Drugs would be useful too, if not already in use there Flax could corrupt the mind of any human here, create a reliance on such things as many of his High Hats had, a desire and that would bring him useful allies and dependants.
Flax became excited, soon he thought, soon! But then, just as he felt as high as he had ever done in his life before, the spectre of the 'guardian of the gate' arose in his dreams again and again, with a new and frightening intensity.
Now he feared that his nemesis would come to deny him his right, his ambitions. His dreams warned him.
There was only one thing to do.
Flax knew that the boy, now a man and a roof top flyer, lived seemingly out of the reach of the Tans and his High Hats on roofs of the Leper Castle near the banks of the dark, stinking river. He would make every effort, use all the resources at his disposal to ensure that the 'boy' died before the `door' was fully open again.
Despite his growing excitement and fear, Flax remained organized and methodical in his planning, he had his High Hats to reorganise prior to commencing his tasks in this new dimension he would shortly enter.
Soon an extraordinary and highly secret meeting of the most eminent of the High Hats was called to his private hall and he revealed his plans to them. Reorganization was called for in his absence. The Chief of Flax's assassins, Edgar Morrel, would assume the position of High Hat leader and run all the business enterprises in the city, as well as day to day discipline, in the ranks.
Morrell was ruthlessly efficient and intensely loyal, Flax knew he would accept no compromises in service from the High Hats. He was also handed a list of Tans who knew to much about Flax's latest venture. They had been useful, but now was a crucial time in his planning; Morrel would ensure their silence.
Flax would take two companions with him to the other dimension. One was Pinky Makepeace, a plump scholar from the forgotten libraries of the Upper City, who would observe the law and custom of the alien world they would enter, advising Flax on how they would remain unnoticed amongst strangers.
He knew that the place they would briefly inhabit would be very different from Dubh and did not intend to draw attention to himself through some innocent activity frowned upon there, he did not need the attention of the rulers of this world for the three days he would have there, at least not yet and not that type of interest. Along with Makepeace he would take a bodyguard and personal assistant, an assassin named Ivor Scoggins, a man Flax admired for his dedicated service in the past. Scoggins would be useful in many ways, as well as an expert in dealing death he was also a masochist, and Flax's desire to inflict pain might be somewhat restricted in the realm beyond. Young Ivor would make the perfect travelling companion. Flax's arrangements were nearly complete. There was only one detail left - how to deal with the 'boy'.
Flax decided to delegate the task of locating Jonathon to another loyal assassin, Amaril Caldecott, a man who had never failed him. As the day of the portals opening approached Amaril was summoned to Flax's private residence and filled with anticipation.
The small, hunched, sharp featured man was intensely excited, he knew that something big was in the offing, promotions were rife he had heard, perhaps advancement was a prospect for him too. He entered Flax's hall and approached his master, eyes upon the ground and humbled by his master's presence. Flax indicated that he sit and he did, but Amaril never dared look at him.
Flax spoke, looking at the flaky, bald patch on the top of Caldecott’s otherwise dreadlocked head.
“There is my Amaril, a young man in this city who threatens our very existence, our future. He lives, I am told, on top of the Castle of Lepers. There are others there too, but I only want him, the others can die, this boy has eluded my pleasure before - I want him here, alive. Look at me Amaril!"
Amaril raised his eyes nervously to Flax. The assassin grinned. Flax's stared at him and the grin vanished.
“Do you understand me Amaril? Not dead in a sack in pieces. A-L-I-V-E. Do you understand me? "
Amaril hesitated, this was abduction, not a killing, it was not his usual work and he was slightly confused. Finally he answered.
" Alive..........Alive not dead, not dead. Seek and return.... alive."
Flax nodded as Amaril scratched the black, hairy mole on the end of his sharp, rodent-like nose. He decided to repeat the order for good measure; Amaril was good as an assassin but a little dim generally.
“Alive Amaril. If he's dead then I'll kill YOU and eat you myself or perhaps I'll not bother with the killing part. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!"
