With and Without, Within and Without

by Euan McAllen

  Late at night, Paminio, received an unexpected visitor. It was a nervous-looking Tibi.

  ‘It’s late Tibi. What do you want?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. Can I come in?’

  ‘Yes, of course, you can. Come in.’ Paminio could not turn away such a lost-looking soul.

  Tibi looked around the room. ‘You’re all packed, ready to go.’

  ‘Yes, we’re leaving early, right after breakfast.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘He wants to be gone. Here, sit down. Have some wine, Tibi. You do look poorly. You know you have nothing to fear from me. I’m on your side.’

  ‘Ingel said to stay away. His thugs watch me all the time.’

  ‘But here you are.’

  ‘Yes, here I am. They don’t scare me.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Fiodor is leaving too.’

  ‘Fiodor?’

  ‘My guardian. And he won’t tell me where, or why, or for how long.’

  ‘Will you miss him?’

  ‘No. Will you come back?’

  ‘I doubt it. He might. Adolphinus. In fact, I’m sure he will. But me? No, I don’t think so. I want to move on. Time to move on.’

  ‘Move on? Move on where?’

  ‘I don’t know. But running a vineyard appeals to me, making my own wine. Perhaps making furniture.’

  ‘Furniture? You can make furniture?’

  ‘Not me personally. I would hire a workforce. Start a factory.’

  ‘A factory? Like a workhouse?’

  ‘Sort of. Only you have to pay the workforce.’

  Tibi nodded. ‘Not like his sweatshop then.’

  ‘Sweatshop?’

  ‘Adolphinus has a sweatshop. The poor end up there when they have no other place to go. But they have to work for their bed and board. They make our robes, work around the monastery, fix things.’

  ‘And, of course, you have to pay for your robes.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Clever man. I’ll give him that. He’ll make an excellent big chief.’

  ‘Big chief? Is that what you call our supreme chief, his Most Esteemed Excellency?’

  Tibi wanted to laugh, but the force of habit killed the impulse.

  ‘It’s what all the staff back home call him behind his back.’

  Paminio put his next question tentatively, lightly stepping from one word to the next.

  ‘How are you coping since your father’s death?’

  ‘I cope.’

  It didn’t sound like he did. Paminio filled his glass and offered to refill Tibi’s, but Tibi declined. He was too busy concentrating hard on how to say what he wanted to say next. In the end, he just blurted it out.

  ‘I need to escape this place.’

  ‘Into The Maze?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where then?’

  Tibi looked down before answering. ‘With you, if you’ll have me. Can I come with you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, can I come with you.’

  ‘I know.’

  Paminio took a deep breath and expelled it. He looked at Tibi with suspicion; looking for a trick, a hole to fall into. Then he rebuked himself for such thoughts: this boy, this poor boy, was pleading with him, bearing his soul. Tibi was stony-faced but struggling to hold back the tears.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Absolutely sure?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then, of course, of course, you can come with me.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Now there were definitely tears in the boy’s eyes.

  ‘You should go to bed now.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you for the wine.’

  Tibi put down his glass and dragged himself towards the door.

  ‘I won’t let you down.’

  ‘I know you won’t.’

  Paminio wanted to give the poor boy a hug of comfort, but cold sense prevailed.

  Adolphinus did not sleep that night, nor those stuck in prison. Paminio struggled with sleep. Tibi, exhausted but reconciled, slept like a baby, as did Dolgar. Ingel slept nursing a bad mood.

  ***

  Adolphinus was up before the break of dawn, wishing to have the world to himself, without disruption, without contamination by lower life. He had one important visit to make before he departed; one last person to see, for the very last time, he promised himself. Though he always maintained the right to break his own promises.

  Head buzzing in the cold, damp morning air, Adolphinus walked down the deserted streets of his town. The solitude felt serene. It was a tonic. He walked past the Free Fast Food Bank – his gift to the people – past his sweetshop – let the children suck on his sweets – and past his sweatshop – let the poor make him a profit. He walked on out of town, on to that special, tucked-away place: he was on his way to see the fortune teller.

  He stormed into her inner sanctity, expecting to have to wake her up; but there she was, in her usual chair; waiting for him, expecting him; ready to pocket the fee; ready to take his temperature. She never changed. She wore the same clothes, and sat in the same chair, in the same corner of the room; her hair tied back in the way it always was; wearing the same expression, the one which suggested she was not pleased to see him. But when she spoke, things were never the same again. Sometimes, she told him the stories he wanted to hear. Today was not one of those days. She waved him down into the usual chair opposite and slipped his coins – now hers – into the pocket of her dress. Adolphinus, impatient, began speaking as he sat down.

  ‘Why didn’t you warn me there would be riots?’

  ‘Would it have made any difference?’

  ‘Possibly!’

  ‘The future is violent.’

  ‘My future?’

  ‘Your future. Nothing remains fixed. Fences fall down. You will make more enemies than friends.’

