Balance - Book 2

by Marc Dickason

CHAPTER 7

  I had lunch alone in the canteen, drank my coffee, and headed to a lecture on ‘the importance of the Enforcer uniform.’ It did not turn out to be the most riveting two hours of my life, listening in silence as a large middle aged woman droned on, but it did turn out the Enforcer uniform was more involved then I had given it credit for.

  “Your uniform is loud, flamboyant and striking, as I’m sure you have all noticed. Yes?”

  There were chuckles and murmurs of agreement.

  “Why is this? Because the Department Of Magic enjoys being the height of international fashion? No, because an Enforcer needs to be noticed and always the centre of attention. A large part of your job, you see, is to reinforce authority and discipline, reminding those who might be tempted to stray from the path that a pair of eyes is always watching. You in this room are therefore a symbol, an extension of the D.O.M, and where you go the citizens of the city must see you.” She paused for effect; spectacled eyes sweeping the room. “There is no other uniform that looks similar, and none so unique in design, being more eye-catching then the police uniform, military uniform, and even navy uniform. But perhaps not so much as the more flamboyant religions.”

  More chuckles.

  I rolled the notion around in my head and sighed. Being a ‘symbol of authority’ seemed synonymous for drawing general distaste from the world, in my own opinion.

  “And thus is the inherent magic of the Enforcer uniform,” the woman continued, “Being a magnet for eyes and conveying a message to all who look, without a word spoken or drop of Spirit spent. And, in turn, likewise laying a platform upon which you may work, appealing to the universal sense of hierarchy and finding access into the world of citizens where it would otherwise have been denied. In short; your uniform is a reliable ally.”

  Glances were shared among the Cadets, some proud, others terrified.

  “Be warned though, the uniform is a fickle magic. Expensive fabric and gold buttons cannot camouflage a weak disposition, and so the spell will work only if the wearer is radiating an aura of confidence. Do you all understand? When that uniform touches your body respond by adopting the posture of a king, and the citizens of this world will respect you.”

  In the last fifteen minutes of the lecture a note was delivered by an Academy runner. It read;

  Manipulation and Influence Room 2 after class.

  Don’t be late.

  B.

  The lecture was dismissed and I went at a fast walk to Room 2. Benny stood waiting.

  “Enforcer Kingston.”

  “Cadet Clarence. Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready. But before we go in.” I hesitated. “Look, I know the favours are starting to stack up at this time…”

  “Go on.”

  “I need you to teach me the flame from fingertips spell.”

  …reach out…

  “Sounds like a noble pursuit. Any particular reason?”

  “The Reality Manipulation trainer. He’s accepting it as a passing grade on my Basics.”

  “I see,” He raised a mocking eyebrow. “Failing to meet the standards are we, Cadet? Getting a compromise?”

  I shrugged. “Apparently I don’t believe water is made of molecules.”

  “Who does? Yes I’ll teach you. Later. Take a couple of minutes at most.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Let’s focus on Linda’s brain; one favour at a time.” He jerked his thumb at the Manipulation Hall doors. “We’re doing a bit of extra practice. You’re concerned about your Basics and I’m helping.”

  I nodded. “Got it.”

  “Alright. Once you’ve made contact ask the girl your questions and then just follow the threads. It’s as easy as that.”

  “Ask questions, follow threads. Got it.”

  “Gently, Jet. Ask the questions gently. Don’t push it, or it’ll all go south very quickly.’

  “I know; I heard the safety briefing. What are the symptoms she’s getting freaked out?”

  “Common sense. You’ll know it when you see it.” He paused and frowned. “I know it’s important to you, Jet, but if you don’t find what you’re looking for then get the hell out of there. We can always try again. Just do not mess with that girl. Understand me? The damage can be irreversible.”

  “Yes, understood.”

  “Good. Then follow me.”

  “Wait.” I hesitated. ‘I felt a bit weird last time I was in there…’

  “You felt a bit weird? Please, elaborate.”

  “Not sure. There was a sound. A sort of presence in the air.”

  He stared, deadpan. “You’re telling me this now? We’re standing outside, two seconds from stepping through the door, and this is when you choose to tell me?”

