This story was what I originally made as the last short story, but as I got stuck on the ending – I realised that it didn’t belong in that collection at all, and so I had to start over. But I still like it, and it’s much more dark fantasy than anything. I might re-write it, and create a different theme/end (I realise this has no end) and also I would change the names of the characters.

I would however love to hear your opinion, what works, what gotta go – and whatever feedback you might have. I will say that it’s NOT for the sensetive, it has so many trigger warnings that I can’t even be bothered.

R.

Edit: 04/06/23 sorry, I uploaded the wrong file, it was a way early edit. Now it’s updated to the latest.

The Corpse Raven by R. Nordravn

– Efrem Von Musgrave

Efrem had many secrets, sometimes he wondered if his secrets had secrets. But truthfully, he had only come this far because of his ambition, a little voice in the back of his mind reminded him that while he called it ambition, others might call it being an utter and complete bastard. But they didn’t know what he knew. And Efrem often reminded himself, and congratulated himself on his superior intellect, never trusting another living soul with anything, even remotely private. Well – besides his wife. His ex-wife. Bitch!

He wouldn’t even mention her name, he called her ‘that woman’ or ‘the gold digger’ if anyone brought her up, which they didn’t if they wanted to stay on his good side. But he knew, he knew that people gossiped, because they were dumb as shit, and didn’t have anything else to talk about, besides sports and other people’s drama. Efrem’s father, he might have been stern, demanding and a downright sadist – but he had instructed his son well, and what Efrem learned back then, he had never forgotten. He could almost hear his father’s voice.

Son, you came into this world alone, you will leave it alone.

Father sure had left this world alone, Efrem had made sure of that. It had been so easy, and the nurse had taken the fall for it, because no one suspected the caring son, right? Efrem had planned it for years, but true to his nature he had kept his cards close, he had covered his tracks like a true killer, and there didn’t exist a single piece of evidence that could tie him to that crime. It wasn’t like he had paid someone off to keep their mouth shut. No one knew, it was as simple as that.

Besides teaching Efrem that he couldn’t trust anyone, Father had taught him to read, to absorb knowledge, and store it away in his brain for later. And he had put that to clever use, making his secretary run his errands. Nati was too stupid to even question it, that was the main reason he had hired him. Efrem recalled the interview, Nati had looked mostly like someone who had lived under a bridge for most his life, and maybe he had? Efrem had never asked because he didn’t care. But it had been quite clear from the start, that Nati didn’t have any credentials, or education. Efrem wasn’t even sure he could read – the cretin. And he was everything that Efrem wanted in a secretary, he was dumb, he was loyal because Efrem had given him a job when obviously no one else would, and he was free of obligations, no pets, spouse, or children. Nati was at his beck and call at all hours, all the time.

The woman had hated Nati, and Efrem suspected that Nati maybe hated her too, yet another reason to keep that simpleton around.

Efrem sighed, he swung his legs up on the oak desk and kicked off his shoes wiggling his toes with a sigh. It had been an awfully long day today, and now he was looking forward to a stiff drink, and maybe a hooker. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, the chair that used to belong to his father, the chair that his father had been sitting in, when he had his fucking goons kick the living shit out of Efrem, for getting caught at sneaking out, and getting expelled from some very posh and ridiculous boarding school. Oh yeah, that chair. And now it was Efrem’s. A little bubble of air was all it took to bring down that huge bear of a man. Efrem smiled. No, he wasn’t in the mood for hookers, he just wanted to have his drink and retire for the night. Nati had left long ago, and he ought to do the same, yet his thoughts went to the penthouse he had installed in his father’s office building, and he didn’t feel like driving. Efrem opened his eyes and slowly got out of the chair. He turned off the desk lamp, leaving the room in darkness, but he knew his way around, the office had not changed at all since it had been fathers, this was one of the only things he had not changed, like some fucked up mausoleum in remembrance of Enoch Von Musgrave.

“Fuck you” Efrem whispered to the room as he made his way to the door in the dark. He reached for the handle, “Forgive me, I meant. Fuck you. Sir!” He laughed softly to himself as he opened the door to the dimly lit hallways.

He hated that they had to be dimly lit, but one had to make sacrifices in these times, war affected everyone, even him. He might make enormous amounts of money on it, because war was just about the best money machine there was, if you knew how to exploit it, then there was still a shortage of everything. And while no bombers flew over where he was, and he didn’t need to have all the lights off, or heavy drapes so no light would shine through. Then coal was in demand, and the powerplant needed it to make electricity. This meant as soon as the office staff left, the custodian would shut down the power to all non-essential areas in the building, such as offices and the elevators. Only the corridors and the penthouse had lights.

Not that his staff knew it was a penthouse, and see that was the only thing about Nati, because he might be dumb as a brick, but he had street-smarts the little fucker! He had figured it out, that there was an apartment, even if the door was well hidden and out of the way, no staff – not even Nati had any reason to be there. For all they knew it was an unused and closed off utility closet.

Efrem liked his secrets. See what happened to Brutus, right? He was assassinated by people he knew, including his son. “That must resonate so well with you father,” Efrem said to the empty corridor as he started on the long ascend to his secret oasis, his Eden hidden away in purgatory.

Much against his wishes, he had felt it necessary to install a telephone in his room, it did not chime, that would risk giving him away to any bypasses on the stairs or at the corridor underneath, even if he had made sure that only his own conference room was located directly underneath, then you could just never be too careful. His Eden telephone had a red button that blinked when it rang, and every evening the dispatch lady would redirect his calls to this number. He was aware that it was slight excess to have two telephones, most shared one a whole damn estate. But not him, he didn’t have to. Come to think of it, he didn’t think that Nati had a telephone, maybe he ought to buy him one. He loved the way that kid looked when he was given a gift, like he had never seen anything more wonderful. Efrem shook his head amused, thinking of the time he had bought him a scarf and a new sixpence, one would have thought that Nati had been given the goddamn holy grail. Bless him.

Efrem finally made it to the top of the stairs and cursed the fact that his father had to build this damn office so tall, but after all – plots of land in the city was hard to come by, and the actual space wasn’t that big, so Von Musgrave sr. had done the only thing he could do, insisting on this very expensive and exclusive address – to build up, and that way get the square meters needed to run his business. Best of all, thought Efrem, was that the old bastard had been too stingy to build the elevators all the way to the top, so the only way to get here, was to walk two flights of stairs, which most people did not unless they had to.

He opened the door and turned on the lights. He didn’t have regular windows where the light would have shone through, but a skylight, meaning that most his roof was a window. He loved laying in his bed looking at the stars, trying to find the big dipper.

“Dubhe, Merak, Phecda, Megrez, Alioth, Mizar, Alkaid, the Plough, Ursa major. I am the big bear, and the big bear is I.”

Efrem repeated the mantra as he entered the penthouse and locked the door, it had always worked like a little prayer for him, a way to calm himself when he felt upset, or to steel his reserve when he was unsure. Fright was not something he had felt since he was but a babe, father had made sure of that, and mother had let him – before she left. Bitch.

Efrem’s lips became a sneer, but he quickly shook the dark thoughts off. He wanted that drink, and then sleep. Sleep until someone had to come excavate him like bloody Tutankhamun.

He stripped his clothes and went to the bar to pour a two-finger bourbon, no ice, sadly.  He made a sudden forceful snap with his head, feeling as well as hearing, his spine cracking delightfully. Ah! to be alive. Maybe he should have gotten a hooker, fucked her on his father’s desk, while looking up at the enormous painted portrait of the devil, actually it was a painting of his father, in his chair with his monocle and bible in hand, ever the righteous man to those who did not know him privately. But Efrem had always thought that painting looked demonic somehow, very intimidating, like he fixed you with his repulsive hawk- like eyes, judged you – all the way from the lowest pits. He loved fucking the filthiest hookers he could find, just to piss his father off, in the beyond. Not that his father cared much, Efrem had seen the disease-ridden wrenches that had run from his father’s office back then, tears in their eyes. Like father like son, he reckoned.

– Nati ben Haran

Nati turned around in bed half asleep, he heard the early birds sing, but chose to ignore them. It was Sunday, his day off. It had been a part of his arrangement with Von Musgrave, that he had one day a week where he could get his personal business sorted, and he would be available all hours of every other day. He knew it was a terrible arrangement, and he ought to make more money than he did, but he happened to like Von Musgrave, he was a cold hearted bastard like his father, but Nati had heard stories and gossip from the people at office, people who had been around when senior was in charge, he had been a ruthless man, and judging from that awful painting in the main office, Nati was sure they were right. He heard stories that was almost too terrible to remember, stories whispered over tea in the break room. Musgrave senior had been a terrible parent, the kind of parent that made his own parents look like saints. Half asleep Nati pulled the blanket over his head to drown out the birds and some drunkard singing some streets away. He rolled over to snuggle up to his lover but found the other side of his fairly narrow bed, empty and cold. Nati opened his eyes in alarm and listened to the apartment. He couldn’t hear anything, no rustling or breathing. He must have left, dammit! Nati sat up in bed, his breath was visible in the air, it was the coldest October he recalled in a long time. He wrapped the blanket around himself and walked over to the wood stove, and tossed in some wood and kindle, as soon as he got this going, it would not take long before the apartment was nice and warm. Nati closed the hatch and watched the flames for a moment before he turned the damper so he wouldn’t accidently light the whole chimney on fire.

Turning he saw there was a scribbled note on the table, but he needed light. Hitting the switch did nothing, either the power plant was down again, or his power had been cut off, it could of course be the building, or the estate. But he figured it might be just him, because looking outside, it seemed like the couple with too many children for him to count, who lived on the other side of the narrow street, they had light. And of course, they were up at this ungodly hour, children didn’t sleep well in drawers and boxes, he knew they were poor, he had seen the husband at the market trying to get hired for a day. Nati had wondered, but as soon as he heard the cough, he knew – the man was too sick for the mine, the dust had gotten into his lungs and was slowly killing him. That cough was the most terrible sound, it had been the sound his own father had made, sometimes through most the night, it was a wonder his siblings or mother ever got any sleep. It sounded like the entire ribcage tried to shake itself loose, and sometimes the cough would be so hard and continue for so long, that you’d shit yourself, at least his daddy had. And his mother would stand there and cook water to wash his pants clean of shit, while he would sit there on the kitchen chair with his dick out, pouring himself some homemade liquor, probably made off potatoes like the Russians did, but Nati hadn’t really given it thought back then, he only knew how much his daddy had complained about the diluted piss at the pub. As an adult, Nati was sure that daddy couldn’t afford the pub anymore, and therefor he made excuses mostly to himself, or maybe he really thought he fooled everyone. Nati’ss older brother, Ari, wasn’t fooled, he remembered that. Ari had done the only thing he could, he left, ran off to never return. Leaving Nati alone with his parents in the tiny room they called home. He had missed Ari terribly, but he also understood why he had chosen to enlist, to get out, leave the poverty vortex and attempt to rise above, to be someone. He didn’t, Nati grimaced, he died – seventeen years old, alone, scared and in crippling pain, calling for his mama in some fucking war-torn trench somewhere in a country Nati wouldn’t even attempt to pronounce. And Nati hadn’t known that till several years later, when both his parents were dead, and what little that came unto him, this was when he learned that he had been an only child for ten years. His mother had known but hidden the telegram from both him and daddy. It would probably have killed daddy faster than the sickness metastasizing, draining the very life from the once strong man.

Nati and daddy didn’t exactly agree completely, and he had an inkling that daddy might have ‘known’ his secret, not because he had told him, and not because he had given it away because he was ever so careful. Never mentioning it, never looking twice at a handsome gentleman, never commenting his daddy’s crude comments about the ladies, or his mother’s gentle prodding asking if he had a sweetheart. But he was sure daddy knew somehow. Always referring to him as his ‘lassie,’ to be fair, he was sure his daddy never meant any actual harm. Such as he would never address him like this in public, Nati wasn’t sure if it was actual fatherly concern, or if it was because he was ashamed of his son being, well not very manly man like.

Tearing himself from the dark thoughts of the past, he ignored the neighbors dry rattle cough, and went to get a candle, lighting it with a single piece of kindle, he then carried the light to the table and stuck it onto the candle holder, it was old and he seemed to recall his mother once telling him it had belonged to her mother, or was it her mother’s mother? It didn’t matter anymore, it was brass and sturdy – which was why Nati had kept it, he had never been sentimental when it came to possessions, he simply couldn’t afford to be. A lesson early learned.

He sighed and cursed under his breath that he hadn’t put a kettle on the woodstove, now that the fire was nice. He would love some tea if he still had some, it was so rare that his time was his own. He turned his attention to the note. It was from Ambrose, saying he was sorry, but he thought he heard knocking on doors, and was afraid that it was the police, and that they’d find him here. So, for both their sake, he left. Nati crumpled up the note and tossed it across the room towards the wood stove, screaming in anger. That fucking whoreson, Nati could feel the bad excuses rise from the note like smoke, reaching out to choke him to death. He hated that his eyes teared up.

 Chin up lassie he could hear his daddy mumble with a drunken laugh.

He would not fucking chin up, keep calm and carry on – Why did it have to be like this? He just wanted to wake up next to Ambrose, just once! They always had to sneak around, hide, and be scared someone saw or heard. Unlike Nati who had remained a bachelor, Ambrose had a wife and two children and worked as a professor at a prestigious private school for the upper-class brats. And of course, he didn’t want to get arrested while slumming it with the likes of Nati. The first tear fell on the tabletop. “Fuck!” Nati whimpered, feeling absolutely decimated, unwanted and lost.

Nati took a deep breath and tried to get his emotions under control. He rearranged the blanket and walked over and picked up the note from the floor, opened the stove and tossed it in there. He closed the lid unceremoniously not caring to watch the paper slip burn. It was just how it was, there could be no trace of their affair, it was simply too dangerous.