  ‘I can deal with that. Enemies are easier to deal with than friends.’

  ‘You bear a heavy burden. It will leave you exhausted. It will rule you.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know. I will rule the world, that takes hard work. And I am not afraid of hard work.’

  ‘If you throw yourself at a brick wall; it does not break, it does not budge. It does not notice. It does not care.’

  ‘Enough of your talking rubbish. Is there nothing good you have to say? Cheer me up. It’s my last day here.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Really, you know. Who doesn’t know around here? Come on, give me something for my money.’

  ‘You will become rich, very rich. Your fortune will be massive.’

  ‘Good, as I hoped.’

  ‘But your legacy will be small.’

  Adolphinus stood up abruptly: he had taken enough of her bad medicine, enough of her insults; but he had one final question before leaving.

  ‘And what about The Maze, Fortune Teller? Or is that question too tough for you? Too big?’

  ‘The Maze is. And will continue to be, but not forever.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘The Builders will return, without warning, when The Maze ceases to provide a function and when all certainties are gone, when the order has collapsed into chaos.’

  ‘And do what?’

  ‘Rebuild.’

  ‘Rebuild the walls? The Maze will be destroyed?’

  ‘Rebuild, that is all I can say.’

  ‘Of course it is. Thank you. I think I’ve had enough for one day.’

  And the day had barely begun – his last day in hell.

  ‘And so have I,’ she said.

  And with that,
the man of god and the woman of riddles parted, as they always did, on a rancorous note. He did not expect to see her again. She thought he might pop up again, more desperate than ever – and she was the fortune teller. Adolphinus left with a whole new load of questions to carry on his back: questions he could not hope to answer until the answers hit him with full force, by which time it would be too late.

  Back in his private chambers, Adolphinus barely touched his breakfast, conscious of the bumpy road ahead. Afterward, he took a final tour of his monastery; not missing it, but wishing to be missed. On his way, he engaged in farewell exchanges with those he encountered. White lies were told on both sides: how he would be missed; how he would miss them; how he had inspired them; how he had been inspired; how he would always remain in their thoughts; and so on. And never once did the smiles drop.

  Knowing it would annoy Ingel, Adolphinus took great pleasure in performing one last official task: he banned unions, marches, and gatherings of more than five people. Transgressions would suffer a financial penalty, and or community service, possibly even prison. He had one final meeting with Ingel, during which understandings and agreements were restated, and underlined; any outstanding issues of contention were conveniently ignored, and future aspirations were carefully concealed. Adolphinus was surprised to learn that Ingel would not be filling his own vacated post: he would do both; he wanted to exercise complete control and command. Ingel, in a rare display of honesty, confessed that he feared further outbreaks and was considering arming his police. The two men ended the meeting by wishing each other good luck for the future. They were just words: neither meant them. Miuccia was never mentioned once.

  In the guards’ room, Mostrum had turned up to say goodbye to his old mates – and accept the job offer from Ingel. He was wearing a large, floppy hat – a vain attempt to conceal the worst side of himself. The guards thought he looked ridiculous but were careful to say nothing – at first anyway. When one finally blurted it out, Mostrum turned nasty and grabbed the guard by the throat, daring him to repeat himself. But this time the man was not intimidated: he told Mostrum to fuck off and threw him off. He even drew his sword, telling Mostrum the blunt truth: I don’t take orders from you, you’re not captain now! Mostrum, stunned, retreated to lick his wounds. His old guard had no more time for him, and that hurt. He walked away, trying to hang on to some vestige of dignity. Then he ran into Paminio, which only made things worse. Paminio was talking to a young monk. He looked excited. As usual, always talking to the boys, thought Mostrum. Then Paminio saw him and broke off his conversation.

  Seeing the clever little shit looking at him, smug almost, taking pity, Mostrum went into a spin. He grabbed Paminio by the throat and pushed him up against the nearest wall. Tibi, sensing danger, was forced to compromise himself: he rushed off to beg Ingel’s intervention, having just passed him by – and ignored him.

  ‘You looking at me, Paminio? You laughing at me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t you pity me!’

  ‘I don’t. I won’t. I promise.’

  ‘You think I’m done for, don’t you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I’ll prove you wrong.’

  ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me, Mostrum.’

  Mostrum had run out of words with which to punch but still he would not let go. It was stalemate: Mostrum didn’t want to let go for he wanted someone to beat up; but there was nothing to fight for, to fight over; Paminio was not willing to fight; Paminio was simply being polite. The stalemate ended when Tibi reappeared, with Ingel.

  ‘Mostrum, let him be. He’s not the enemy now.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘Mostrum, if you’re going to work for me, that means taking my orders.’

  Mostrum was forced to concede – but not surrender. He pushed Paminio away and walked away, fast; not knowing where he was heading.

  ‘He’s crazy, unhinged,’ said Paminio.