Amaril nodded vigorously.
“Alive. Alive, your mightiness" he squeaked, forgetting how he should properly address Dubh's future emperor and knowing that Flax's last statement was a promise, not a mere threat.
The rat of a man began to vocally run over the novel idea of finding someone and returning them alive instead of killing them. He concentrated hard on the idea, staring at Flax's boots.
“Alive, boy, Leper Castle by the river. ” he sort of chanted. Flax nodded.
“It will be difficult, I know Amaril, the Tans gave up on the roof dwellers years ago. But I know you are a resourceful man and the reward will be great. Complete this mission Amaril and I will not forget you."
For a moment Silus Flax smiled, but quickly it faded, his intense, bottomless eyes drilling into his faithful servant. Amaril giggled like some manic child, his eyes shining with glee, overcome with excitement.
“Reward will be great. Never forget me." he slobbered.
For a moment Flax's felt his confidence in Amaril Caldecott seemed to be in error. He seemed like a complete idiot now, but looks were deceptive Flax reassured himself, he had never failed him before. He laughed with Amaril, who relaxed and bounced up and down like a five year old, on his seat. Abruptly Flax ceased laughing, his cold, iron gaze paralysing Amaril Caldecott.
“Start today imbecile!" he howled. Amaril Caldecott scuttled quickly from Flax's presence.
Flax sighed and leaned back in his great chair as the doors closed behind Caldecott and studied the dimension door’s increasing width. Just a three days, he thought. The door would be fully open and the 'boy' in his hands to become part of his own personal celebrations before the next and crucial stage of his plans. When he had obtained the weapons technology he knew was there beyond this dimension door, he could sweep the Tans out of existence. Then the Tallmen.
The latter might be difficult, he was not entirely sure of what weaponry they possessed. Difficult, but not impossible, after all his High Hats already did business in the Towers, it would not be difficult to ensure the goods he was now supplying to the Tallmen made fighting undesirable or physically impossible.
They might have their great, lean fingers on the key to Dubh’s very existence now, but they would soon give it up to him, one way or another. But first he had to have the power to get to them, and obtaining that would be his immediate task, once the door was fully open.
Chapter Eight
Jonathon's abhorrence of the city grew with the more he saw of it. Since his battle with the malignant soul of the city on the roof tops, he had endeavoured to find some island of goodness in the foul, disgusting sea of inhumanity which seethed around him.
He travelled the undulating roof landscapes of
brick, tile and mortar of the Lower City watching and listening in the vain hope that somewhere, someone might have escaped or resisted corruption's grasp. But it seemed to be everywhere.
The people of Dubh were devoid of any virtue or
emotion that he deemed to be pure, their free time seemingly devoted to the pursuing the insatiable desire to fulfil appetites of sexual depravity bordering on animal desperation.
He descended to street level to observe their exploits, but was forced to return to his roof top sanctuary when the daily routine of the depraved threatened to spiritually suffocate him. He ventured across the great, stagnant black river into the Upper City, to the ordered society of the Caste of th
e Skilled seeking out some moral or ethical sanity, only to be severely disappointed.
The Meks were just the same if not worse. Their antics were confined to the private parlours of their more civilised dwellings, but there they exercised their corruption to a more extreme and vile extent. The worse thing about the Meks, Jonathon realised, was that they preyed on the Lower City for their pleasure. The Tans shipped in prostitutes and slaves of all sexes that the Meks might extract their pleasure from those not of their caste or class. Jonathon had secretively watched, through half closed curtains and barred windows, the abominable acts which took place during their hours of leisure time. Perversion and sadism beyond his wildest nightmares caused Jonathon to flee the Upper City.
If there was any difference between the two cities it was that nothing, no practise at all, was taboo to the Meks when abusing the unfortunates supplied from the Lower City, Jonathon had soon seen enough of the Caste of the Skilled. Their leisure time skills, it seemed, easily surpassing and more darkly imaginative than their engineering prowess.
