by Euan McAllen
That plus his failure with women, and the fact that he had never killed a man meant Mostrum held Paminio in contempt. Ingel laughed through the assault, at one point pretending to take pity on the poor man and slapping him on the back.
‘Don’t worry my man, when it comes to women, I can set you up nicely. Disease-free.’
Paminio shrank back and looked at his host, horror-struck as if he had just mentioned the devil.
‘I don’t need that kind of help, thank you.’
‘I think he does,’ roared Mostrum into Ingel’s ear – so loud that it hurt and Ingel had to push him off. Mostrum didn’t take kindly to that, and it nearly came to punches.
‘As your host, I would be failing in my duty if I did not get you a good, safe shag. When was the last time you had a good shag? Paminio? It is Paminio isn’t it?’
‘It is, yes.’
You know it is, thought Paminio.
Paminio declined to answer the main question, sipped his milk, and tried – against all the odds – to pretend he was elsewhere, that this was a bad dream. How many days would he have to put up with this man? And when would the captain come back down to earth and return to his usual gloomy, sullen ways. Pray to God, that’s all he could do. Pray to God.
He and Mostrum had never got on. Right from his first day in his new job as personal assistant to His Most Esteemed Excellency, it was clear that the Captain of the Guard was his total opposite in every sense: intellectually, spiritually; worse still, physically. Captain Mostrum had a shallow mind: little stuck, but it was easy to erupt; it had a simple, almost comical no-nonsense approach to life. Drunk or sober, the Captain of the Guard forgot as much as he remembered.
Mostrum was an uneducated, oversized, oversexed brute of a man; a simplistic fighting machine which, when not fighting, stuck to the basics of life: eating and drinking; pissing and shitting; shagging and sleeping. It was all physical with him. Thinking did not come into it. Words did not come into it. Reflection was only something he did when he stared into a puddle. Thinking too much wore him out. Contemplation left him confused, sometimes giddy. That was how Paminio got his revenge: get inside the man’s mind and spin him around. Whenever possible – ideally in front of their master - use clever words and watch the idiot pretend to know what he was talking about.
In the tavern, which had once been his favourite haunt, sitting at his favourite place by the window, Timothy clutched his mug of beer and watched the world go by: his old world, his lost world; a world full of great men who never failed to impress. Sitting there, having witnessed the arrival of the great man, and reliving his previous life in the place he had grown up, Timothy was reminded of how much he missed Gregory – he refused to think of him as Valadino. Gregory was his name - just as his name was Timothy, not Tascho, no matter how much Mozak complained.
Gregory had raised him, cared for him, kept him on the straight and narrow; picked him up when he had fallen by the wayside. Gregory had saved his soul by getting him accepted into the monastery. Gregory had been better than any father – though how could that not be, thought Timothy sorely. Anybody could be better than that mad bastard Bizi. Even when he had been at his most rebellious, most twisted, most confused, Gregory had never said a bad thing to his face, never judged him; he had always stood by him. Of course, now Timothy knew the reason why: he had been a victim right from the start. You don’t kick a man when he’s down. That was God’s prerogative. Yes, he missed Gregory. He prayed that he was safe and well, wherever he was. Somewhere deep within the Maze, on the trail of Fargo?
Timothy looked out at the people going about their business. The rhythm of the town had not changed. Its commerce set the pace while the monastery set the clock. He felt God the strongest here. Here he had discovered God, worshipped him, and promised to devote the rest of his life to his cause; and here he had disappointed him, and himself. Worse still, Outside now, he knew he was the outsider. That thought left him with a chill. The beer could not warm him up, but he drank it anyway.
He thought of Esmeralda and wished she was there, by his side, holding his hand and telling him that all would turn out well. He wanted to show her the town and the monastery on the hill. He wanted her to see what had formed him, moulded him, inspired him. He wanted to show her what civilisation looked like. A man entered the tavern. Timothy recognised the face: time to slip away.
***
Finally, Bushcatti put down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth clean with his napkin.
‘That was good.’
Yes, he was willing to talk now, and his chief monk was on tenterhooks.
‘Adolphinus, you have the look of a man desperate to ask a question. Ask away.’
‘Is it true Excellency you intend to announce your retirement soon?’
‘It is true.’
Adolphinus pursed his lips. He looked stuck.
‘I sense another question is begging to be asked. Out with it, man.’
‘Your successor. Have you decided upon your successor? Forgive me for being so blunt, Excellency.’
‘Not yet. But I will do so the moment I get back.’
‘At the end of this visit?’
‘Precisely.’
‘And this is because?’
‘I need to engage with you. I need to know if you are a credible candidate. Are you up to the job Adolphinus? Would you be my worthy successor?’
‘I will, most certainly. I promise, I will.’
Adolphinus, now charged up, wanted to thump the table. He was delighted bordering on the smug.
‘We can all make promises Adolphinus. Promises are easy to make. Easier than making a loaf of bread. Keeping them is much much harder. Is that not so Adolphinus?’