Back in the days he had visited a meeting place for men like himself, really it was just an abandoned building, but it served them just well. They weren’t many and some was there to have sex, others like Nati were mainly there to feel sane. To see, hear and feel that he wasn’t unnatural like the vicar preached on Sundays. He had been eighteen the first time he had come there, he had been so nervous that he had vomited the watered-down porridge his mother had served, up all over the pavement. They had greeted him like a brother, which was the first time Nati felt any form of connection with someone who was not a blood relative. They understood, they listened – and he had loved them like brothers, like family.

He pulled off the blanket and tossed it on his bed, picking up his pants on the floor and pulling them on. Bare feet he went and got the kettle, hoping he had some tea left.

– Ambrose Kenan

Sitting at his desk at the university, he couldn’t collect his thoughts and kept drawing circles and doodles on the notebook in front of him. It felt all wrong to sneak off like a thief in the shadows, leaving Nati with nothing but a note, but he had to. He had heard the police hammering on doors, and it didn’t sound like it was specific doors, it was any door in that estate, he wasn’t sure which estate it was, but it was close enough so he could hear the ruckus. Screams, cries, and yelling – No shots. Maybe the police didn’t find what they were looking for, maybe they looked in the wrong house? Maybe they were looking for him? He tried to relax, to close his eyes and soak up Nati’ss body heat, the sound of his heavy breathing and a little sound that could have been a chuckle, residue from a dream bubbling up to the surface. He buried his nose in Nati’ss hair and neck, he would never get tired of that scent. He had kissed Nati’ss jawbone and smiled when Nati stretched like a well pampered pet and settled again. “I love you” He whispered against the shell of Nati’ss ear, hoping it would reach him in his dreams, because he dared not say it when they were awake. He was a coward, he knew that. Nati deserved better than what he could give him. He deserved to be happy, content and loved. Ambrose could only provide one of those, and he was too scared to vocalize it when anyone could answer. But he was loved, so very much loved.

Ambrose poked the paper with his pencil. What was he even doing here on a Sunday? He was sure that Lucille had gone to church with the children, like she would any Sunday. And somehow, he felt like he should be there, to check in with God, and make sure that they were still speaking the same language. He wondered why something that felt so right, like the missing puzzle piece inside him – could be so wrong. What was wrong was that he had ever married Lucille, and it was a sin punishable by death that they had gotten a child, let alone two. He really ought to – ought to… He stopped; he knew he never would. He loved Nati, but he also knew why he didn’t tell him, because he couldn’t cope with the guilt he would feel, when Nati realized they were just words. Spoken from the heart, but still just words, not even worth the breath and time it would take to formulate. It could never be, it was that simple. End of.

Ambrose absent minded picked up a book, it was old and written with those strange gothic letters that some people found hard to read. It was an old book on Alchemy, that he tried to get some meaning out of, but mostly he had just found an abundance of hints on how to create and incubate a homunculus child. “I swear you were obsessed with your cock my friend,” he said to the book with a disappointed sigh, “If I have to read about your sperm once more, I swear to God.” He wanted to throw the book but didn’t. He placed it carefully down in his desk drawer and locked it. No need that some random member of the faculty came by and saw this lying about. He could probably make up some believable lie about it, he did teach history, and math. Both present in abundance in Alchemy, but he’d rather not.

Besides, he was fairly sure the answer was not in Alchemy or Eastern mysticism. It was in the runes; he would be more efficient if only he didn’t have to keep everything hidden away all the time. Damn Von Musgrave, not only did he not just give him one of the many, many offices in that monstrous building, but he had promised not to tell Nati. Why had he agreed to something that had him lying to his beloved? The money, it was that simple, he wanted his children to get a decent education, and he wanted them to have a comfortable, sheltered childhood, in this hellscape of poverty and depravity. And maybe, just maybe this whole project made him giddy as a schoolboy again, he had always had a special place in his heart for the tales of the brutal Viking invaders, the tales would have you believe they just hit a shore and started killing in a mushroom crazed high. But he knew a different side to these mysterious people, a spiritual side. Their firm belief in magic and fay folk they had brought with them, and when the blood washed away, their tales survived. It was easy to see how they had influenced many cultures because they were so firm in their faith and brought it with them wherever they went. And Ambrose was dead sure that if the runes did not hold magic, other cultures would not have been so fast to include it in their primitive belief system. Something had persuaded all those people to abandon the tradition they had had for decades and adapt to a new way – one where the Viking gods, lived side by side with the whatever gods, deities, or spirits they originally had worshipped. It was all over the place if only you knew where to look. He looked down towards the locked drawer, Alchemy, for instance – they used many symbols they stole from the Vikings, why was that? Because it held some truth, some of that cosmic life essence that many claimed to have, but none could present.

He sighed again, looking down at the paper with the doodles. He wouldn’t get anything done today. He speared the paper with the pen, ruining both pen and paper. He felt like all he ever did was lie, he lied to Nati, he lied to Lucille, and he lied to his students – he probably lied to Von Musgrave as well, and his stupid bloody cousin. Ambrose groaned as he recalled that he had actually let Von Musgrave arrange a meeting at his office today, with himself, Hiram and Von Musgrave. What it was about he didn’t know, he briefly thought about calling and lying -again- and say that his daughter was sick, which she was, but not in the way where he had to cancel his commitments. Ambrose promised himself, if he met Nati there, he would not lie, he would tell him the truth, and why he had not told the truth until that very moment. He let the pen fall from his fingers, it hit the note and rolled down over the edge and unto the floor with a dull crack. It was easy to be brave when he sat here alone in his stuffy little office, he had way too many things here, and he knew that certain members of faculty were gossiping behind his back, about his poor wife, having to deal with a bone-idle man like that. Unable to tidy up. Thing was, it wasn’t clutter per se, it was ideas, projects, and dreams. The layer of dust was just the price he paid to have an overactive brain.

Ambrose looked at his wristwatch, he’d have to leave soon, if he should make the appointment forced upon him. There was a hesitant knock at the door, and for a moment Ambrose was sure he imagined it. But there it was again, so soft, and so apologetic, as if the knocker felt like an intruder for knocking. “Come in.” He called to the closed door, watching as the door handle turned, in his brain the sentence “come now laddie, it’s not the Queen you have an audience with.” And the last-minute panic scrutinizing his desk to make sure he had secured anything and everything that could link him to Von Musgrave.

The door slowly opened and a now familiar freckled face, attached to a weirdly long limbed, sinewy body, entered his office. Ambrose smiled, and meant it, if Hamish was here, that meant that he might also want to skip the appointment with his uncle. His smile grew as he noticed the poor young man had gotten a haircut, probably forcibly, because as long as Ambrose had been aware of Hamish, he had sported a hairdo that was technically too long for this institution, but the headmaster had let him get away with it, Ambrose suspected it was mostly because of his family connections. But apparently everything had a limit, and so had Hamish’s mother and the school. Funny he never noticed his ears before, they were red as blood, like most of Hamish’s face, clearly uncomfortable and awkward entering.

“Atwater. What can I do you for?” Ambrose asked, thinking it might be a little too jovial, but the headmaster couldn’t hear him so what was the harm, trying to set a lighter tone, and not all that doom and gloom the child carried with him into the office.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Hamish said so meekly that Ambrose had to strain his hearing to realize he even spoke. God this child would be the death of him. And Ambrose just knew this was going to be excruciating, and he ought to just sit the youngling down and ask him to speak up, unless he wanted a headache within the next fifteen minutes.

Hamish fidgeted to the point where Ambrose felt sorry for him, “Sit, please.” He gestured to the chair closest to Hamish, and across the table from him. “Just put the books and notes on the floor. I’ll tidy it later.” They both knew that was a lie, but it didn’t matter. Ambrose looked at Hamish trying to maneuver the pile of history books about Greece and some papers that needed to be graded, stuck in there between the worn pages, full of folded edges and strips of paper as bookmarks. [something needs to go here]

– Cornelius Kalsbeek-Cobb

Cornelius still struggled with the language, English was difficult, it was like they forgot half the words that would make up a sentence. He looked up at the afternoon sun, letting the newspaper fall to his lap. Life was good, he loved it here, and even if his mutti had been very upset with him leaving his home country, following his dreams of making it big in law, he wanted to be supreme judge, and something like that didn’t happen in that little village where he was from, it was like they discovered bricks and the wheel a decade ago. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were still ready to burn the wise woman from the neighboring village, just because it was tradition. He didn’t care for small village minds, and he didn’t care for traditions.

He could hear his wife yell at someone in the kitchen, he didn’t hear a reply, so he guessed her ire wasn’t directed at the maid again. So, he came to the conclusion that Esther was speaking on the phone, more like yelled on the phone, and for a moment he had to suppress a giggle as he imagined her just yelling, there was no need for the phone, because they could hear her five parishes away. His smile died as he realized she was talking to her ex-husband. And even if Cornelius had never met him, Efrem. He knew she hated him with the intensity of hellfire itself.

Cornelius had first met Esther at the hospital, he had been there to visit his ailing landlady, frankly afraid that he would be homeless should she die. It was hard to find somewhere decent to live in the city, and he wasn’t prepared to travel from outside the city, even if it was easier by far to find a place to live out there. He had made a quick assessment and it was too dear, he would bleed money on travelling unless he bought himself a car, and he suspected that would be even more money out the window, since the streets were still cobblestone most places, and that would ruin the car in the long run. So when he added the cost of buying a car, maintaining a car, and repairing said car – it was still cheaper to rent a room with mrs Smith, where he could walk to work in twenty minutes if he kept a brisk pace.

Mrs Smith did die.

Consumption had gotten her, and in her ripe age there was nothing the doctors could do save keep her dazed and wait. Cornelius had felt it was strange, that for all their combined knowledge and skill, they couldn’t prolong that sweet old lady’s life with six months, or maybe just long enough for him to find different lodging. Esther had been there, hospitalized with her then young one, Ophelia had not been one year old at the time. He had left the dead woman’s bedside, and went to the Hospital hallway, his mind in an uproar and unsure what to do next, because if he couldn’t care of the basic necessities, he would lose his job. And he worked far too hard for that! And to live in a hotel was expensive, then mutti would have to be without the money he sent her monthly, and then he worried she simply wouldn’t survive the winter, unless some villager took pity on her. Filled with despair and a mind full of chaos, he noticed a young woman sitting further down the hallways, crying so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. He decided to go over to her and try and console her, and that was when he met Esther.

Ophelia was a different chapter, she was five now, and still had no language besides grunts. Moonfaced and simple, that was the words he would use to describe his stepdaughter. Many people warned him against marrying Esther so fast, that he ought to court her and wait for that monstrosity to die, she would still be young and able to bear healthy children. And if he had to marry her, for citizenship and a place to live, the right thing would be to deliver Ophelia to one of the newly build insane asylums, where she would live out her life, strapped to a chair with a hole for waste. Cornelius wasn’t exactly happy about the idea of having that malformed child burden in his life, and he understood in some roundabout way, why Efrem had done what he had. His insanity he didn’t understand, for Cornelius was a rational man, basing his opinions on facts, not midwife tales.

As much as Cornelius was apprehensive in regard to Ophelia, and he would still call her ‘it’ when Esther wasn’t present, but so did everyone else, including the maid and Esther’s family. They of course blamed Efrem for this scandal. Cornelius wasn’t so sure it was anyone’s fault, he thought it was perhaps just one of those things. It happens. Not that it would happen to him, but maybe Esther and Efrem had some sickly genes when combined. Esther had a sister who had healthy, normal children. And Esther had Ophelia, the drooling moron. Truthfully it wasn’t Ophelia’s fault either, and what Efrem had done surely did not set the poor child on a better path in life, than the miserable one she was already given. With a little luck the urchin choked on something she stuck in her mouth, and if he had to be patient, a doctor he had met through work, told him that those people didn’t live to see past twenty.

Cornelius had waited for a year, then two years, and Ophelia was still very much alive. At one point Esther had chosen to go sit with Ophelia, who made louder screeching noises than normal, probably frightened of the dark, Instead of living up to her wifely duties. leaving Cornelius alone in their bed, aroused and frustrated, not just one night, but several nights. He had even begun to entertain the idea of strychnine, he had seen many a supposed murderer, both men and women, getting away with it in court, just because it could not be proven. Arsenic was of course better, but so expensive, and they had strychnine right here, in the house. No one would know, he could add some to her afternoon pudding, she couldn’t eat solids because her teeth had come out wrong, and also, he suspected that some had broken due to her gashing her teeth all the time, like a huge spastic fish caught on shore. Thing with Ophelia was that she was a zero benefit spastic fish, and had Esther just done what wives were supposed to, then maybe he wouldn’t have these thoughts. He knew it was wrong, and he knew that it was dangerous, the punishment for killing a child was severe, but maybe the judge would be lenient when they learned that it was a grotesque sprog that ought to have been a miscarriage, if God had been merciful that day Esther had conceived. He thought so, because to have such a burden in your household was more than you could expect of any man. Cornelius did not think it made a difference if he had sired that child or not, not that his seed was sickly, not at all. And he was sure Esther’s womb was able to carry a healthy child, his child. If only she would even consider having another babe, but as it was now, he was not even allowed to touch her, unless she was bleeding and therefore could not conceive. And every time he could smell her menstruation, that sickly sweet smell of her uterus discharging a unfertilized egg, he thought that it could have been his child, that specific egg that Esther chose to let run out into what Cornelius thought looked like a diaper contraption for adult women, he thought that this  baby whose lifeblood was now used as lubricant for him, could have been the most beautiful daughter, long curly blond hair like his, or maybe it would be mahogany like Esther. It could have been a genius, and he would have saved the world from hunger, traveled into space, or maybe found eternal life. What he knew was that every time she laid there like a corpse in the dark, her nightgown hoisted a little so he could find the right spot to enter, he thought about all those bairns that was not allowed to live, healthy, clever, strong children – his children. And Ophelia, she continued to breathe with a big idiotic smile on her fat face.

How he hated Ophelia.

