Balance - Book 2

by Marc Dickason

CHAPTER 17

  The ceremony that ushered me into professional Enforcer work was not a glamorous one. Yes, I had guessed grandeur would not be a top priority for the Accelerated Program. But it would have at least been nice if all the lights in the graduation hall were switched on. Though the added illumination would only have made more apparent the lack of guests and applauding hands.

  The whole process took approximately ten minutes from beginning to end. The President of the Academy, a man whose face I had not seen before and did not see again, refused to even feign enthusiasm.

  Medals were pinned to breasts, hands were shook, papers were signed, and the passing Cadets filed out. We were given the parting order; to decide on a specialisation as soon as possible.

  Afterwards, as I sipped my coffee in the canteen, I decided the experience had felt like a concert where the band did not arrive. But the audience had decided to act like the performance had gone ahead anyway, just to avoid the mess of asking for a refund.

  “Enforcer,” I said to myself, trying to decide if the word felt comfortable on my tongue. “Enforcer Clarence.”

  It didn’t feel like anything at all.

  I took a close look at the new medal on my breast; a laminated metal coat of arms. The design was significant but not something I had paid attention to in the textbook, since I hadn’t believed it would feature in the exam. It had not. The whole item was two inches squared and a gold band at the bottom was engraved with; “Clarence, Jet”.

  I glanced up and noticed Anderson further up the bar, eyeing me. Her expression said she wanted to talk. But rigid body declared her mind was refusing to allow it. I had resigned to be empathetic and call her over when a body perched beside me, blocking my line of sight.

  “I’m sorry I hit you,” a voice said.

  My eyes travelled up the bulky body, past a collection of medals, and settled on the face of Delaney. Initial instinct told me to brace for a severe beating.

  “Its okay, sir,” I replied, “I think maybe I was asking for it.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head, “You weren’t. You did exactly what was asked of you and you did it better than most of the Cadets I’ve worked with. What I mean to say is; well done.”

  “Thank you.”

  ‘I underestimated you, Clarence. You really do have exceptional skill. And I regret my previous judgements.”

  I gazed at him. All at once I liked Leonard Delaney.

  “You were right,” I said, “I really don’t belong in this Academy, sir.”

  “I’m aware of that, Clarence. But there is no faking what you did back there. It was insightful and it was clever. You saw my weak points and exploited them, all by instinct alone. I could not hope for a better Cadet, and frankly I’m ashamed I didn’t see your potential sooner. The Academy lacks students of your calibre, Clarence. And I set out to do everything in my power to hinder you. I should have been doing the opposite. Any D.O.M will be lucky to have you, whichever branch you decide to specialise in.”

  “I appreciate you saying that, Mister Delaney.”

  “So you got what you wanted then. You’re an official Enforcer. Medal on breast. Have you decided what you will do?”

  “Not just yet, sir,” I replied honestly, “Not exactly. But I’m working on it.”

  “Good. Good for you. Take your time. No need to rush into anything.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Maybe I’ll see you in the field, Clarence. It would be okay if we worked together, I think.”

  I thought he wanted me to ask, so I did.

  “How would we work together, sir?”

  “I hit a student, Clarence. I’m not a trainer anymore. I’ve asked to be put back on active duty. If they’ll allow it. Since there is such a demand for active Enforcers at the moment I believe they have no choice.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to cause any of that.”

  “Sorry? Don’t be. You merely made me see how much I don’t belong here anymore.” He paused again, staring at me. The muscle in has jaw worked as his teeth clenched. “I need to ask you something, Clarence.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “The image you forced upon me…” His eyes fell to the floor. “Was it all… from your imagination?”

  “Yes, Mister Delaney. It was.”

  “Oh. Good.” He nodded, attempting to hide the relief. But it practically radiated from him in shafts of light. “Excellent. Well done then. Very effective. Good day to you, Clarence.”

  “Good day, Mister Delaney.”

  “You don’t have to call me Mister Delaney. I’m not your superior anymore. In fact for the moment you’re mine. Enforcer Clarence.”

  He stood and exited. I thought about the last statement and looked at the medal again. And then I did feel like an Enforcer.

  A moment later, Anderson took Delaney’s seat.

  “What did he want?” she asked, trying to be casual. But awkwardness clung to her like a living thing.

  “He was just congratulating me,” I replied.

  “Oh. That’s nice of him. He was a good trainer.”

  She hovered.

  “What are you specialising in,” I asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. I was thinking maybe Reality Manipulation. So I guess there will be a lot of counterfeit money in my future.”

  “I guess so.”

  “You? I heard Manipulation and Influence?”

  “Yes. I suppose I’ve more or less made up my mind.”

  She hesitated, staring at the bar counter. “Is Enforcer Kingston really having problems with stability?”

  “He is. You were right to leave. I’m grateful you did.”

  “Then thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  “He is seeing the Mental Wellness Centre?”

  “Of course,” I said, thinking my lying was getting better with repetition.

  “Good. He’s a nice guy. It would be a shame to see him become unstable.”

  “It would.”

  “Maybe he’ll look me up when he’s feeling up to it?”

  “Possibly. I’ll let him know you were asking after him.”

  ‘Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you round, Clarence.”

  She stood and headed for the door. Her body managed to seem awkward for the entire fifteen meter walk before disappearing.

  “Hey,” the bartender called out, “Girl forgot her books.” He nodded at a stack of books further up the bar. “You give them to her?”

  “Oh. Sure.”

  He handed them to me. Three were official Academy textbooks. But the fourth had been recently purchased, possibly from the same neighbourhood as Selena’s hotel. It was titled: ‘Finding Your Inner Turmoil: A Guide for Easy Demon Development’.

  “I think it’s best if you hold on to them,” I said to the bartender, handing them back, “don’t tell her I looked at them.”