Those who sought to ply their trades from the Lower City unknowingly bought themselves one-way tickets to a hell they could have never imagined. Yet Jonathon had not seen all he wished to see in this part of the city, the Towers of the Tallmen were his final destination and a last hope. Perhaps they, the Tallmen, had avoided the spiritual infection that had spawned itself in human the culture of Dubh. Afterall, they were not entirely human. But the fact remained that they had allowed all this to happen and for this reason Jonathon had already condemned them as bad as the human overlords, the Tans and the Meks of the Upper and Lower, who dominated the two halves of city respectively.
If Jonathon had had any doubts about his self-imposed oaths against the city and Flax, his exploration of the Dubh over the past years had pushed him far beyond the threshold of that doubt and reinforced his beliefs in his own moral codes.
He would find a way to destroy it all, he knew that the creators of this realm would now how to undo it. His answers lay with the Tallmen.
Jonathon made his way up onto the huge domes of the Halls of Machines. The very roofs here vibrated in harmony with the rumbling symphony of the multitude of engines below and from where Jonathon stood the brightly lit towers were clearly visible, blazing beacons in the manufactured twilight, gigantic needles blazing with energy, illuminating the great paved expanse that surrounded them.
The area between the Halls and the Towers had been cleared and paved to create a killing zone, to provide the Tallmen with a clear view of who came and went from their domain. Jonathon studied the area with great interest from the edge of the domes, it was brighter than day out there and any movement could be detected with ease and the giant pavement stretched as far as he could see in both directions.
Despite his knowledge of the lore of the Whisperers and the phenomenal athleticism now built into his physique, the distance was far beyond his abilities. Each paved slab below him was the height of a man square and he counted fifty slabs between the domes and the nearest sentry tower.
He sighed in dismay, he could never cross that killing zone and survive. Apart from blindly running across the floodlit area, he could see no way that he could cross it undetected. He knew that unseen eyes surveyed the area. He felt the gaze of many tall beings directed down from their posts at the top of their towers.
The Tallmen were wary of what they had accidentally created around them and waited and watched for violations of their security. Jonathon could feel their presence, cold calculating and unnerving minds of great age and wisdom, unlike any beings he had ever encountered in Dubh before.
Jonathon let his mind drift towards one of these minds who studied the domes from a tower high to his left. He made what he thought was a discreet contact and thoughts and emotions from the Tallman filled his own mind.
He realised that this Tallman was far from happy. He was angry, frustrated at his predicament. He disliked his own race and was disgusted by the corruption in the human city beyond his towers. The Tallman hated himself for allowing himself to get into the predicament he was in. He felt caged and trapped like an animal, with no solution evident to him. He was more though, he was hiding something and feared discovery. Jonathon was intrigued and probed his mind deeper.
Abruptly the subject's mind recoiled in shock. He had felt Jonathon's presence. Quickly the Tallman recovered and he swept his own mind outwards following Jonathon's probe, attempting to ensnare him. Words filtered weakly into Jonathon's mind, strange words he could not understand, an alien language that was full of fear and excitement. Slowly the Tallman gained control of the transmission and the words changed to the language Jonathon understood, yet still he could feel that the Tallman was disturbed by Jonathon's presence.
The Tallman was a minor telepath, but Jonathon could have escaped him easily. Slowly, and a little reluctantly, Jonathon began to break the contact. The Tallman felt the ease with which Jonathon was escaping from his psychic grasp. He became strangely agitated, afraid of losing this contact.
“Please, please do not go, I mean you no harm." he pleaded. “Please, my friend, who are you?"
Jonathon ceased his mental withdrawal to give him enough time to delve deep into the mind of his contact. There was no malice, no hidden emotion behind his words, his soul was open to inspection. He found no reason to fear this soul who was confused and filled with fear and guilt.
The Tallman, unable to establish whether Jonathon was still in touch, made another impassioned plea. “Listen, whoever you are, I need to speak to you."