– Ruben Aukaneck

He looked at the form again, it was an anonymous citizen’s report in regard to someone called Ambrose Kenan, he was apparently a teacher, Ruben felt he could have a whole file cabinet just filled with complaints about ‘immoral conduct’, he wasn’t the chastity enforcer, he was a constable and a proud one at that. He used to solve murder cases for crying out! One misstep and it was all taken away, and so he found himself in this tiny office space, which he shared with another constable, that foreigner with the silly accent. He must be from somewhere where they ate their young and fucked their cows, Ruben was sure of it. He hated the way he talked, he hated the way he smelled, and he hated the chipper way he would greet him, like they had known each other for many years, and were mates. They were not. Constable Kalsbeek-Cobb was a bump on the road, something Ruben had to endure to get into the Commissioner’s graces again.

The bitterness and resentment that had taken place inside Ruben, left no place for anything but. He would show them! After all, he knew what he had done. It had not been on purpose. He had not thought himself so inebriated as he obviously had been, he had always enjoyed a pint or a couple. Ruben liked to think of himself as a free-spirited person, his parents came here from down south, which was also the reason that he was a little darker skinned than the general populous around where he lived and worked. He had never had any problems, none. Not until everyone and their dog decided to descend upon this fine country. Then the comments started, in the beginning he didn’t care, he decided to take it as office banter. Only it wasn’t. Ruben felt the tone became directly hostile at times, and then Corny the Potato farmer had walked in the door.

Constable Kalsbeek-Cobb upset the world order. Ruben stumbled, he fell, and there was nothing to catch him.

He had promised the Commissioner that he would never get into a car under the influence again, and he was aware of how it looked on his record. It was an easy promise to make, Ruben had been desperate and scared of losing his income. He didn’t want to live as his parents did, making their living of deceiving citizens of whichever city, town or village they were in, people thought his mother a gypsy, she was not. They were not even remotely related to any gypsies as far as Ruben knew, his grandparents had been sheepherders and housewives. Not fortune tellers and thieves.

Noble trade that, sheepherder.

And here Ruben was, sitting at a tiny desk in what he suspected might have been a utility closet, before the war. Dealing with the change in all the Constables daily tasks, and responsibilities. Suddenly this was most important, their first priority, to find the people who were immoral, and the general population loved it. They had a scapegoat, they needed someone to blame when this whole country, maybe even this whole continent went down in flames. It was the queers, and the heretics. Ruben placed the form in a folder in his file cabinet, labelled Kenan, Ambrose. If the file folder got much larger, he would be forced to give it attention. And he didn’t want to, not because he knew this Mr. Kenan, nor was he worried that he would corrupt the young. For all Ruben knew, it was harassment from another teacher in the faculty who was jealous of his paycheck, or his office.

Ambrose absolutely loathed when the duty roster rotated, and he would have to come to the station in the middle of the flaming night, sleep deprived and bothered, but then again it might be on purpose the Commissioner did this to him. Then they were teamed up, four and four. The Commissioner was sleeping at this time of the night, of course he was. So it was some unlucky soul who had to assist in making sure that the teams are as the Commissioner dictated, and to give each team a stack of warrants. Ruben shuddered when he thought about that stack of arrest orders, every single piece of neatly stacked paper, was a person, it was somebody’s parent, uncle, aunt, child, spouse.

Each team was given a set of keys to a bus, and expected to find these poor sods, and take them back to the courthouse for interrogation. Lately Ruben had heard murmurs in the break room, that they were given the order to shoot if they were met with resistance, be it from the person they came to arrest, or a bystander.

Ruben stood deep in thoughts, slamming the file cabinet a little harder than intended, it made the poor plastic flower he brought from his old office, wobble and threaten to fall. He gently steadied it with his hand, waiting for it to settle. What if there were children? Were they expected to perhaps shoot the parents if they resisted arrest, and leave the children orphans? Or did they shoot them too? Sparing them from a life in the poorhouse.

He frowned, poorhouses were an atrocity, they were shit-speckles in the face of God, and to call them freckles, did not make them so. They were shit-speckles still. He remembered reading in the newspaper about reopening them, giving the most destitute a chance at finding work, at surviving. But at the end, the buildings were just stone caskets, holding the sick, the dying, the crazy and those not able-bodied. Prolonging their suffering with perhaps some months. Crime at the poorhouses were rampant, and the Constables did nothing, they would not even respond should a call come from a pauper. Yes, that word had been reinstated in everyday language, it belonged in a different time – and yet here they were, the neo-paupers.

A wave of unrest washed over him, he felt a familiar ache in his muscles which made him glance up at the coocoo clock on the wall, he could slip away just for a moment. No one would notice. He quickly grabbed his letter opener with a firm grip, sticking it, and the hand holding it, deep in his pocket. His mother once told him there was a trick to not being caught; always act like you are late to somewhere important, they will not stop you, but you have to look busy. She had said in a serious tone, do you understand me laddie? Always walk with a purpose if you do not want to be noticed. He had, and he did. Maybe some sins were genetic after all.

He clutched the letter opener in his pocket, even meeting the idiot Corny in the narrow corridor. Ruben had just nodded “excuse me” and mumbled, “late.” As he pushed past the potato farmer, before he could start talking. Ruben did not want a conversation with him, not now, not ever.

Walking down the street, same brisk stride, he came to an alley, it was dark and smelled of shit and garbage, it was the alley he wanted to find, the place he had hurried to. He took the letter opener with clammy hands, cursing himself, both for lying to the Commissioners face, but also for letting himself stoop this low, if his grandpapa could see him now, his grandpapa who had spent his life herding sheep in the mountains, who had only known to the worry of losing a sheep, and how he should fight off a hungry predator destined for lamb meat. Ruben was no herder, unless you counted bedbugs, which did not obey his commands, they ate him all the same, he even said please. Filthy vermin. He found the loose brick and used the letter opener to assist him, getting in where his desperate, clammy fingertips could not. A part of him, muted in the back of his mind, his brain screamed in wild panic like an animal trapped, why was he not worried? Why did he not open his eyes and see? But it was all drowned out in the feverish quest for the tiny tin he hid in this brick wall. Finally, the brick fell out, and he reached for the tin, there wasn’t much left, but there was enough for now and he would worry about running low, after, later.

Clutching the tin, he let himself slide down the wall, not caring who might have pissed there. A warmth and soft hum spread from his middle out into his extremities, he sighed. A part of him missed the days when he would masturbate like a maniac when the high increased, but he couldn’t be bothered anymore. Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he had masturbated at all, had it been months, maybe a year even? No matter, it was not important. He sighed softly. Bliss, it was the best word he had for it. Never had he set out to be addicted to morphine, it just happened. He had met this girl, she had been wild and free, everything he wished he were, everything he wanted to be.

Falling like Alice in wonderland, deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole, because holding her hand, her boyfriend’s hand, and his other lover’s hand. She had made love to him, while he was escaping in a tangled mess of lost time and soft skies.

Her name was Laudanum.

– Efrem Von Musgrave

He was moments from pacing, he repeated the stars in the Ursa Major to keep collected. He heard voices outside his office, they were late. Efrem had always been a stickler for punctuality. He answered with a loud ‘Yes. Enter, please.” When the knock came on his thick wood door.

Watching as Ambrose and Hamish entered, Ambrose the necessary evil, and Hamish the sweet lamb to the slaughter. If only they knew. If only. Efrem’s smile widened. “Gentlemen,” Efrem said softly and gestured at the chairs set out for the occasion. “You are free to help yourself, should you want a drink.” He watched Ambrose get up and make himself a hearty drink before he sat down at last. Strange to see Kenan this haggard, Efrem wondered what happened, why was there dark circles around his eyes, frankly quite off-putting. He could have been out indulging himself in illicit dealings with the darker side of town, Lord knew he himself, had been known to slum it once in a while, just to feel alive.

“You called us here?” Ambrose finally said, Hamish still silent, shooting stolen glances up at the frightening painting of Von Musgrave Senior in all his intimidating splendor.

“I did” Efrem said, placing a very common, inconspicuous book on the table between him and the others. “This is for you,” he said and pushed it towards Ambrose, “It was very expensive and hard to come by.”

Ambrose placed a hand on the leather cover, and pulled it towards him, he hardly bothered looking at the text on the front, expecting it to be yet another book on ancient curses. But when his eyes finally settled on the text, they widened, and he lovingly let his fingertips touch the indented letters as if making sure it truly was what it said, “The Silent Song” Ambrose mumbled as if it meant something to anyone else in the room. He looked almost breathlessly up at Efrem. “Where did you procure this? It is a book of legend, like the Necronomicon.”

Efrem smiled proudly, “That is for me to know.” He looked at Hamish, “I asked for you to join us, because Mr. Kenan is just one person.” He paused and chose his words with care, “I am not prepared to wait another year for results. So therefor I decided that in return for that book, Mr. Kenan will take you on as his assistant.” Efrem looked from Hamish to Ambrose, “Do I make myself clear gentlemen?”

“Yes, sir.” Hamish said barely audible.

“Yes, sir.” Ambrose said a little louder, unable to keep out a twang of resentment.

“Is there a problem Mr. Kenan?” Efrem asked, noting the edge to Ambrose’s answer.

“None, sir.” Ambrose said, still caressing the book.

“Marvelous, we are in understanding then.” Efrem smiled, “As I understand it, you are at student at the university where Mr. Kenan teaches.” He pierced Hamish with his gaze, enjoying how the youngster squirmed.

“I am, sir.” Hamish said with a tiny nod. Speaking more to his hands in his lap than to Efrem.

“Great, then I will leave it to the two of you.” He chose to slam his desk drawer hard, making both men on the other side of the table startle. “Right?” He laughed merrily, or maybe it was a little sadistic, he didn’t know.

“Hamish, please leave us, I have business with Mr. Kenan, alone.” Efrem said, noting how Ambrose’s entire body turned rigid, even if he could tell that the teacher tried to hide his unease with shifting in his chair to a more comfortable position. “Wait outside please, I need to speak to you privately as well.”  

Hamish left without a word, and Efrem got up and locked the door, Ambrose’s unease now so intense that he could feel it in the room. That was good, because then he had the little queer right where he wanted him. As emperor Nero had said, Oderint, dum metuant – Let them hate me, as long as they fear me. Or maybe it was someone else. Ambrose would know this, he was sure. Efrem made them two more drinks, and on his way back to father’s chair, now his chair, he reminded himself. He handed a drink to Ambrose, who took it with a slight tremble to his hands. Even greater, with Ambrose on the edge – he had the upper hand in more than one way. The longer he was silent, the more nervous Ambrose would become, the more nervous and intimidated he was, the more power and control Efrem had. For a moment he entertained the idea of just not saying anything but waiting for Ambrose to break the silence. But time was money after all, and who had the time to sit here until the silly boy found his courage and voice. “So.” Efrem said as he sat down opposite Ambrose, sipping his drink.

“Two years you worked for me, two years Ambrose.” Efrem said, “Do you recall what we agreed upon?”

“I do.” Ambrose said squirming in his chair, “But…” He wet his lips, “It is not an easy task you gave me Mr. Von Musgrave.”

“Oh?” Efrem said feigning surprise, “How so?”

“To prove actual magic Mr. Von Musgrave, that has never been done before, and all –“ He stopped and looked down at the book in his lap, and then back up into Efrem’s icy grey eyes, which would have been breathtakingly beautiful, like a storm at sea, were it not for the fact that they mirrored no emotion. Dull and dead like grotesque doll eyes, or maybe they resembled a mirror more than anything. “The other books were nothing but parlor tricks sir, I am sorry I know you spent a great deal of money on them.”

“Smoke and mirrors.” Efrem said thoughtfully while he ran a finger round the brim of his glass. “I was afraid you’d say that.” He watched all color drain from Ambrose’s cheeks, and Efrem’s smile grew grim. “The magic I need can as far as I have learned only be executed on spring equinox, which is in late March as I am sure you are aware of.”

“But,”

“I have been more than generous, have I not?” Efrem asked, even if he knew the answer, “I have paid you well, do you not agree?”

“Yes, sir, you have.”

“I have.” Efrem echoed, “And I have not questioned you in these two years, having absolute faith in your abilities, discretion and your integrity.” He blinked slowly, still studying Ambrose intensely – he could see in the way Ambrose wouldn’t meet his gaze that his victim knew he was about to turn the thumbscrew, for what, and how, he didn’t know. But he would soon find out.

“True,” Ambrose agreed softly, “You have been more than generous and understanding. And I promise you I have worked hard, I have spent countless hours going over scripts and books to look for something, anything that would indicate that such a ritual as the one you wish to gain knowledge of, is indeed a legit ritual. I have followed leads that turned out to be nothing! I have double and triple checked the translations in case someone got it wrong, and it therefore didn’t seem like it was what I was looking for.” Ambrose was babbling and he knew it, but it was true. “I am on the brink of divorce because I have neglected my wife and children for so long to study, please Mr. Von Musgrave, you must believe me.”

Efrem leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers across his glass which rested against his chest. He believed him; he was sure that Ambrose had done anything in his power not to lose the not unsignificant extra paycheck he received once every quarter. After all he had two daughters that Ambrose for some unknown reason was adamant about getting an education. Efrem did not understand this, they were girls, all they were good for were to marry someone and birth them some children in return, making their husbands feel like real men. Education was not cheap this Efrem knew, and he also knew that Ambrose’s wife liked expensive things, for she was a woman from a good family, she would settle for nothing less. So Ambrose needed this, and that was why Efrem was suspicious of his motives, he suspected that Ambrose would, even if he found the answer that Efrem sought so desperately after, still drag it out another year or three, just so he wouldn’t lose the paycheck, and had to explain to his wife why they had to move to a smaller house in a less nice part of the city, if her daughters wanted education. Efrem somehow wished he could be a fly on the wall for that. “I value your effort, your toil and your sacrifice. But I am afraid, it is simply not good enough Mr. Kenan.”

Ambrose opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked like a moronic fish unable to comprehend why it was breathing on land.