  “It was probably just nerves. I saw Linda; got a little unsettled. Look, forget I even mentioned it.”

  “You just mentioned it. It’s a bit beyond me to forget at this point. Weird how?”

  I sighed. “I’m fine. Christ sakes, have I ever told you being Class 5 feel’s incredibly similar to the world thinking I’m made of glass? Just forget it. Let’s get this done.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he turned and pushed open the doors.

  Inside the staff was gearing for the night shift, switching off main lights and replacing the primary team with a skeleton crew. I would not have thought the place could get creepier, but lo and behold with the extremities of the hall now lost in perpetual gloom, a whole new level of unsettling was achieved.

  “Getting in some last minute practice, Clarence?” a nurse called. Her voice lingered in the echoing depths.

  “That’s right.”

  “Well good on you,” she said cheerfully, “Diligence is always rewarded.”

  “Thank you. I hope so.”

  “Which bed is hers,” Benny whispered.

  I gestured to Linda’s motionless body and we approached. In the low light she too managed to achieve a doubly ghoulish appearance.

  “Jesus, she looks horrible.” I muttered.

  “Her and everyone else in here,” he replied, “No time for that. You can file a complaint on your own time. Get busy. And respect the clicks, Jet. Don’t tip any dominoes.”

  “Yes, I remember the clicks.”

  “Are you feeling any degrees of weird at the present time?”

  “No.”

  “Then proceed.”

  I took a position standing over Linda. The details of her gaunt features became gradually clearer as my focus intensified.

  I was standing in the Sushi Palace, though the atmosphere was strikingly morbid for a notoriously upbeat place. There was not a customer to be seen among the tablecloth dressed tables, nor a waiter entering or exiting the kitchen. And, most disturbing of all, even the all-you-can-eat buffet lacked its usual cluster of patrons.

  A sound drew my attention from a nearby table. I turned and spotted Linda, her back towards me and shoulders chugging with an unseen action.

  “Linda?”

  She did not respond.

  I approached, nerves singing. Her very presence in the unnatural location felt like coming upon a formally dressed butler in a seedy alley; alarmingly surreal.

  “Linda, can you hear me?”

  Her face came into view as I rounded the table. It was, at least, a relief that the skeletal creature had been left behind in the bed. Standing before me was a Linda content and healthy; gaunt cheeks replaced by pink versions of themselves. A glance down revealed her small hands occupied with the task of polishing silverware.

  I watched and waited, wondering when the right moment was to take action in such situations. Not surprisingly, however, upon polishing the last knife to a mirror shine the girl started over from step one, picking up a fork and creating a new pile.

  “Where is Liza Clarence?” I whispered.

  Her hands froze in motion. Both eyes spun up to focus on empty space beside my head.

  “What?!” she squeaked.

  “
Where is Liza Clarence?”

  She looked towards the kitchen. “Mrs. Clarence?!”

  “I’m here, Linda,” came my mother’s voice.

  My eyes focused on the double doors. It had been many months since I had heard my mother speak, and the mere sound sent a jolt of energy to the flame. It released a furious barrage of snapping at the cage door.

  “I’m cleaning the silverware, Mrs. Clarence!” Linda declared proudly.

  “Good girl,” the voice replied. Calm, soothing. “We must have clean silverware for our customers.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Clarence!”

  Reassured Linda smiled and continued with the endless task at hand.

  “No, not here, Linda. Not in the Sushi Palace. Where did she go after the Sushi Palace?”

  The girl’s brow furrowed. “Where did she go?!”

  “Yes, Linda. Where did she go after?”

  She turned to the kitchen doors again, panic flushing into her cheeks. “Where are you, Mrs. Clarence?!”

  “I’m right here, Linda.”

  “Go to her,” I whispered.

  “Go to her?!”

  “Yes, now. Show me where she is.”

  Linda hesitated; face screwing up as her brain wrestled with the apparently daunting notion. “Should I come to you, Mrs. Clarence?! Do you need me?!”

  “She needs you,” I said.

  “Okay!”

  The girl abandoned her silverware and headed for the kitchen doors. In response the world around us shifted, flickering and easing outwards as a spell was released.

