‘Sooner or later he’ll turn up.’

  Iedazimus didn’t know it but talk of meeting Foccinni was a fabrication, an outside chance at best: Gregory didn’t want to reveal that he had a map which would get him from the village to the castle; afraid as he was that Iedazimus might steal it and leave without him. Gregory trusted Iedazimus like he trusted the Chief Monk, or Ingel his Senior Religious Observance Officer, or the devil himself.

  Finally Iedazimus was persuaded: he needed to live again; he had to go back to place where he had been born. He was an insider stuck on the outside. He would rather die back there, back in his family home, and buried in the family grave, alongside his father than slowly shrivel up out here, on the Outside, in the back of beyond. Decision made, they shook hands, drank up, and agreed a date. Iedazimus said he would persuade his ‘best mates’ to join him. The extra muscle might come in useful on the trip, or upon arrival. Mission over, Gregory declined another drink and left his business partner to drink on without him.

  ***

  Adolphinus the Chief Monk sat behind his desk and ignored the heavy rain falling outside. Here he was surrounded by reminders of his status and wealth: acquisitions he had acquired over the years by fair means and foul. He sat in his big padded chair, one perfectly suited for his big fat behind. He held absolute power in this part of the monastic empire - otherwise known as the League of Monasteries - but at times, many times, he found it boring, suffocating. Booze he could smuggle in and sneak out. Women carried more risk but were worth it. He could never be caught with a woman, and the woman must never talk. There was a precisely measured knock at the door. It was that time of the week.

  ‘Come.’

  Adolphinus looked up. It was Ingel his Senior Religious Observance Officer. He was not surprised to see him. It was that time of the day. Ingel doffed his soaking cap and sat down without asking.

  ‘You look well Your Excellency.’

  ‘Just get on with it.’

  Report in hand, Ingel began to report. At times Adolphinus thought him more a machine than a man.

  It was boring stuff, the same old stuff: church attendance records; statistics on burglaries, assaults, thefts, unsocial behaviour. Adolphinus stopped him in mid flow, which confused Ingel. Normally the Chief Monk thrived on all the detail.

  ‘You don’t want me to finish Your Excellency?’

  ‘No. I’ve heard enough.’ Adolphinus had other matters on his mind. ‘You know that pair Gregory and Iedazimus don’t you?’

  ‘Iedazimus, he runs the tavern. Gregory owns half of it? They are friends?’

  ‘I don’t think they are friends. Just stuck with each other.’

  Ingel continued. ‘They have questionable pasts, and likewise questionable morals. They came from the Village?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘You want me to arrest them?’

  ‘No. Just watch and report. I think they are up to something.’

  ‘Understood. I’ll put my best men on to it.’

  ‘Good. Now leave me. I’m tired.’

  Taking his cue, Ingel stood up and left the room smartly. Senior Religious Observance Officer Ingel enjoyed his job: watching others; collecting details, numbers and names; reporting; watching the reactions on the Chief Monk’s face. It made the world go round. It was what God wanted, he felt sure of it. It was why his job was safe: he concentrated on his job rather than concentrating on him, God, or him, Adolphinus, the Chief Monk. And he was loyal, and competent, and he knew how to keep a secret.

  Alone again, Adolphinus produced a bottle of the hard stuff from a bottom drawer and poured himself a measure. It was still raining hard. He felt depressed. He needed a drink. He needed a promotion.

  ***

  Gregory climbed the steep hill towards the monastery. It stood on the hill overlooking the town it had spawned: built like a castle it was imposing, unchanging, permanent, powerful, secretive. It was the ultimate statement of power Outside. It was where the Chief Monk resided like an absolute monarch, enforcing the rule of God and the rules of those who represented God on earth. Life outside was never heaven but upset the Chief Monk and your life could be hell.