“I need results, and I believe that Hamish will help me achieve just that.” Efrem said, knowing it was a threat, knowing that Ambrose would know exactly what he was saying. And the reason for this was that Efrem knew that his idiotic nephew, whom wasn’t even biologically his nephew. Hamish was his mother’s aunt’s, adoptive child. Only God knew why she chose to adopt a weird sickly child like that, but she did. Maybe she believed it would earn her angel wings when all was said and done. Efrem thought it silly to squander your money and time for something that ought to have died on the floor of the delivery room, unable to survive on its own. Feeble were the word that came to mind when he thought of Hamish, simple and feeble. Perfect for his needs right now, and surely Hamish did not question Efrem’s motives, only glad that someone paid his tuition and paid him attention, no matter how unkind. To ask Hamish to spy on Ambrose would be pointless, he could just as well ask Nati to recite King Lear. No, he needed to put pressure on Ambrose. Hamish would be that pressure, by his very presence. “As mentioned, I recognize your labor Mr. Kenan, but I need results, and we are almost in December, and I need something tangible by February the latest, or it will simply be impossible to make the preparations in time.” He slowly sipped his drink and placed the empty glass back on the table, noting that Ambrose had not touched his at all. “I realize that you might think me heartless, I am not. I do feel a certain responsibility for you neglecting your family. And this is why I will have Hamish report to me once a week, and I ask that he makes the report himself, this way we both get something.”

Ambrose’s grip on the Silent Song was so hard his knuckles had gone bloodless and white. “But I assure you…”

“Listen Ambrose.” Efrem’s voice got hard and serious, which almost made Ambrose visibly cringe. “I have heard enough of your reassurances; they have brought me nothing.” Efrem frowned, and the dim light in the office made him look slightly demonic. “If Hamish does not report progress to me once a week, factual, actual progress. Then I will have to make a report to the department for illicit affairs.” His gaze held Ambrose’s refusing to let him look away. “But not you, your lover. Do not take me for a simpleton Mr. Kenan. And how strong do you think sweet Nati is? Do you think he will not tell them of you when he is desperate enough?” He smiled coldly, “I think we both know the answer to that.”

“I am married Mr. Von Musgrave, surely…”

“Do not mistake my lenience for lack of resolve, Ambrose!” Efrem raised his voice, “I know about you, and I know you are fucking him every chance you get. Which is not as often as you’d like I suspect.” Efrem tilted his head slightly, observing Ambrose again, the poor man, he looked like the life was drained right out. “You must understand that I could care less who you fuck, but I will not be taken for a dullard. You simply have to do better Mr. Kenan, do you understand?”

Ambrose sat stiff as a board, apparently trying to digest the information given.

“Imagine what your poor little wife would say, and think of your daughters, what of them? How would they ever move on from the social stigma of their father arrested and sent to a work camp or worse.”

“Yes.” Ambrose all but whispered. “I understand.”

“Great.” Efrem said with a less than sincere smile. “We are in agreement, and I truly hope that this book holds the answers we need to take things further.” He leaned back in his chair again, noting that Ambrose was rooted to the spot, as were he in shock. “You can leave now Kenan. And do send Hamish in on your way out.”

“Sure.” Ambrose mumbled, very unlike him, forgetting to address Efrem proper, but Efrem suspected that Ambrose might have a lot to think about, and decided to let it slide. “Before you leave, I have a simple request. Oderint, dum metuant?I cannot seem to recall, was it emperor Nero?”

“What? No.” Ambrose said as in a daze, almost stumbling as he got out of the chair, “It was Emperor Caligula. Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, born 31st of August year 12, died January 24th year 41 at the age of 28. Succeeded by Tiberius Claudius Nero Germanicus, also known as Emperor Claudius.” He wet his lips, “Emperor Claudius was succeeded by Emperor Nero.”

“Thank you.” Efrem said holding up his hand, unsure if Ambrose even saw, but hoping it would stop the history lesson.

“Splendid.” Ambrose mumbled, unable to respond in earnest.

“Go home Kenan, you need rest.” Efrem said, finally taking pity on the man, getting up from the chair and crossing the gloomy office to escort Ambrose out of his office.

“Thank you, sir.” Ambrose said blinking as were he waking from a long slumber, “I think I will.”

Efrem stood there for a little while, watching as Ambrose fumbled his way to the stairs, he then turned his attention to Hamish who sat dutifully in a chair and waited. “Come then, boy. Let us have a chat you and I.”

– Hamish Earl Atwater  

He was aware that Efrem found him inferior in every aspect, both intellectually and physically. A lesser man might have been provoked by such a display of vanity against them, but not Hamish. He was not bothered in the least, Efrem could huff and puff, throw around his weight to manifest his power over everyone who encountered him.

But Hamish would just let it happen, not because he did not have a care, but because he might as well try and explain the law of relativity to a Brussel sprout, both were a waste of time. So Efrem wanted him to keep an eye on Mr. Kenan, he could do that, he honestly did not care for either of those two.

Every joint in Hamish’s body was swollen and aching, he had not wanted to ask his mother for money so he could get some relief, and maybe even sleep. He knew she worried more than enough; she had never married but had adopted him as a single parent. He did not recall much of his time at the orphanage, but he recalled her, how happy he had been that she took him home. He loved his mother with all his heart, he would never burden her, and never cause her grief if he could help it.

The medicine that the doctors had given him was much too expensive for her. She would be comfortable, was it not for his damned illness, his thrice cursed joints that would grind, ache and swell to a point where Hamish could not close his hands, or bend his knees. Since no one knew anything about his biological parents, it was hard to tell where he got this from, but the doctor said it was something he was born with, something you could not treat, but only alleviate, making sure that he would live as long as possible, with as little pain as possible.

Hamish stopped by a small alleyway in the dark, his fingers frozen because he had forgotten his mittens at Mr. Kenan’s office earlier. He looked down the alley, it seemed deserted. He took a deep breath and entered the dark alley. He thought about how his mother would live comfortably were it not for him, she would work herself into an early grave because of the cost of his medicine, and his mother was even born into a good family, none of her siblings were forced to work like her. She would wash and mend people’s clothes, her hands rough and ruined from many years of handling chemicals. He recalled her soft hands the day they left the orphanage, and now she could not even knit in the evenings like she used to, because her hands had to be soaked in soap and lard, or they would crack till it bled.

He looked down the alley, and saw a single figure waiting in the shadows, good – at least the junkie knew how to show up on time. Hamish smiled to himself. He wondered what his mother would say, if she knew that the medicine, she worked so hard to provide him, was sold to all sorts of sordid peoples in dark alleys. Sometimes for favors, and sometimes for information.

He wondered what she would say if she knew that her sweet Hamish. Had not been Hamish for a long time.

– Ambrose Kenan

He was still greatly unsettled as he arrived home, it was late, and he was grateful that his children slept. All he wanted was a bath, some food and rest. He needed to collect himself. As he arrived, he found that dim light flickered in the sitting room, Lucille must still be awake. Silently he hung his overcoat on the rack in the hall, and toed his shoes off in the semi-dark, he kicked them in to the wall so no one would fall over them.  

“Ambrose is that you?” Lucille called from beyond the wall.

“Yes,” Ambrose called back, for a moment entertaining the idea of asking who else it could be, letting themselves in at this hour with a housekey. He did not join her in the sitting room, but went directly to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. Since the coal shortage, most of the households had gone back to a cooling cabinet solution, because it was not possible to have a refrigerator running all the time, including them. Ambrose had always hated that specific smell of the ice slowly melting in a closed space, like an abandoned cottage ravaged by mildew, but with a much wetter feel. He missed his cold sandwich meat, and he missed being able to just turn on the light, or the tv after nine.

It was only people like Von Musgrave that could bribe all the right people, to have electricity circumvented to his abode at all hours. Everyone else had a mandatory government breaker installed at their house, directly attached to their connection to the net. This would ensure that you only used the approved amount of power, making sure everyone followed the rules. Ambrose couldn’t be bothered with making an actual sandwich, so he just took some bread and tossed some ham on it and folded it. He let the refrigerator door close on itself, and he turned to look out the kitchen window into the dark. No streetlamps here, luckily this was a good and safe neighborhood. He could see some light flicker from either a candle, or a petroleum lamp in the house on the other side of the street. He ate his sandwich over the kitchen sink, not caring to get a plate.

“Is something wrong?” Lucille asked from the door between the kitchen and the hall, she studied Ambrose eating like a starved child over the sink.

“No, not at all.” He said with his mouth full of bread, he could hear the disgust in the way she sucked in her breath. “Just pondering over life, dear.”

She didn’t answer, she just waited, knowing he wasn’t finished speaking.

Ambrose turned halfway towards her, still leaning against the kitchen sink with his hip, “Do you think, if people knew what they know now. That they would still have voted for Lions?”

Lucille hushed him with a finger against her lips.

“Don’t hush me.” Ambrose sneered, “Well, do you? Do you think they would have voted for that power hungry psychopath if they knew they would have to be without a working refrigerator?”

“Are you drunk?” She asked bluntly.

“I wish.” He answered darkly.

Lucille relaxed a little, and Ambrose smiled in the dark, he wasn’t even going to give her a proper answer. He knew she wouldn’t like the answer he had for her. “I am exhausted, I think I am going to take a shower and go to bed.” He said instead, wolfing down the last bite of his primitive sandwich, hoping that expressing his need for sleep would prompt her to leave him alone.

“There is a letter for you.” Lucille finally said, “it is in your office, it looks mighty important.”

“Tomorrow, dear.” Ambrose kissed her cheek as he slinked past her in the doorframe. He knew she had probably opened it anyways; she had always been much too curious for her own good.

“It is from the faculty.” She said with her back to him, listening to his footsteps stopping dead in the middle of the hall. “I really think you should open it tonight.”

Ambrose shook his head slightly amused, of course she had read it, otherwise she wouldn’t care. “What did it say?” He just asked. Not even attempting to play her games.

Lucille left the doorframe and came over to Ambrose, turning him around so he would face her. “It is a suspension.” She said, “The headmaster delivered it in person this afternoon, he spoke of your conduct.”

“My conduct you say?” Ambrose blinked confused, as would blinking bring forth some recollection of a moment where he had been guilty of misconduct. “I –“

“Dear, must I think for you?” Lucille said sharply, “You have not read the latest curriculum log from the department of proper education, have you?”

“I might not have, no.” Ambrose recalled he binned that stupid thing. He was fed up with new changes every month, and it was always about something that teachers could no longer teach, like creation, sexual education, or global warming. Slowly but surely the department for proper education would eradicate every single factual textbook and replace them with their own gibberish, he missed the days when it had just been the board of education.

Lucille sucked in her breath sharply, as to vocalize her displease without words, “It is mandatory to read it, Ambrose. You are aware of this, right?”

“I know.” Ambrose all but whined like a youngster, “tell me Mrs. Lucille Grace Kenan, how am I supposed to teach them? I got nothing left to teach!” He raised his voice and held out his hands palms up, as had he nothing to show. “I cannot in good conscience teach them that curriculum that I was presented last summer. And with the monthly changes… What will you have me do?”

“I want you to go back to the university tomorrow, talk with the headmaster and find out how you can redeem yourself. Tell him you were stressed, that you had a momentary lapse of reason, I don’t hold the answer for you Ambrose, but you have to do something!” Lucille looked both serious and worried for a moment, “You cannot behave like an egocentric child. think of the girls.”

Ambrose looked away from her and stole a glance into the sitting room. Once Lucille had been watching television all evening, but now she would read, listen to a radio with batteries in, and play solitaire. Strange how things change. “You are right.” He nodded, he didn’t agree with her of course, but he just wanted to go sleep and make this terrible day end.

Lucille opened her mouth wanting to say something, but she decided not to, and just let him go upstairs.

Ambrose felt like he was mountain climbing going up the stairs, she was right, he knew it. It was becoming dangerous to be an open critic, it had not always been so. But these days, he could feel the change in the wind. He ought to do the right thing, for Florence and for Isabella, for his girls.

Stripping his clothes in the bathroom he went and turned on the water in the dark, it wasn’t warm, but it also wasn’t ice cold, it was an unpleasant degree of tepid that made sure his bath was quick. As he dried himself off, his thoughts went to Nati, and a smile spread on his lips, his skin still remembering how the other man felt against it, warm, yielding, and welcoming. Not at all like Lucille, with all her sharp edges and rules. He wrapped the towel around his hips and left the bathroom, entering the dark bedroom. It was as cold as his marriage, very fitting somehow. He just tossed the towel and got in bed, he knew that Lucille would comment in the morning, claiming he was primitive. but right now, he was too tired, and his brain wouldn’t stop running in circles.

He closed his eyes, he ought to do the right thing, he knew this. There in the dark, naked as a babe under his blanket. Ambrose could not lie to himself, this was not just about doing the right thing for the girls, it was doing right by Nati too, and he couldn’t, he wasn’t. He knew the answer, there was a little voice in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away, that kept reminding him, that he did not have to worry himself so, he knew what he had to do. He knew.

Tomorrow, he thought to himself. Tomorrow he was going to read that fucking letter, sort it with the headmaster, maybe he would allow him back on probation? And tomorrow he had to talk with Efrem, there was no way around it, he just hoped that it wouldn’t be bad news.

He wanted to see Nati, they needed to talk, depending on everything – because if the news he had to give Efrem were bad, Nati was in grave danger. And maybe so was he, come to think of it.

Tomorrow he would do right by them all.

– Cornelius Kalsbeek-Cobb

It wasn’t prying in Ruben’s business when they shared the file cabinet. Then why did he feel like a thief in the night, looking over the folders in the top drawer of the cabinet. The top drawer was Ruben’s own, it was his pending cases, or cases that needed to be redirected to a different department. He shifted through it with his index finger, some were mighty thick. There had to be at least fifty or more complaints filed.