  I moved to follow, bolstering the cage in preparation for an encounter with my projected mother. But, beyond the doors was not a kitchen. Instead I found myself in a place that can only be described as ‘abstract.’ Every surface seemed stitched together from dozens of other locations. The walls were a patchwork of wood, plaster, red brick and even blocks of ice, while the floor was littered with fragments of furniture, each having been sheared off to fit into a mishmash of floor designs.

  “Mrs. Clarence?!” Linda called out, ‘I’m here! Do you need me?!’

  “Why aren’t you with me?” The voice asked, dripping with disappointment. “You were supposed to come, Linda. Don’t you remember?”

  “I remember!” the girl squeaked eagerly, “I remember! But I couldn’t! I can’t! I’m stuck, Mrs. Clarence! I couldn’t make it!”

  “Why aren’t you with me, Linda? You where supposed to come.”

  I glanced around. But the voice seemed to be drifting from everywhere at once.

  “Where were you supposed to go?” I whispered into Linda’s ear.

  “Where am I supposed to go?!” She was looking ever more anxious, lips trembling and tears welling in her eyes. “I’m supposed to go…’ she trailed off, eyes glazing, “To the white wall!”

  “Why aren’t you here, Linda?” My mother’s voice crooned.

  “I need to get to the white wall!” Linda declared, “I need to get to the white wall!”

  “What white wall?” I asked, “Where is it?”

  “I need to get to the white wall!” she said again, voice rising and hands clenching into fists.

  “Go,” I said, “Go to it!”

  There was a sensation of the world being caught up in heavy winds. My hair blasted flat against my scalp, blazer fluttered, and the walls of the room were torn up and sent scattering like playing cards.

  When the wind died down we stood in a field of knee high yellow grass, stretching off as far as the eye could see. Above, striped with cloud ribbons, sat an immaculate blue sky.

  “I’m here!” Linda called out, “I’m here, Mrs. Clarence!”

  I turned to follow her line of sight and saw a white brick and plaster wall, standing eight feet high and twelve long. The structure was not attached to any building, had no distinguishing features, and seemed to serve no real purpose. Linda, however, stared as if the secret to eternal youth was etched in the rough white surface.

  “Mrs. Clarence?!”

  There was no response bar gentle wind that slashed through swaying grass.

  “I’m here, Mrs. Clarence!” she called out, louder. “Mrs. Clarence?!”

  A minute ticked by. Eventually her enthusiasm began to drain, face melting into a mask of defeat. The wind tousled her blonde hair restlessly.

  At last she hung her head and shuffled forward, crouching, adjusting her skirt, and sitting with back against the wall. Tears began to creep down pink cheeks.

  I watched. This was what the smiling, giggling Linda had been reduced to, the girl that had assaulted my ears with her shrill voice, had loved her job so fiercely it had been painful to witness. This was what had been left behind.

  She drew up her knees and the little body began to shudder with sobs. I stepped forward and stooped beside her, resisting a compulsion to brush blonde hair from her face. Around us the gentle wind whistled as it again teased the grass.

  “I’ll get you out of here,” I whispered, “You don’t deserve this, Linda.”

  Her eyes darted up and focused on my face. She recognised me.

  “Jet?! Is that you?!”

  “Linda…?”

  Gold cracks sprang across the white wall, originating from behind her back and twisting outwards like vines. I reeled and jumped back.

  “Jet?!” She reached out to me, eyes pleading. “Where am I, Jet?! It’s so lonely here! Won’t you stay with me for a while?! Won’t you stay for a bit and talk?!”

  “I can’t, Linda. I’m sorry…”

  The cracks thickened and expanded, consuming the wall. Plaster began to shed like dead leaves.

  “Why, Jet?! Stay with me…”

  My mind raced. “Linda, our guests need clean silverware.”

  “What?!”

  “You heard me. Our guests need clean silverware! Quickly now!”

  Her face relaxed. Around us the yellow grass lay flat as if under an enormous weight. The world stretched and warped; paints on a canvas becoming spontaneously fluid.

  We were back in the Sushi Palace.

  Linda stood, crossed to a table and picked up a knife. Her shoulders began to chug as she initiated the polishing ritual, a ritual that would likely last until her final days on Earth.