  Gregory had a sneaking suspicion that Adolphinus had smelt the rat - the rat which was his plan. He would be most displeased. He would throw the book - the bible - at them. Out of breath, Gregory paused at the base of the grand statue which stood near the top of the hill. It was a statue of the Head Builder. He looked down on the town and the maze beyond: both imposing, both mysterious; their legacy not understood or fully revealed. He looked more solemn than the monks who worshipped him.

  A sudden sound made Gregory turned. It was Iedazimus stepping out of the shadows. He had been smoking. He had been waiting.

  ‘It’s you,’ said Gregory, almost with a hint of fatalism in his voice.

  ‘Yes it’s me.’

  ‘He wants to see you as well?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What a surprise. I think he’s on to us.’

  They continued on up together, side by side, like soldiers marching into battle. At the main entrance they gave their names to the duty monk and were permitted entry. Having been there many times, they knew the way to the Chief Monk’s office but still they had to be escorted.

  Adolphinus greeted them enthusiastically at his office door and led them on into his private chambers where he invited them to sit at his dining table. The attention he gave them was unnerving and put them both on guard. A cold buffet had been prepared in advance. Before they could say a word, he explained that he had decided to invite them both up at the ‘last minute’, to ‘talk’. The words were loaded and his guests were not fooled for one moment. They knew he knew. There was a knock at the door. It was that snake Ingel. He was joining them for dinner. Now that was scary!

  Gregory and Iedazimus both detested Ingel. Ingel was a cold fish, a cruel man, a calculating man. He was the Chief Monk’s right-hand man and did all his dirty work, willingly. He had no relationships with other human beings as far as Gregory could tell. A dog gave birth to him, was Iedazimus’ view - a wild dog. But unlike the Chief Monk, Ingel could not intimidate them: something protected them and Ingel yearned to know what it was. He danced around them as they danced around him, the three sides never bumping into each other. They had special privileges, advantages: Gregory and Iedazimus ran businesses in which the Chief Monk had a commercial interest and Ingel did not. Why them? He wanted to know. He was cut out, which he hated. But he dare not complain.

  A
dolphinus finally sat down to join his guests and attacked the food with his empty plate. Hungry after the climb, Gregory and Iedazimus did the same. Ingel remained standing until Adolphinus beckoned him to join them and tuck in. With each person sitting on one side of the four sided table it was comfortable but not cosy. It was two on two: confrontational, not cosy. Ingel spent more time watching than eating. Small talk failed to take off: the elephant in the room was simply too large. Even Adolphinus didn’t pretend, and unusually for him he jumped straight in.

  ‘You both know why I invited you here tonight.’

  Gregory and Iedazimus stopped chewing on the excellent cold beef.

  ‘You’ve got it into your heads to return to the village, yes?’

  Iedazimus didn’t want to say it. He looked at Gregory. Let Gregory be their spokesman.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gregory.

  ‘Why? Why now after all this time?’

  ‘The time is right,’ said Gregory.

  ‘The time is never right!’ exclaimed Adolphinus and he banged his fork against the table. Ingel raised his eyebrows. He never felt comfortable around an angry Adolphinus.

  Gregory was not put off. ‘We’re both from there. It’s our home. We want to go back home.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Iedazimus. He suddenly had the urge - and the strength - to join in.

  ‘You left that place for good, that’s what you told me,’ said Adolphinus. ‘A one way trip!’

  ‘Now is the right time for us to return,’ said Gregory.

  ‘I’ve unfinished business there,’ said Iedazimus. ‘And I want to grow old there, die there, be buried there alongside my family.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Gregory.

  Adolphinus looked at them both then before he asked his next question he told Ingel to leave the room. He did not want Ingel to know that these two were originally from the Castle. Like the snake he was Ingel slipped away as instructed, hiding his frustration: he did not like secrets when he was not in on the secret.

  ‘What unfinished business?’ asked Adolphinus, turning on Iedazimus. He regarded Iedazimus as the weaker of the two: Iedazimus had more brawn but less brains than Gregory.