Cornelius frowned, why hadn’t Ruben done something? It was his job to make sure these criminals did not run free to spread their filth and lies, surely, he must be aware that he had folders this thick. Cornelius did not think that Ruben’ had not noticed, it was simply impossible – because some folders were held together with elastic band, the folder long since broken. Should he tell the Commissioner? He had to, because what if it would reflect badly on his own performance, that his colleague actively ignored cases, even when there was overwhelming proof, like fifty citizens reports. In order for someone to report, they had to make the time to go to the station and wait for a Constable to have the time to speak to them.  This was surely not done lightly.

Cornelius picked the note out of his pants pocket, the strange and mysterious note that had been stuck to his locker when he came in this morning. He did not recognize the handwriting, but it said ‘Aukaneck is dirty, look in his files’ – When he had read it first, he had laughed a little, thinking it was some sort of new joke the others played on him and Ruben. But the people he had asked if they had stuck a note to his locker, denied it in such a manner that he was almost sure they had not done it. Even the biggest pranksters that would have reveled in his confusion, appeared confused themselves.

Who could have left this note? And were they aware of how serious an accusation this was? Misconduct, bribes. He could hardly believe it! Ruben had always seemed scatterbrained and unstructured, but never greedy, or morally compromised. Cornelius picked up one of the thick files, “Kenan, Ambrose.” He read out loud, opening the file folder he could see on the inlay note that it was all complaints of immoral conduct. A lot of the complaints were anonymous, but some were signed. He saw there were several from a student at the university where Kenan was teaching. He would wait a moment with going to the Commissioner, he’d have to see what this boy Hamish Atwater, had to say first. Imagine if he went to the Commissioner with an accusation like this, and in reality, Ruben had shelved it because it was nothing but empty threats from a disgruntled student. As much as Cornelius believed in the process, he also knew it was laid completely bare for huge consequences for someone, on the basis of someone just reporting for revenge or pettiness. So, he had to talk to this student himself and see if he could tell how sincere it was.

Cornelius grabbed a pen from Ruben’s desk and wrote the name of the student down on his hand. He looked up at the clock on the wall. It was time to go home for the day, but tomorrow – he would get to the bottom of this, somehow.

– Nati ben Haran

Lately Nati missed the times when ‘the exclusive club of extraordinary gentlemen’ still existed, that was what they had called it back then. The gathering – the men that he had met, hiding in secret empty buildings. His family, his friends, his reason for not just jumping off a bridge before he was twenty. He wished he had someone to talk to, someone who’d understand.

The exclusive club had been dispersed a long time ago now, the war on immoral conduct had been a death sentence. In literal sense for some of them. Nati frowned, pocketing his hands as he hurried through the dark streets towards the Ivory Parrot Pub.

Nati had not been there when it happened, he had been working late for Von Musgrave. And sometimes Nati couldn’t ignore that little nagging suspicion that Efrem had known, cause the tasks he had Nati do, had been menial and not something he couldn’t have done the following day. But suddenly it had been of utmost importance to have the mahogany desk polished, his books dusted – and so forth. Nati had never before been asked to do maid work, but yet there he was, polishing that stupid desk at nine in the evening. To be fair, he had been rewarded with a nice dinner, but still – something felt off.  

That had been the evening he had met Hamish.

At first, he had been confused as to why this boy was in Efrem’s office, but when he found that he was related – it made better sense. Hamish had been sweet, funny and kind, and Nati had taken an instant liking to him. He had not treated him like a charity case, but had entertained him with stories from uni, and the Von Musgrave family. And though Nati had thought Hamish might just have been bored, waiting for Efrem. It had been put to shame, as Hamish had reached out to him again shortly after. It seemed like Hamish genuinely enjoyed Nati’ss company, and he wasn’t going to lie – he too enjoyed Hamish’s presence. It wasn’t new that Hamish invited him places – even when Nati’s had confessed that he had no money to speak of and couldn’t return the gesture. Hamish did not seem to care, he had smiled and shrugged – saying something along with ‘I would never expect you to’.

Nati wasn’t entirely sure of Hamish’s motives, surely it wasn’t of a romantic nature, he would have picked up on that. But maybe the youngster felt how lonely Nati was? After all Hamish didn’t seem to have a large circle of friends outside his education. Maybe they were just kindred spirits in that way?

This however was strange, and everything inside Nati screamed that it was a trap. Not that Hamish had ever seemed like he had an evil bone in his body, but Nati was nervous – he didn’t know why. On his way he tried to recall if he had ever done or said something to Hamish that would give him away, or maybe lead to Ambrose. After all, Nati was extra careful, knowing that Ambrose was one of Hamish’s professors. No, he had lived a long life hiding his true self, first because of his father, and then because of the war. And these days, you had to be extra, super careful. People would disappear, just gone. And even their family couldn’t get an answer, if their loved one was sent to a work camp, or worse. Nati did suspect that most was sent to work camps, cause all that labor for the war machine had to come from somewhere.

And this was why his thoughts went to the club of extraordinary gentlemen. They had been so damn careful, but still they had never expected to be betrayed by one of their own. And really it had to be. These meetings were on special invite, never written down, never documented – always just a whisper in the passing. But someone had known, someone who had ill intend. Truthfully Nati didn’t know much, only what the newspapers had reported, but he could read between the lines.

He assumed the gathering had started as normal. And they had probably all thought they were safe in secrecy. And then – the place had been descended upon by constables, making up several teams of chastity enforcers. The news had reported that four had been shot on sight because they had attacked the constables, but Nati had a hard time believing that. This was a group of men from all socioeconomic layers of society, there were miners, and lawyers. Their everyday life not important, they were bound by something else, the need to feel real, and accepted as they were. Nati had heard tales from one of the older members, a person he only knew as Sugar, about when there had been public pubs, just for them. There had been a time, when you could walk down the street, hand in hand with your boyfriend. Madness.

Seemed like the world had just flipped on itself one day. Forcing a whole group of people into hiding. And this group seemed to grow and grow. To begin with it had been the ‘heretics’, those who was not church attending members of society, the new church had descended upon them with fervor. He had not noticed, because he had been a child, and his mother had made them go to church at least once a week. All that death and destruction had seemed so far away.

Until the church decided that it wasn’t enough to unearth ‘satanic persons’, but the more power the church gained – church might be the wrong word, because it was the brainchild of one man. A priest called Eli Lions. He had gained the favor of the people, he gave them hope, he gave them something to believe in, when the old-world structure fell. Something had to give, and Lions had known how to exploit people’s fears. Eli Lions, he was a man of self-importance, just before the war, he had ordained himself – pope. Nati thought it mad.

It had started with the Department of Proper Education, then they had gotten – the Department of Satanic Persecution, the Department of Immoral Conduct, the Department of Excess Consumption, and the newest branch that Nati knew of was the Department of Neighborly Solidarity. Plus, the insane decree of the departments growth to branch out, demanding all citizens who loved Pope Lions, to “volunteer” for the different enforcing teams. Nati wouldn’t be surprised if at some point it would be mandatory rotation, just like jury duty had been, before Lions ascended to power, declaring war on everything, and everyone he deemed immoral or un-religious – both inside their own country, and outside.

Usually, Hamish wouldn’t play cloak and dagger, so this was really strange – Nati wished he had someone to tell where he was going, just as a precaution, but he had none. On the other side, Hamish had never once given him reason to pause, so why now? Nati wasn’t sure, but he had not survived for this long, being a fool – and it had been something in his voice, no his eyes? There had been something about Hamish that had seemed off. Definitely.

That night would be the night, when Nati learned that things weren’t as simple as he thought.

– Hamish Earl Atwater  

Hamish had waited for Nati to show up, he had ordered them two mugs of beer, after all he didn’t want to look suspicious. Nati was late.

When the dark-skinned man finally made his entrance, a lot of the patrons turned and looked, and Nati had behaved like had he studied sociology at uni, perfectly. He had taken off his sixpence and smiled as he looked away from the prying eyes, seeing Hamish at the table. Setting all the patrons at ease.

How he admired Nati’s social skills, all those like Efrem who thought this man inferior, had never stopped to look – or wonder. But Hamish, or rather he who inhabited Hamish along with the young man, was in awe – because he knew what it was like to be an outcast, and how much rage came with it.

Nati sat down and smiled, and Hamish pushed the beer towards him, “Thank you for coming,” Hamish said softly. “I know it’s out of the ordinary to come here, but I needed us to be a far way aways from my uncles reach.” Nati looked up in alarm, but Hamish just took his glass and clinked it against Nati’s glass, “Cheers,” the red head said, sounding like he did not have a care in this world. Licking his lips, Hamish leaned in over the table and whispered, “I like you Nati ben Haran, and that is why I decided to warn you.” He locked eyes with Nati, the other man looked at unease, and was that fear he smelled. Yes, it was definitely fear, and rightfully so.

“I know someone who is a constable,” Hamish said softly, “And I won’t bother you with the how, and why. But you have always treated me like a friend, and so I will return this gesture.” He smiled halfheartedly, taking another sip of his beer. “They are coming for you Nati, please don’t return to your home tonight.”

If it had been humanly possible to drop your jaw, that would be what Nati had done. he sat there with his mouth open, as were he consuming the words from the air between them. Hamish felt sad when he saw involuntary tears form in the corner of Nati’s eyes. Finally, the other man gathered his senses enough so he could speak, and what came out was just a pained croak, not even a real word, or for that matter a syllable.

Hamish took pity on him. “I will sort it with my uncle. You do not have to worry.” He nodded affirmative towards Nati, as if asking him to do so as well. “My uncle believes himself above all this – I assure you he is not. And he will pay the price for is insolence eventually.”

Nati blinked, his brown eyes hardening, as if he saw something he didn’t like inside the other man. “Why…” Nati paused, “Who are you?”

Hamish laughed a little and His eyes softened, “don’t get all paranoid! Plus, I do not have the gift of foresight, and it is true what I tell you – I only know that the enforcers will be paying you a visit, because I know someone who is on the duty roster. He owed me a favor, and I asked him to keep an eye out for anyone I knew.” Hamish moved back a bit, and relaxed in his chair, he knew he was lying the poor kid straight to his face. It was a white lie – sort of. But he could hardly tell Nati the truth.

He needed Nati to stay safe. Because he needed Nati to live, to be his witness, – Hamish’s body was giving out, it had been feeble to begin with.

When he had met Hamish, they had both been desperate. And so, they had formed this very unorthodox union. Usually Valraven would consume its host, – destined for darkness. Once when the world was new, he had been born out from a singular wish, a desperate wish filled with death, hate and revenge. And so, the Nornir had spun him into existence. There had once been more of his kind, but now he was alone. He had been the only one, able to change his ways, once the world was lit up with neon lights, and people did not die glorious deaths on the battlefield. Old gods had lost their purpose, but not he – the Nornir was still telling his story, because hate was eternal. And the stories about how to exercise him were lost to the world, perhaps people like Ambrose would be able to find it in one of his dusty books, but he would also never give it credence.

It was the condition of the curse that was him.

The real Hamish did not wish to be free of Valraven, for he had already prolonged the kids life by several years, even if he also drained it. And Hamish had not cared for old customs, he was dying, alone and unfulfilled. And while a dirty alley was not anything like the battlefields drenched in blood from the past. Then a soul crying out in resentment and anger, would always be his for the taking if he wished it so. If you were dying from an overdose morphine, or an axe in the back – it made no difference. It was all about your essence.

Valraven would not lie, he was all giddy at the prospect of war, death and destruction. But he would honor the deal he had with Hamish. He had given Valraven his body, if only he would treat people fair – treat kindness with kindness, and violence with violence. And then he had wished for Valraven to kill his mother. Valraven had been both amused and intrigued, that this man-child would set conditions for their relations. Valraven was a taker – not a negotiator. But he had been impressed of the boy’s gall, and so went along with it. And he would honor their agreement, because it was something new, and Valraven liked new – after all, this, was why he was still existing, his ability to adapt.

Hamish focused at Nati again, “Will you just do as I say?” He asked, “If you return home, you will die – or be sent off to one of those camps.

“I have no reason not to believe you.” Nati said, his tone guarded and strained. “But why would they come? I have done nothing.”

Hamish sighed resigned to the fact that Nati probably wouldn’t just obey a thinly veiled threat like that, “You don’t want to know.”

“I think I do.” Nati said softly, his eyes suspicious, but also still moist with unshed tears.

Hamish clinked the glasses one last time, both of them finishing their beers. And then he looked at Nati for a long time, as were he trying to read him. “First you must promise me, you will run.” He pulled a pen from his pocket, grabbed Nati’s wrist hard, pulling it towards him, and to his surprise the other man let him. And wrote down an address directly on Nati’s skin. “Go here, promise me that.”

Nati pulled his arm back and looked perplexed down at the writing on his arm. And then up at Hamish, “I will, I know where that is. Now tell me.”

A wide smile spread on Hamish’s face, “And here Efrem thinks you can’t read.” Nati didn’t even flinch, and Hamish continued. “Ambrose is the reason, and you can’t help him. But you can save yourself.” He looked away from Nati, and those damn teary eyes. “Now, we had a deal.”

“Yes.” Nati said in a near inaudible voice.

– Ruben Aukaneck

He wasn’t even surprised when he saw a name crossed out, replaced with his. By now he was sure that someone was trying to push him to the brink of sanity. He hated enforcer duty. And he hated the fact that the precinct he worked at, was appointed as Chastity Enforcers, what he wouldn’t give for riding out as anything but.

But this was just how it was, and if he harbored any hope of getting on the good side of the Commissioner again, he better just do what he was told. And do it well. Until then, he had to live with grueling hours, and slurs on his locker.

There was under an hour till he had to stand attention for the enforcement briefing of the night. He went to his locker again, might as well wash the offensive graffiti off. But as he arrived at the room, he saw several of his colleagues, most of them also appointed night duty as an enforcer, stand around – their faces pale and their eyes wide in disbelief. Ruben noticed they all stood with a couple of papers, hastily clamped. He turned his head and saw one like it hanging on his own locker, stuck on there with tape. At least it covered the graffiti.