‘I do not speak such words lightly. I will dedicate my whole self, my every waking hour, to ensuring your legacy is preserved, your highest standards maintained. I will not disappoint you. I give you my word Your Most Esteemed - ‘
Bushcatti beat him to it. ‘Just call me Pop.’
‘Pop?’
Adolphinus was confused, thrown off course.
‘Pop. It’s my nickname back at the monastery. It’s what the monks call me behind my back.’
‘Pop?’
‘When my police chief found out, he wanted to hunt down the culprits who had started it, but I said no.’
‘No?’
‘No. I rather like it. Makes me sound paternal.’
‘I don’t think it’s right for me to refer to you as Pop. It’s not correct. Informality is a dangerous thing. Standards must not slip. I would not allow such a thing to pass with my monks. I would come down hard.’
Good, thought Bushcatti. He has passed the first test.
Bushcatti began his questioning. Were there any issues which other chiefs could use to block his nomination? The reply was immediate and unequivocal: none whatsoever.
‘Everything is above board?’
‘Everything.’
‘Taxes.’
‘Taxes?’
‘You raise less tax than the rest of the league.’
‘We have less business out here in this corner of the world. We are adjacent to The Maze; the furthest one can be from the centre of the league, from the centre of commerce. Life out here is slow. The people are poor. There are a lot of sheep farmers.’
‘But my reports tell me your private income is one of the highest of any chief.’
Panic almost set in but Adolphinus fought it well. There was too much at stake.
‘I am a good businessman. I have many interests, well managed. Surely good business sense is a worthy attribute for the role of Chief, Chief Monk? The League has to be run efficiently. It has to reinvest. It must not take too much from the peasants or the land.’
‘Agreed. But he should not be a
greedy one. Greed is a bad thing. You know that.’
‘Forgive me, but I do not consider myself greedy.’
‘The other chiefs might if word got around.’
‘And for the record, some of my private income goes to supporting my monastery – and the hospital. It is a fine hospital. Hence lower taxes.’
‘Yes, lower taxes, but your lower taxes do not please the other chiefs. You must come into line. If you want my job, you must standardize. Conformity, that is what holds our league together.’
‘Standardize? So you mean raise taxes?’
‘Exactly, raise taxes. Salt and cement to be precise.’
Adolphinus winced at the order. One would not go down well with Trade, bricklayers especially, and the other would upset just about everyone, Trade and peasants alike. The cement tax had been set by the Builders, no less. It never changed. It was regarded as a birthright amongst Trade. The job clearly came with a price. How much big a price?
‘A warning, Adolphinus. If I do nominate you, you will immediately make new enemies.’
‘I am not afraid of enemies.’
‘You should be. Chief Bonvaldi, he is trouble. He thinks he has my job in the bag. He thinks I owe him.’
‘Do you?’
‘No, absolutely not. He will look for any opportunity, no matter how tenuous, to block your nomination. Neutralize him at the first opportunity.’
‘It will be done. That I promise.’
‘And many of them do not welcome my reforms – tax standardisation has left a bitter taste in some mouths. Reform of our police force is one close to my heart. And it is unfinished business, which saddens me. Will you pick it up and follow through for me Adolphinus?’
‘Reforming the police, in what way?’
‘Do not be unduly concerned. I only wish for an organisational change. I want all senior officers to report directly to the senior officer at the Most Holy Monastery. He will be known as the Most Senior Religious Observance Officer. Poetic, do you not think?’
‘I see the poetry, yes.’
‘Our police forces must be united under one central command and control authority. The peasants are becoming a powerful force. The monasteries are less isolated. More and more, the peasants move between the regions. News and idle gossip travels. Resentment breeds if we are not careful.’
So all police chiefs end up reporting to you, thought Adolphinus, slightly concerned – no, hang on, that means they will report to me, he thought, now satisfied.
‘I see it, yes. An excellent idea, your most esteemed excellency. Chiefs running their own police forces is not a good thing. Who knows what secrets they may conceal, what abuses get pushed under the carpet.’
‘Ingel will not take it badly? After all, he will still be reporting to me. I will still provide him with protection, and in return, he will continue to protect my interests. I’ll give him a pay rise before I leave – out of the higher taxes.’ Adolphinus was now extremely satisfied. But Ingel need not know yet until the job was in the bag.
‘And remember, get out there and make friends, Adolphinus. Social graces are an absolute must.’
‘Make friends?’
‘See the other chiefs. Get them on your side. But remember only make promises you know you can keep. Nominations are not always automatically voted through; you know that, Adolphinus.’
‘I know.’
‘If enough want to block you, the smallest evidence of some stupid infringement is all they need. Your Observance Officer, does he hide your secrets well?’
‘Secrets? I have no secrets.’
‘Of course not. One last question.’
‘Yes?’
‘There is no history of madness in the family? You must be strong in the head for my job.’
‘No! Never!’
‘Good.’
With that, Bushcatti slapped the tabletop with the palms of his hands. He was bored now. It never took long for a chief monk to bore him. He wanted some excitement.