He hesitated, awaiting a response and then, almost reluctantly, continued. The Tallman attempted desperately to establish contact on his own terms, yet was defeated by Jonathon's superior abilities, but Jonathon had sensed
sincerity in the Tallman's words which tempted him to reply. He spoke again.
“I have waited so long for one of you again, please answer me!"
Jonathon was moved by the genuine and immense despair he felt in the Tallman as he sat unable to locate his contact from his position in the high tower. It would do no harm to speak, Jonathon thought, as long as the Tallman did not know his location. But he was still wary, so he withdrew.
He severed the contact brutally, letting the Tallman know how strong he was, and then tried another cloaked approach which would not allow the Tallman any chance of locating him as he had been trying to do before.
Satisfied of his safety, Jonathon spoke, the words arriving in the Tallman's head as if from nowhere, untraceable. He was shocked. He had felt Jonathon's easy and powerful disengagement and now he spoke, his transmission completely disguised.
“I’m Jonathon, who are you." he replied to the Tallman's request for identification.
A relieved happiness welled up in his contact, his emotions causing him to transmit words of his own language completely beyond comprehension to Jonathon. Then he gained control again.
“I am called Rislo, Jonathon. Where are you, I cannot feel your presence are you near?”
Jonathon listened, but was wary of a trap, perhaps all the Tallmen had such abilities as this Rislo. Perhaps they were waiting now for him to give away his position.
He quickly scanned the nearest tower to see if the Tallman there was aware of their telepathic conversation. He was not, his mind idled, pictures, emotions, thoughts bubbled, ebbed and flowed on its surface. Jonathon delved no deeper.
Rislo continued, eager for contact.
“Are you there Jonathon? Please do not be afraid, it is so long since I spoke to one of you."
“One of us?” Jonathon repeated. “There are others?" Unintentionally Jonathon directed his thoughts to Rislo who replied promptly to please his contact.
“Yes, there were others. But it has been so long. It has been almost sixty years since I spoke to their leader, Cornelius, he was the last contact I had."
Jonathon shivered. Cornelius? Of course there were others of that name in this city of millions. But
another with the powers that his Grandfather had possessed and he had passed on to his Grandson? The odds were shortening.
There was a sure way to find out.
“Rislo, did this Cornelius have anther name?" he queried.
There was a short silence whilst Rislo attempted to recall the human's surname.
“Yes, his clan name I presume, he never used it much and is difficult to remember." the Tallman went silent for a moment.
" Po-sill-tate perhaps, no, Posil-thwaite, yes, Postle- thwaite. " Rislo seemed pleased that he had been able to remember the alien human name.
Jonathon was stunned, his Grandfather had been here all those years ago. But it all began to fit into place. Questions began to be answered - how his Grandfather had known the Whisperers - and why they had readily accepted Jonathon as one of them when Cornelius had decided it was time to leave this foul world. Hadn't the Tefkin said that there used to be many of the roof top dwellers like himself, Milly and Dale ? Gradually the city had swallowed all them up. His Grandfather had been one of them too, sixty years ago. A cold, twinge of grief rose up in Jonathon again, the memories of the last moments before he had left his Grandfather's protection rose to the surface of his mind.
He quickly recovered, for the years had numbed the pain and he had become absorbed in the mystery of this coincidence - here he was in contact with the same Tallman as Cornelius had been in the distant past. It was too much of a coincidence perhaps, had his motives been the same?
He spoke to Rislo intent upon unravelling this mystery. " Rislo, Cornelius was.......was one of us, but he's gone now.....what did he want when you spoke with him?" Jonathon omitted to mention his blood relationship with Cornelius, but felt that it may have confused Rislo's response and shrouded the object of his Grandfather's mission here in a web of emotion. Rislo responded eagerly.
“He and his kinsmen wanted to speak to the Elders. I being merely a soldier in their service could not help. We are too lowly to speak to them. Cornelius wanted to ask the Elders to visit the city to see what a terrible place it was, and to change it, bring order and return to morality; yes, morality was the word he used."
The Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite: The Seed of Corruption Page 7