Ruben tore down the letter, and started to read, it was a bunch of new decrees, because of the expansion of the different enforcement departments. The very title of the list gave him chills: rules of conduct for the most honored enforcers of chastity, since when had they been most honored? Lions was a madman, he appointed himself pope, and pretty soon he would appoint himself God, like the insane emperors of old. Most of the first page of the decree was about how important they were, because they were the last bastion against human corruption, and Satan’s disciples, how they, and they alone, were the force to keep the general innocent, good and hardworking population, safe. To ensure their immortal souls were not tainted… bla, bla, bla.

Looking up from reading, he watched his colleagues just sitting down, the decree rolled in their hand like were they about to discipline their puppy. They stared right off into the thin air. This was bad! Ruben returned to reading.

And then he saw it, the new law.

Enforcers were dictated, as a part of the process. To take the offender in custody to an ordained priest, from now on, addressed as ‘the Holy Minister of Judgement’, who will decide if the offender is truly lost and therefor sent off to a camp, or if the offender is worthy of repentance and thus let back into society as a ‘reborn’. He looked up again, and over at his coworker, and then he decided to speak up. “What in the nine hells…”

The person nearest to him hushed him, shaking his head.

Ruben fell silent and looked back at the paper. It was like his brain refused to understand what the words meant.

Finally, someone spoke, and in the locker room, with its clean tiles – it sounded like he was yelling. “Good evening.” The person said, and everyone directed their attention at him. The person, someone that Ruben vaguely knew, he thought he was called something ‘tom’, like ‘Thomasson’ or ‘Thompson’. Got up on a chair and held the same paper in his hand as all of them.

“I assume you all read this, but I will go over it, just so we are sure, everyone is crystal clear on what this means.” The man maybe called Thompson said, in a loud voice, demanding attention. The man took a deep breath and opened the letter. “First change is when apprehended, you as a team are responsible for your prisoners, they will still be locked in a cell for interrogation, but it will no longer be a judge of common law that will hear them. And the prisoners are now prisoners of holy war, and therefore have no rights.” He paused and looked out over the men before him, “No matter how they argue, cry or act. Do not give them anything, do not even answer unless you feel you must. They wavered their legal and human rights, the moment they chose to disobey Pope Lions, and God. They are not sorry; they are scared because they got caught.” He straightened up visibly. “So, you stand fast, men.”

“Do we have to stay there?” Someone asked.

“Did you read this?” the man said waving the letter. And the other man in the group looked away and nodded weakly. “Well, you didn’t read it thoroughly enough.” He cleared his throat. “Those of you who picked up on the fact, that you do not take your prisoners to town hall anymore, are right. From tonight, we take them to a special building, blessed by Pope Lions. These are called ‘House of Contemplation and Punishment’, all of these are under the guidance of priests, appointed by Pope Lions himself. They are to be addressed ‘Holy Minister of Judgement’, and they belong to the Department of Illicit affairs like the Chastity Enforcers. The House of Contemplation and Punishment, where you will take your prisoners tonight, is at the old Byzantine Church.” He looked at their confused expressions. “Worry not, there will be someone to guide you when you arrive, show you where the cells are and so forth.”

The constables looked at each other, not sure what to think.

“Secondly, upon arrival. You will stay with your prisoners, and when prompted by one of the other members of the priesthood, you are to take your prisoners up to see the Holy Minister of Judgement. He will see the prisoners by the altar. The only difference from before, is that you will accompany the prisoner, and you will recount your knowledge of said prisoner, including their conduct upon capture. The Holy Minister of Judgement will then, pass judgement. And you will then escort the prisoner to a different cell, according to the punishment given.”

Ruben frowned, but didn’t dare ask what punishments there were, because then he would give away that he had not read the letter to the end.

“This is important!” The man raised his voice even more. “Before we would leave the prisoner with the judicial system, whom had soldiers take over. This is no longer the case.” He scanned the room to see if anyone objected, and subsequently would have to be reported. “The most holy of holiest, Pope Lions, have in his wisdom written an order of conduct.”

“Have he just re-written the fuckin law?” Someone asked, “Can he do that?”

“He can, the Church does not acknowledge the law of man, only the law of God.” The man on the chair said.

Ruben felt like sitting down, all of this reminded him of that old saying First they came for the dullards, and I did not speak out. Because I was not a dullard. Something, something. Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me. How could everyone not see the madness? How did they just accept this guy, the self-appointed pope’s word for law? But true to the ancient poem, Ruben did not speak out, because he knew to do so, would have dire consequences, it was indeed dangerous to be a critic. And he was almost sure that whoever had asked that question, would not have a job tomorrow, or worse.

“Now, as I was saying. It is in your briefing letter, but there are three types of punishment, and all three is yours to see through. With that I mean, should the prisoner be judged to the camps, you will escort said prisoner to the appropriate cell, before entering, the prisoner will hand over all of his belongings to you, you shall collect this in a box situated by the cell door. And then upon locking the prisoner inside, carry the box down to the correct storage, for future incineration. The incineration of the prisoners’ belongings, is however done by lower tier members of the Department.” He looked at an older constable who silently sat down.

“Should the prisoner be judged to redemption. Yes, I am aware this is new, but the Holiest believe that some of his wayward children, in their hearts were led astray. And therefore, can be redeemed, and released back into society.” He smiled swiftly, a cold quick smile, that resembled a tick more than a real smile. “They will be taken to a different cell, and remember for the time being, there will be members of the Department there to guide you, along with proper signs, so you will not get lost with your prisoners.” He turned over a leaf of the letter in his hand. “Ah yes, redemption. You will straight away take this prisoner to the appointed cell, and then go to the member of Department situated there, you will record the prisoners name, and code for their crime. For you, because you are Chastity Enforcers, the code will always be ‘purity’. It is demanded of you to stay there, and wait for a Punishment Enforcer, they too are with the Department. You will then collect your prisoner and follow the Punishment Enforcer to their office, and there help him strap the prisoner down. It will then be up to the Punishment Enforcer if he needs your assistance or not. Should he need it, you will stay and support your colleague any way you can, until his job is done. Should he not need it, you can idle outside the door in the hall, until he calls upon you. And then you will aid in undoing the straps, and guide the Reborn, note it is important to no longer address these people as prisoners, but Reborn, to the nurses’ station. This too you will receive help to find, in the coming weeks, but otherwise you will find proper signs. And when the Reborn is in the gifted hands of the nurses, you may leave. If you have more prisoners, you will go back to the cell where your team left your prisoners, and if not, you may return home. There will be no reports.” He looked at the crowd, “What?” He grinned stupidly, “I had expected a cheer, did you hear that? No more writing up last minute reports!”

A less than felt ‘hurrah’ came from the crowd, and more people found somewhere to sit, before they simply fell over.

“Lastly,” The man said, “Should the punishment be conscription, you will take this prisoner and guide them to the appropriate group cell, there the prisoner will strip down, and you will again collect the prisoners belongings in a box, however upon locking the prisoner inside, you will carry this box to the member of the Department present, and they will write up a letter of conscription on the spot. You will be given a new box with a uniform, including underwear and boots, and the Department member will then place the prisoner’s personal belongings inside the box, such as jewelry, wallet and ID papers. You will also take the conscription letter and carry all this back to the cell and call upon the prisoner. Hand the box and letter to said prisoner and watch them as they clothe themselves in the garments of our most brave. You will then guide the Devout, note it is important not to address this person as prisoner, but Devout, to the correct room, where they will wait for the next train to the frontline. As soon as the Devout is settled in the waiting area, you may leave.” He looked out on the crowd, “So to simplify this, if your prisoner is judged for work camp, you will take them to the subdivision of the Department of Contemplation and Punishment, called Workers for Enlightenment, Level 1. The members working there, are lower tier members of the priesthood, and you will address them as Enlightenment Enforcers. And is the judgement Redemption, you will take them to Level 2 of the Department, called Reeducation for Dignity, the members there are also lower tier members of the priesthood, except the Punishment Enforcers, who are priests, ordained on equal footing with the Holy Minister of Judgement. The ordinary members you will refer to as Dignity Enforcers, and the Punishment Enforcers, which is self-explanatory. Lastly there is the level 3 of the Department, called Sacrifice for Illumination, which is members of the church as well, those you will address as Hope Enforcers, and the staff you meet at the waiting area, those are from the Army of the Holy Light, and you will address them as, Sir.” He took a deep breath, “Are we clear?”

The group mumbled a yes. And the man smiled. “Oh, before I forget, I am Thomas Stamp, but you will address me as Administrative Chastity Enforcer. Since the Holy Minister of Judgement in our precinct, have appointed me to be the enforcers manager, this means that it will no longer be the Commissioner who will appoint roster duties, or evaluate on your performance. It is me.” He smiled and clapped his hands, “Thank you gentlemen, now get to your trucks.”

Ruben watched as the obnoxious midget jumped from his chair and walked out with a strut. God, he hated these corporate motherfuckers, he was sure this asshole secretly used his entire damn paycheck on hookers and blow. And then stood there with a straight face, expecting to be worshipped. This was definitely going to suck, and if the mood in the room was anything to go by – he was not the only one who felt like that.

 – Cornelius Kalsbeek-Cobb

Cornelius sat in his study, trying to ignore the howls and grunts from the malformed lump of flesh, his wife called her child. He reached out and turned up the radio a little, the batteries would need to be changed soon, the sound was blurry in some strange way, like the opposite of crisp. He eyed his candle, well it would last for some hours yet, all was good. Sipping his lukewarm coffee, he returned to the letter he had gotten at work. He read it again, and wondered secretly why there wasn’t a department for gimps and freaks, just putting them out of their misery with a boltgun, like cattle.

It had been months since Esther had let him touch her, and quite frankly Cornelius was fed up. He had not married this beautiful woman, just to sit there and wait for her to leave on errands, so he could fuck the maid. She wasn’t pretty by any stretch of the imagination, but she was limber, he had to give her that. Also, she never said no, not even when he made her do things that would have other women reject him. His favorite was still to fuck her while she was working, he loved seeing her trying to scrub floors, or do dishes – you name it. And the mouth on that one, ah it was amazing. She could probably dirty talk him to stain his pants, if she wanted to. Quite the opposite of Esther.

There had been a time when Esther had found him enthralling, but as soon as he had talked about children, healthy children of course, she had balked. Then he had only been allowed to touch her when she was menstruating, and therefore sure not to get pregnant. Cornelius hated the smell of her menstruation, and he hated that she apparently hated it too, she would just lay there and wait for him to finish. If he had wanted to fuck a corpse, he would dig one up. And now, well now he was even expelled from their marriage bed, because Ophelia had become sickly, she would scream and groan all the time, clinging to her mother like a retarded monkey child. Cornelius would swear her stupid moon face would stare daggers at him, like she knew he was the reason for her pain.

And he was. He had decided to go all out, and pay up for arsenic, because he was afraid anyone would notice the strychnine depleting. And while the maid was fun fucking, he didn’t trust her one bit. He trusted no one to keep a secret like this.

It was harder than he had thought, to sneak it into the little gremlin, he had to change patterns all the time, because for a while he would just add it to her milk in the evening, she would still want a bottle like a damn baby, even if she was almost 6 years old, it was atrocious to watch. Perverse and wrong. But eventually she just tossed the bottle and refused to drink. Cornelius assumed that even if it had the intelligence of a gopher on a good day, it would still make the neanderthal like assumption that milk was bad, because they felt bad after drinking it. So, he had to switch to something else. Admittedly he was a little amused to be outsmarted by a naked chimp. But he would prevail, eventually.

Right now, however, he could not even get close to her if he wanted to – Because ever since her health started to decline for real, Esther did not leave Ophelia’s side, ever. Cornelius wanted to rest, to trust that he had pumped that things system with enough poison to kill a horse, and that he just had to wait. But a nagging feeling told him that Ophelia was more persistent than so, that she was put on this earth to aggravate him to the end.

He sighed and looked down at the letter, he had worked so hard to get to where he was. And while some might be frightened by the pope’s apparent madness, Cornelius was elated, no, more like exalted. He had left his home, his mother and everything he knew in pursuit of new things, power and wealth. And people like Eli Lions was eager to hand that out, to people who showed blind obedience and ingenuity… he could fake both.

He took his cup and swirled the brown liquid around. He had spoken with the kid mentioned in Ambrose Kenan’s casefile, the kid turned out to be none other than the nephew of Efrem Von Musgrave, the fucking media mogul, the man with so much power he didn’t know where to put it. And Hamish, the nephew had an interesting story to tell. He had confessed that Kenan had never been inappropriate towards him, as he claimed in the official complaints, but he had also told Cornelius, that he originally had told the truth, but no one had listened. And so, he had thought that claiming that Kenan had conducted himself poorly, would have someone act. Cornelius had told Hamish that he had found Kenan’s file, and that it had been tucked away, hidden by Aukaneck, and well, he didn’t know why he had told the kid that, it felt mostly like he had been hypnotized or something, or that he had been given truth serum.

Upon hearing that, Hamish had laughed, he had fucking laughed. Said that he knew Aukaneck very well, and that he was not surprised. He didn’t disclose why he knew Ruben, but Cornelius figured that someone like Hamish would know a lot of people. Hamish had told Cornelius that he should wait a day, and then take this file folder to the newly appointed Administrative Chastity Enforcer at the precinct, because really, he needed Kenan to be punished, not Aukaneck. Hamish had been very convincing, and when he had said that the rumors about Aukaneck being dirty was a lie, Aukaneck had some personal problems, but he wasn’t taking bribes, or doing anything immoral. Hamish would vouch for that if he had to. Cornelius had relaxed and seen the logic in the kids words.

Because yes, wasn’t this about Kenan?

The unpleasant thoughts about Aukaneck being dirty, had left Cornelius in a pickle to begin with, so he was eager to believe Hamish.

Hamish had taken the folder, and plucked out a couple of complaints that came from him, he had torn them up, and said that, Kenan should be judged on truths, not lies. Cornelius had seen logic in this too, oddly enough.