‘Now, enough talk. Let’s go for a walk. Show me the map again.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes, right now. I want to see the map again. Take me to the map room.’
Bushcatti sounded irritated. He was a man who was easily irritated.
‘Of course, Excellency, right now.’
Adolphinus led the way, walking at a pace which was comfortable for his Chief; stopping off at his study to collect a particular set of keys – the keys which got you into the Map Room, and access to the Map. The keys were kept locked in a drawer in his desk, for which only he had the key. The passage which led to the Map Room was marked by a layer of settled dust for this passage led only to the Map Room, and only the Chief Monk of the Monastery had any cause to walk along it.
Like children captivated by the thrill, entranced by the sight, the two men – two grand, powerful men – crept into the most special, the most secure, and the most secret room, and approached the cabinet which held the ancient map - a magical map. Adolphinus stalled as if wishing to collect his composure before proceeding – but Bushcatti, always impatient, pushed him on.
‘Open it then, let me see. Open it.’
Adolphinus, hating the fact that he was being rushed when he normally slowed, unlocked the cabinet, and pulled back the doors to reveal the precious prize within.
‘I cannot let you touch it. Only the Chief Monk of this monastery can touch it. And even I dare not touch it for it is such a fragile thing. You know that?’
‘I know. I know. You told me last time. I don’t forget things. I may be old Adolphinus, some may say decrepit, but I don’t forget things.’
‘Apologies, Excellency, no insult intended.’
‘None taken.’
Adolphinus stood back to allow Bushcatti full view and watched him intently as the man stared, mesmerised like a child, at the pale parchment – one half of the complete Map. This parchment was a piece of frozen history. It was part of a great story – possibly the greatest story. It reminded them both of how their world had been born; of who the true masters were, or had once been. The Builders had been the gods of their time, and they had moved mountains. It reminded Bushcatti that the age of great ideas and great deeds was over, long gone. In his mind, all that was left were trivialities: pathetic men and their pathetic politics; small men and their small ideas; petty-minded men with their petty little schemes. And it made him feel sad. But also it reinvigorated him, so much so that it began to send him giddy. Adolphinus had to step in.
‘Here, let me take your arm, Excellency. You need to sit down.’
Bushcatti did not refuse his help, and Adolphinus helped him into a chair. It was the only chair in the room, for this room was the sole preserve of the Chief Monk.
‘We all deserve to see this, Adolphinus.’
‘We?’
‘All the chief monks.’
‘Well, they know where I am. They need only to make the trip, and ask. Though I am loath to turn this special room into a public-viewing space.’
‘You misunderstand me. The map should be relocated to the Most Holy Monastery. It should reside at the centre of monastic life, at the centre of power.’
Adolphinus was stunned: suddenly he needed to sit down more than his chief.
‘But Excellency, the Builders gave it to the founding monk of this monastery, the first monastery, and put it under his protection. Long before there were any other monasteries, even before there was the League. The founding monk promised to protect it with his life. Your suggestion would be a betrayal, a betrayal.’
‘I have spoken to the other chiefs, and they all support me.’
‘You have spoken to them? Without speaking to me first?’
‘I hear what you say, Adolphinus, and I appreciate your natura
l resistance,but it makes sense, you know it makes sense, and the security there will be much greater than anything you have here. These are restless times, violent times.’
‘Security has never been an issue here.’
‘But can that be guaranteed in the future?’
Adolphinus thought of the tax rises to come: his chief had a point. Then he realised that if he got the job, he could take it with him: that did feel like a good idea. Was this a bribe from Bushcatti?
‘Very well. I will not fight the other chiefs. I will bring it with me.’
‘Bring it with you? You haven’t got my job yet.’
‘Apologies, Excellency, I spoke out of turn.’
Fuck you, thought Adolphinus. I will have my say.
‘Excuse me, but I must say this. If I don’t get the job and am able to maintain my personal protection, then I will fight the proposal all the way.’
‘Very well.’
Bushcatti took one last look at the cabinet and rose from the chair.
‘I admire your plain speaking. Let’s go get some fresh air. I need to build up an appetite for dinner.’
‘One thing by the way.’
‘Which is?’
‘I should mention the Union of Bricklayers and Masons have their annual brick-laying ceremony this afternoon – the early evening I should say, as the sun begins to dip behind the mountain. By tradition, they offer the brick to the chief monk to lay. It is a way of maintaining the link between Trade and monks. It would be a great honour for all of us if you took my place.’
‘Yes, of course, an excellent idea. Am I expected to make a speech?’
‘No, no speech. The union leader will give a speech. I – sorry you – just have to lay a brick, add it to the ceremonial wall.’
‘Good. Come on, let’s go for that walk.’
Back at the hospital, in the Monks Ward, Mozak was in a foul mood. He was lying on his front: a thick, sticky, black tar-like substance had been smeared across his back, covering his rash. It stung like hell. He was in hell. Outside was hell. A nurse, seeing the look on his face, stopped to see what the matter was.
‘Nurse, it stings, it stings like shit, worse than my fucking rash.’