  ‘Half-crazy, I would say.’

  Paminio turned to Tibi. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  Ingel suddenly turned on Tibi. He was the centre of attention.

  ‘And where do you think you’re going?’

  Tibi pointed at Paminio. ‘With him. You can’t stop me.’

  Ingel had no answer to that, but he tried anyway.

  ‘But you belong here.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I quit.’

  Ingel turned on Paminio. ‘He’s coming with you? Why?’

  ‘To escape you.’

  Now it was Ingel who wanted to hit Paminio. But all he had to hand were words.

  ‘And what are you going to do with this boy? Corrupt him?’

  ‘Teach him a profession, get him a well-paid job.’

  ‘Trade?’

  ‘No, not trade, a proper profession.’

  ‘Well, don’t you two get too cosy.’

  Paminio gave no response to that. Nor did Tibi. They both walked on, to take their places in one of the carriages: a servants’ carriage. Just like when he had arrived, Paminio was not allowed to ride upfront.

  Adolphinus was ready to go, and raring to go: his bags had been loaded; his carriage was stuffed with his favourite cushions. His favourite personal possessions were stowed away: that meant his best books; all his clothes, and shoes; and Fargo’s robe. He would not let that robe out of his sight. Sometimes, when things felt bad, he wanted to rip it up, wipe the floor with it; wipe the smile from his stupid brother’s face. But always, he hung on to it instead.

  The rest would follow on in due course. Now, all Adolphinus had to do was leave. It was that simple. He ordered the coffin to be loaded into the back of the funeral carriage. It was the very last order he would make at the monastery. Pausing on the steps of his own carriage, he turned to give his audience one last look. He waved. Some waved back. Satisfied, he stepped inside. He was free.

  With everybody watching – except Adolphinus – the coffin containing the body of Bushcatti was carried out, borne on the shoulders of six monks – selected by a senior monk for their fitness and height. Monks and novices walked behind it, in silence, staring ahead with blank faces. Many were thinking the same thing: their chief was leaving; Ingel was taking over. That didn’t feel right. It felt bad.

  As the coffin was loaded into the back of the carriage, one of the bearers lost his grip. The coffin suddenly shifted, and its lid slid to one side, revealing the head of the dead Bushcatti. He was growing a beard. Driven by blind panic, the monks frantically resealed the coffin. Adolphinus never found out, and if he did, he would not have cared: it might even have made him laugh. Adolphinus was not the only one leaving for a different world that day: Fiodor was off too; to the Builders Yard; to give his report, to seek advice. It hurt that he could tell Tibi nothing.

  As it had arrived, the gilded carriage left with pomp and fanfare; drawn by four horses; surrounded by guards on horseback, some blowing their trumpets. Bushcatti left not as he had arrived: not in his gilded carriage; not as the Chief, Chief Monk of the League of Monasteries, but as a dead man. Peasants watched the procession come down the hill and pass through the town. Dolgar and his guards looked on menacing, daring anyone to make the slightest move against them. There were boos, but nothing was thrown. Just like upon its arrival, some made signs with their tongues and fingers when the guards were not looking their way.

  Ingel, now in charge, now free to do what the hell he liked, looked around his room for the last time. He was not wasting any time: he was moving into his new quarters; the rooms once occupied by Adolphinus, and now his. He was moving on up. He squeezed the little black velvet bag which now contained the stolen jewellery, and smiled. He looked at Craccus, and smiled.

  ‘New start Craccus.’

  Feeling good about himself, he picked up the cage and walked it across the room to the win
dow. He opened the window and the cage door and waited. He did not have to wait long. In seconds, Craccus was out and gone.

  ‘Good luck.’

  Craccus never heard him. Craccus never said thank you. But then Craccus never said anything. Time to free my sister thought Ingel. Or let her stew a while longer?

  ***

  An angry Sister Miuccia returned to the hospital to discover one of her old nurses had returned, begging to give birth: the girl had been forced to resign after getting pregnant. The father was thought to be one of the doctors, but the girl refused to name him. Sister Miuccia took charge, and the delivery went smoothly, despite the fallout from the disruption and turmoil of the previous day. She wanted to make a point; point being, that she could spend the night in prison and still come out fighting, still be the best sister. (And she had once had a crush on the girl.)

  ‘A boy!’ she declared, holding the newborn baby up for all to see. ‘You must be very happy!’

  The new mother was not. Her baby was to be adopted: that was the agreement she had made with the father. Miuccia was saddened, but not surprised, when told. Quite uncharacteristically, she did her best to comfort the poor girl, showing a side that other staff did not think could possibly exist. It did but was only put on display for special – very special – occasions. When the girl fell asleep, Miuccia picked up the baby and held him close to her face. She was smitten. She considered his future and hers. She was already an old life, and she knew it. Here was a blank canvas, an unblemished soul; free of God; without fear. Here was the future.