And so, he had done as asked, he had waited and to his surprise they had been given this letter, and a message that Enforcement under the most Holy, would go through that little disgusting leech, Stamp. And so, Cornelius had given the folder to Stamp. And had requested that since Aukaneck had been the one who had misplaced this folder, he should be the one to enforce it.  Stamp had eagerly agreed, and since he could see the complaints were older, he accepted the story about the folder falling down behind their archive, and no one had known until now, because Cornelius had seen it when he accidently had knocked that ugly plastic plant over.

Stamp had believed him.

Cornelius would have to have a man to man with Aukaneck eventually, but not tonight. Tonight, Ruben would be out righting his wrongs, being forced to bring in Kenan, and let the House of Contemplation and Punishment deal with how guilty the man was.

Who the benefactor of the post it was, he didn’t know. But he would thank him if he could.

– Ambrose Kenan

He had gone to the headmaster, and while he had been a little worried upon reading the letter of suspension, he had not been frightened, not yet, for it had not been threatening, more like professional and smooth as an eel. Ambrose suspected it had been some sorts of PR assistant that had typed up a standard letter, for people like the headmaster. No way Ambrose believed that the headmaster himself, or his braindead secretary had written this. He had still been in good spirits as he had announced his visit to the secretary, who to his surprise actually had gotten up to make the headmaster aware he had visitors.

His good spirits were however crushed, hard and fast. The headmaster had told him, no not told, demanded; That Ambrose emptied out his office and told him to deliver all books borrowed in the library to the librarian, and should books not be accounted for, they would come out of his last paycheck, and should that not cover it, he would be presented with a fine. Same went for damage to inventory, should the janitor who would go through the room once cleared out of the mandatory stuff, deem the inventory damaged or broken, that too would be on Ambrose’s dime. He had been told that he could visit the Janitor that would provide him with boxes and bags to transport and remove personal items.

It had been with a heavy heart Ambrose had opened the door to his office, the office that had been his home away from home, even before he had ever met Lucille. He loved this little cubbyhole, and funny he was more distressed about having to empty it out, than leaving his students, or having to tell Lucille and the girls. Ambrose sighed and started to pluck things from the wall, pictures of the girls, and pictures of dead composers, adventurers and kings. He carefully placed the books for the library in a pile, he was sad to see some of them go, and taken that they had been in his possession for over ten years, he would probably have to pay for them regardless, and really did it matter if he gave them back? They were riddled with notes, useless to anyone but him. He caressed one of the worn books, never had he imagined that he had to empty out his office, and he had never in his life thought that he would not have this place to hide, or that he would have to return this book. He tossed it in his private box, those fuckers would just have to take it from his paycheck, it wasn’t like they would manage as it stood. Lucille would have to sell out of her trinkets, it was that simple.

Who was he kidding? She would leave him the moment she learned of this, and he would be destitute. Left with nothing but a box of books – ready for the poorhouse. It was a sobering thought, that everything he had taken for granted, just last week – was up in the air.

It had taken him hours, and the Janitor had even been by to offer assistance, helping him carry the books to the library. And even expressed that he was sorry to see Ambrose go like this, and that he hoped that this suspension would be lifted sooner rather than later. Ambrose had smiled and thanked the man, he realized he didn’t even know his name, and here he was – the only one not treating him like he had the plague. He had seen members of the faculty snoop around, spying on his progress probably to gossip in the break room. For a moment he thought about leaving a note for Helena, the nasty little bitch. She had lusted after this office for as long as she had been employed at the school. And he had a sneaking suspicion that it would be hers, one way or another. He decided to not be petty and take this as a man. The Janitor was right, it was just a suspension, even if he had been made to leave his office – and ergo a sort of demotion. But he was not fired, not yet. At least no one had told him that straight out, and he chose to cling to the hope that eventually he would be allowed to return to work.

He made sure that he emptied out all his desk drawers, pocketing the Song of Silence.

At the end he looked at a box, and a bag, all containing what could be considered his personal belongings, his life; he thought darkly. He ran his fingers across the typewriter, he would miss this. And the prospect of an uncertain future scared him. Everything had always been logical, factual, predictable. And here he was – launched into chaos.

Maybe he should pay Von Musgrave a visit. But first he would have to hand in his ID and keys, and the thought of the secretary’s stupid blank smile, made him fantasize about knocking her teeth out with the stupid paperweight on her desk, shaped as a little baby seal.

Anything to not return to Lucille without a gameplan. Maybe Von Musgrave would give him an office?

– Efrem Von Musgrave

Never had Efrem thought that the words of that pompous mental patient, Lions, would ever really impact his life. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He had been locked in his ivory tower, lost to the world for so long – too long. He had not seen the world had changed around him. He was unsure of when, but as he sat here looking at the two Enforcers, he knew.

This was the end, not literally of course, but of his carefree life. Where all he cared about was making his business run, and indulging in silly boyhood fantasies, such as summoning a Jinn. He did not care what region of the earth it hailed from, but he wanted nothing more but three wishes. Ever since he as a child had read about the Jinn, a spirit able to grant its master wishes, he had wanted that! And what he wanted, he got. He was driven that way, and he had every reason to believe that magic did exist. Even if it was not the sort of magic most people would think of, then he knew there was otherworldly power, cosmic power, in incantations and rituals. Be it Gods or Cosmos, he didn’t care. He just wanted his wishes. And he wished – he wished for the child of woe be unborn.

Never could he rest, knowing that he had created such an abomination. And even if he had denied fathering it, he knew it to be so. When Esther had conceived, they had been madly in love, and while he would not even say her name anymore, save to spit it out in a curse. He had once wanted to build a future with her, to love her till their lives ended. And then, then she had given him that monstrosity, and claimed that he ought to love it as a daughter. But there was no way Efrem could accept that, not only because he refused to believe that he could carry genes that would create this thing. And it scared him, not that he would ever admit it to anyone but himself, but he had been dead frightened, to think that were he to sire more children, there could be a chance they were broken like that one. What would people think? They would think his bloodline was tainted by inbreeding, or worse. This was why he hated Esther so, she had chosen to nurse her baby, not listening to reason. Efrem had begged her, and he had never begged anyone, not even Father. But he had gone down on his knees, and begged Esther to get rid of it, he could pay someone to leave it out in the barren fields outside the city or throw it in the river. No one would ever know, and they could try again.

Esther had been deaf to his pleas. She had insisted on keeping her child. She had chosen that grotesque creature over Efrem.

And since then, he had looked for a way to undo what he had done. To undo the monster in his personal shadow. And if he was completely honest, he wished he could turn back the hands of time, to have Esther back – to have her by his side. He missed her wit, her laugh, how she knew more than most men who sat down at the negotiation table with her, and he had loved watching her outsmart them all. He was in love with her mind. To say he didn’t miss her body would be a crime, because he did. He was not such a sad git that he would pay for hookers that resembled her, actually the opposite, and when he thought about it – wasn’t that equally sad?

God, he missed her.

And for that, he would hurt her. Break her, humiliate her and crush her soul. If only he had the power to.

This. This had been what had consumed his thoughts for years, he had hired Ambrose who was an expert on ancient historic texts and languages. And to Efrem’s delight, quite the magician with numbers too. But everyone in this fucking city was self-serving, including Ambrose. He like everyone else, wanted money for nothing. And had he been anyone but the perfect person for the job, he would have fired him on the spot. But Ambrose was a brilliant man, with a closet booming with skeletons. Men like that was always easy to buy.

But now, as he watched the Enforcers leave his building, he had to face the truth. He didn’t want to, he just wanted to go hide in his Eden, to watch the stars and dream of a future where he would mold the world.

He was painfully aware, that his head of staff had complained numerous times about the ever-changing decrees, wishing that Efrem deal with it. He had not, something he regretted right now.

He looked down at the booklet sized list of changes he would make to his business, frowning. He hated being dictated how to conduct both himself and his business. But he was no idiot, he knew that he had been torn from his luxury of ignorance for a reason. One of the Enforcers had come from the Department of proper Education, subdivision Truth and Alleviation. He had given Efrem this freaking book – and demanded that he follow it to the point. Most importantly, the Enforcer had told Efrem that articles would have to run through him now, that he and other Truth Enforcers, would set up shop in his building and go through every word, both the written manuscripts for radio, but also every word of the articles for next day’s paper. They would take out anything not appropriate, and certainly also make sure there would be some wholesome shit praising Pope Lions. Efrem had not paid attention to their speech if he was completely honest, because he knew they’d do whatever they wanted to, and he could not do a single thing about it.

The Truth Enforcer had also told Efrem there should be a room for worship, an alter so people who wished to worship during their break, could do so. Efrem had never heard anything quite so ridiculous, but had just nodded, because like with the censorship, Efrem was sure the Enforcer would do whatever the fuck he wanted, call it holy – and everyone would just drop their pants and bend over. Efrem had agreed to let the custodians know tonight, calling them in to work as soon as possible – assuring there would be an office for the Enforcers tomorrow evening. He had agreed to make all the changes the Enforcer had suggested, in their less than diplomatic way, there were a reason they were called Enforcers. They had arrived with ultimatums and final solutions, not suggestions. He had only paused on the issue of giving all of his employees Sunday off, because that meant no newspaper, Monday. The Enforcer was a crafty sort of fella and had suggested that his workers just compensate for this, working extra-long hours Saturday. And Efrem had given in without much of a fight, even if he knew it was a shit plan. Because arguing with the Popes ordained Enforcers was surely the mother of all shitty plans.

The other Enforcer however was from the Department of Illicit affairs, a goddamn Chastity Enforcer, and first Efrem thought that one of his go-to hookers had made a complaint for cash. But no, turns out it was Nati the Enforcer wished to speak to. But Efrem could in all honesty say he had not seen Nati in days, and since Nati had no phone, he had no way of contacting him, unless he wanted to drive down to the slums, which he didn’t. He had assumed that Nati had fallen ill, after all it was cold, and he knew from what Nati had disclosed of his personal life, that he often talked about buying firewood and coal on his way home. Efrem remembered this because he had been surprised that any vendor would be open at the late hours Nati sometimes left work.

The Chastity Enforcer had demanded to see Nati’s personnel file, and Efrem had been between a rock and a hard place, he liked Nati, and he would rather not be without him. But he was also super fond of his own life, and yes, everyone in this city was self-serving, including him. So, he had given it to the Enforcer, hoping against all odds, that he was wrong. That Nati wasn’t home.

He wanted to ask if they had arrested Kenan but decided against it. Unlike Nati, Kenan did have a telephone, and he would have to call once the Enforcers were gone. He didn’t care if he woke up the entire household. He had to know.

Most of all he wanted to know that his Song of Silence was safe.

He shouldn’t have entrusted it to Kenan, it was stupid. But Efrem had only himself to blame, for had he stepped out of his clouds for a moment, he would have known, that the world had become a dangerous place, and nothing was a sure bet anymore.

Surely, they had arrested Kenan, otherwise, how would they know about Nati? Efrem knew he had made this exact threat to Kenan just days ago, but what if it was in fact the other way around? Efrem was actually pretty sure, that Kenan would tell the Enforcers just about anything, to save his children from the poorhouse. Even if that meant selling out anyone and everything around him.

He had to admire the man’s dedication to his children.

Efrem had been lost in thought, looking out at the city skyline. He had to get the Custodians in to work, and because Nati was not here, it meant that he had to go through personnel files, seeing if any of them had telephones.

He had been doing just that, as Ambrose came knocking. Efrem was sure he for a second there had resembled his poor moonfaced child. “Kenan?” He had eventually croaked out. Maybe the Gods smiled at him anyways.

Ambrose had put down a box of what looked like random shit on his coffee table and sidestepped nervously. Efrem could tell when a man needed a stiff drink. “Go ahead,” he just said, allowing Ambrose to go make himself a drink.

Efrem had a million questions but found it generally smarter to wait – never just blurt out what you want to know, let them tell you. And maybe they will indulge things you never in your wildest dreams thought they’d tell you. 

– Ambrose Kenan

This drink was the best drink Ambrose recalled ever tasting, even if it was the semi cheap bourbon, Efrem kept around for non-important visitors, such as himself. It tasted of something he could count on, like something in this world had not gone mad.

“I know I am in no position to ask favors of you, Mr. Von Musgrave, but.” He turned his head and looked over at Efrem who fingered idly through a rolodex, “I was suspended from the faculty today. The headmaster was at my house, my goddamn house!” He lowered his voice again, feeling Von Musgrave sr. judging his outburst with his gaze from the painting.

“And?” Efrem looked up; his interest piqued.

“I have your books, right here.” He gestured at the box, “But I have nowhere to store them, or to continue my work, I can’t take this to my house. My wife would submit me to an insane asylum if she saw half of these titles. And to hide something like this from Lucille, I frankly can’t imagine it can be done.”

“I am listening,” Efrem said feigning disinterest, but Ambrose knew him by now. He knew his little games. And he could tell the other man was on needles and pins – but he didn’t know why, which unsettled him greatly. Efrem was not a man easily shook.

“I need another office, and I was wondering if you…”

Efrem looked thoughtful, before he too got up to fix himself a drink. “Had you asked me yesterday, I would not have hesitated.” Efrem said, his back to Ambrose. “But I was visited by Enforcers, actually you just missed them.” He turned around and smiled bitterly. “The subdivision Department, Truth and Alleviation, is a constant presence here, from tomorrow.”

“Fuck,” Ambrose hissed.

“Indeed,” Efrem agreed. “But my hands are tied.”

Ambrose swirled some of the less than stellar bourbon in his mouth, swallowing it. “But Enforcers work at night, am I right? In the daytime they work other, more normal jobs.” He looked over at the box of books. “Well, most of them anyways.” Placing down his empty glass next to the box, he seemed to speak more to his books, than to Efrem. “I know there was a duty roster rotation at the faculty, but for the time being it was still on a voluntary basis, for the true followers of the Holiest I suppose. But they would serve as Enforcers under the Department for Proper Education, but after their day job. It is all kinds of fucked, to punish people as a hobby, but none the less, it was what some of them did.”

“You could be on to something,” Efrem sounded reluctant to agree but did so regardless. “I can give you a room in the basement to store your things.”

Ambrose frowned slightly. “But?” He definitely sensed, a but.

“But – you have to wait for a little while, lay low,” Efrem said, and there was something in the way his eyes didn’t meet Ambrose’s like they usually would – that instantly alerted Ambrose. “What is it?” Ambrose asked, out of turn and very unlike Ambrose, he couldn’t recall he and Efrem had ever had an actual conversation that wasn’t about something related to his research. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Efrem downed his drink, and instantly went to make himself another drink. Maybe it was an excuse to have his back to Ambrose, but honestly Ambrose would have thought Efrem smoother than that. “I must see what the Enforcers plans actually is,” Efrem said. “I realize they are from whatever propaganda department Lions made, but.” Efrem turned to face Ambrose, he looked uncharacteristically tired, drained of his usual cockiness. “But you can be dead sure, that they’d descend with the whole fucking department of Satanic whatever, and their mothers – within moments, should they discover just one single of these books. And that is why they need to be locked away in a safe place, and also why you should go home and tell your wife that you chose to take a sabbat or quit – or what the fuck would I know. Tell her something she would believe, and something that would make her feel –“

“Safe.” Ambrose finished Efrem’s sentence.

“Safe,” Efrem repeated, “Do whatever it takes, man. But make her believe you are just taking a break, and go play house. Take your kids to the museum, or a park – what do I know. I will find a way to get a message to you when it’s safe to come here.”

Ambrose nodded; it sounded like a solid plan. And his spirits were high again, glad that he could finally return and have an answer of a sorts for Lucille. One that would not send him in a straight line to the poorhouse.

They carried the boxes to the basement, and Efrem unlocked what seemed like a regular utility closet, except it had a bolted door, thick as a brick. And as if he had been reading Ambrose’s mind, Efrem held out his hand, “The Song, please.”

Ambrose hated to part with it, he had hoped to study it more in the early hours when the house was silent. But it was not his book. And so, he begrudgingly pulled it from his inner pocket, and placed it in Efrem’s hand.

Efrem placed it on top the other books in the box, and closed the door, shutting it with several keys, and then swinging the mockup door in place, locking that with a key as well. No one, absolutely no one would look at this, and think it was anything but a janitorial supply closet. Efrem guided Ambrose through the dark basement corridors, using only the emergency lights and a flashlight. “Here you go,” Efrem opened a door, and the bitterly cold night wind swept across them both. “Go home, Kenan.”

“Thank you.” Ambrose said with the most genuine smile he had mustered all week.

Because of the hour there were no public transportation anymore, and Ambrose would have to walk the distance from the Von Musgrave building to his house. He had done it before and knew it would take him about thirty minutes. And in this cold, it would be faster, because he would have to walk as fast as he could if he wanted to keep warm. On his way through the dark and empty streets, he wondered.

If anyone had asked him if this would be his life, if this dystopian nightmare would he everyone’s reality, just two years ago. He would have laughed. At this point no one had heard the name Eli Lions, unless they knew him from his very small parish in the outskirts of the city or was directly related to him. Somehow, he managed to worm his way in, to speak and people would listen. His message was primitive, and perhaps that was why people listened. After all he would not have been the first maniac that had started world wars, just by spewing unfounded populistic postulates to the uneducated masses.

The class divide had been pretty steep, while Ambrose himself had grown up in comfort. Gotten a good education and had in essence never wanted for anything. But Nati for instance, had grown up destitute, a poverty so deep that it would have been impossible for him as a single individual to claw his way out. Mainly because he lacked basic education in every sense of the word. Ambrose knew that Nati could read, and also, he could do basic math, like adding and subtracting, but that was it. People like Nati, would not attend school for more than a couple of years, before their parents needed them to pitch in, or go hungry. To Ambrose it sounded absolutely crazy, but to Nati it had been brutal reality. In truth they haven’t talked too much about their childhoods, and Ambrose only knew the surface level stuff, but even that sounded like it happened on a different planet, in a different life. Had he not known Nati, he would never in his life have given thought to the less fortunate. He would simply never have seen them, besides the beggars at the train stations. But no one saw them, they just walked straight past, mostly afraid they were contagious. Lice, tuberculosis, fleas, syphilis – the middle and upper middle class was ready to believe just about anything about these unwashed, poverty-stricken persons. Ambrose would bet money, that most have just thought them dumb, or bone idle.

Nati was not dumb or bone idle, he had a different kind of smarts, like an uncanny sense for predicting people. And maybe he had predicted Ambrose as well? He liked to think he had, that he had somehow known they were meant for each other.

Ambrose had been deep in thought and had not noticed the van parked a little way away from his house, if he had – he had known to run. But he didn’t, he was thinking about when he met Nati, and how special he had felt, being the object of Nati’s attention. He had expected everyone to sleep, and was not shaken from his thoughts, till he used his key on the door – realizing it was not locked. As the door swung open, he saw two men stand there in the dim light of a petrol lamp. Swiftly he turned, and found that two more men was now behind him, efficiently boxing him in.

“Daddy!” he heard his daughter Florence scream, she ducked out from under one of the men, and he wasn’t fast enough to catch her. She ran straight to Ambrose and wrapped her arms around him, she was crying. For a split-second Ambrose didn’t know what to do, or how to react. When he saw one of the Enforcers lifting his arm to let Isabella through.

Then he knew, he would not return.

Getting to his knees, he wrapped his arms around both his girls. They were crying, but besides that, they weren’t talking. Normally they would be one long string of words, one just following the next, no thought, no context. But not now. Ambrose inhaled their scent, his favorite smell in the world. He loved those two more than anything, more than himself. He had made a promise to them when they were born, that he would be the father they needed, but perhaps not the one they wanted, and had vowed to always be there when they needed him. And when his own tears fell, it was not because of what were to come – but because he had broken his promise to his girls. It was because he had been neither, he had not been the father they wanted or needed, and he would also abandon them here, in the middle of everything. He could not know how their lives would change, but he knew it would, one thing he could for sure predict. They would not be the educated bright academic stars he had dreamt of and worked for. They would be some mediocre bastard’s wife, homemakers, mothers and – They could have been so much more, their future could have been so bright and full of possibilities, had they just had someone else as their father. Not a giant fuck up like him. He kissed them both on their foreheads, whispering to them that they had to be brave and big girls now, and that he would always love them no matter what anyone told them. He desperately hoped they wouldn’t grow up to hate him, but how could they not. Ambrose briefly looked up at the Enforcer standing right in front of him. “Could we perhaps do this outside?”

“Of course,” The Enforcer said, and turned to Lucille who until now had been hidden in the shadows of the living room. “Please collect your children Mrs. Kenan.”

Ambrose stood up and gently pushed the children towards their mother. He avoided Lucille’s gaze, not sure if the Enforcers had read the entire list of transgressions, or whatever it was, to her, to his family. Another Enforcer turned to Lucille  and informed her that she would receive an official letter from the House of Contemplation and Punishment, and with that, she could apply for a divorce, free of charge, and free of social stigma, plus a generous compensation from the Holiest, which were three free meals for herself and her children at the local chapter after service, on three separate occasions, of course.

Had it not been ridiculously inappropriate; Ambrose would have laughed.

– Ruben Aukaneck

He hated this, he hated finally seeing the man he had hidden away in paper form for so long, stand there in the middle of his own tiny hallway looking so lost. Ruben would never tell, but he had hidden his files, not because he thought Kenan was innocent, but because he was a teacher, a history teacher. And really it had seemed like his only transgression was a secret affair with a man. Seeing his wife, Ruben sort of understood. She seemed as frigid as the tundra.

When they had waited, Ruben had spent time talking to the children, there was no reason that they grew up thinking their daddy was a bad man. He knew it was not exactly what the church would say, but he was not the church. The others seemed affected by it as well, and he could see the badly hidden doubt in their eyes, they all felt like this was wrong. But they did as they were told, they had a job and they were going to preform it, damned be.

Kenan’s children seemed like clever girls, clearly, they had a lot of their father’s wit, once they relaxed a little, sure that the Enforcers would not kill them on the spot. They started to tell them about the stars, constellations and how you could always see the northern star. This was why sailors to this day would navigate after that, should their navigation tools break down. Ruben wished he had had educated parents like this.

And as the others silently guided Ambrose out of the house, Ruben turned to the girls. He squatted down and looked at them with a serious face. “Children,” he whispered, “Never stop learning, never stop questioning, and never stop being amazed.” He smiled, and ruffled their heads, nodding at Mrs. Kenan as he closed the door behind him.

He silently got into the van with the others, and because he was last, he had to ride in the back with the prisoners, keeping the peace in the windowless hellhole. Most sat like Kenan, silently deep in thought. And Ruben couldn’t help but to wonder if he would do the same, or if he would be one of those to freak out, and try to escape the van, any means necessary. They had seen every type of reaction, from fainting to trying to claw their face off.

They picked up nine that night, Ambrose was the last. And the sun was almost rising as they made it to the Byzantine Church. There was no need for handcuffs, because even if none of the prisoners had ever been in this situation before, word travelled fast. And they knew at any sign of resistance, they would be shot dead. Most of them had probably lain in bed and heard it happen to someone else.

Ushering the prisoners out, they led them to a cell big enough to hold double the capacity. Above the door it said Purity & Chastity, and Ruben figured it was more of those damn cryptic virtue words that the pope loved so much. But as they were informed, this was the cell given to the Chastity Enforcers of this chapter. Ruben looked around, he saw other groups outside the cells, some chatting and smoking. Others standing around with their eyes closed, looking mostly like they were asleep while standing. He knew exactly how tired everyone was, and maybe that was a strategy in itself. Because when the Enforcers just wanted this over and done with, their empathy was at an all-time low. And then they would have less room for compassion and errors.

Ruben didn’t quite know what to expect from this new process, but he would soon find out as a choirboy looking person called Ambrose’s name, looking expectantly at the eight Enforcers standing about. They were still waiting for the third team. “That would be mine,” Ruben said, unsure if that was the answer the person wanted.

“Well, fetch him.” The person said in a bored tone.

And Ruben turned to the cell door, waiting for his colleague with the keys to open it. Had they ever been told how to address these members of the priesthood correctly? He didn’t think so, but if he wasn’t mistaken, they were probably called something silly and pretentious like Salvation Enforcers, or Keepers of the True Path, or something third, which Ruben reckoned was so absurdly braindead that he couldn’t even make it up. “Kenan!” He called out into the dark cell stepping aside as the black-haired, ghostly pale man, came forth. Ambrose looked up at him, and his light brown eyes looked almost cat like, or demonic in this light. This fucker was definitely born in the wrong time, and in the wrong city. “Come along.” Ruben let Ambrose step out into the light of the corridor, noting a tiny flinch from the otherwise calm man, as the door slammed shut and locked behind him. Ruben looked over at the choirboy for further instructions. And as did the boy catch the silent confusion, he started walking and so did Ruben and Ambrose.

Ruben wanted to tell Ambrose he was sorry, that he had tried to hide him in the never-ending piles of paperwork, and that he had some absolutely amazing children. But he dared not, because even if he was on the Enforcer side of this equation, it could swiftly flip. So, he walked next to Ambrose in silence, both following the boy through winding stairs and narrow corridors.

The church room itself was beautiful, bright colors, frills, flowers and incense to dull your senses. The Holy Minister of Judgement stood there by the altar, and the boy ushered them both forth, while he stayed behind, closing the heavy door behind them. Ruben looked over at Ambrose, and he could see the other man’s jaw clench, and his lips quiver a little. He was scared shitless, and who wouldn’t be? Ruben was feeling apprehensive himself, and he wasn’t even the person accused. Whoever had thought up this concept was great at psychological terror.

“Glorious day.” The priest said.

“Glorious day.” Ruben repeated, unsure if that was expected. He felt a little like giggling, cause this all felt terribly scary and silly, like he was supposed to know the secret password to some messed up brotherhood’s poetry club. When the priest just looked at him expectantly, Ruben recalled that he was supposed to swear on the holy book. And so, he reached to the left where it was laying closed up on a lectern. The priest nodded, so Ruben assumed it was the go-ahead. He placed his hand on the book and swore to tell the truth. Which they probably all knew he wouldn’t, because if he did – this whole system would be useless. There was no room for truths here, only accusations and punishment. And while Ruben felt sorry for Kenan, then he was not about to give up his own freedom for mouthing off a priest.

Ruben produced the list of his prisoners, it had their names, and addresses and a list of what they were accused of. He was feeling sort of relieved they were bullet points, and not page upon page of copy paste shit from the original files, this meant it would be over fast, and honestly, he didn’t feel like being in here one second more than he had to. He looked down at the paper and then up at the priest. “This man here; born Ambrose Kenan, husband and father of two. Teacher of history and mathematics, member of the faculty at the city university. Stand accused of the following crimes against decency, morality and faith.” Ruben read the bullet point list, a total of five transgressions.

The priest looked at Ruben, “how would you describe his conduct upon apprehension, use your own words, they will be the truth, Enforcer.”

Ruben looked down at the paper again, like that would help him. He gathered his thoughts and looked up at the priest. “Mr. Kenan handled his arrest with dignity and calm. He demanded nothing of us, and seemed like he knew why we were there. His children were well behaved, intelligent and seemed to me to have received a good and moral upbringing, and that Mr. Kenan did not bring his immoral behavior with him home to his family.”

The priest closed his eyes for a moment, and Ruben was ready to freak out, why was he closing his eyes, had he said something stupid? Really, he had spoken the truth in a roundabout way, because Ambrose’s kids did seem like good kids, and he seemed like a caring father. Finally, the priest opened his eyes. “Ambrose Kenan, what you did was a crime against the order of man, it was wretched and perverse. Yet I find redeeming qualities in not only your trade, as well as your role as a caring father.  I believe that in your heart of hearts, you carry the seed to be saved. He produced a paintbrush from under the altar, and swiftly painted the letter R on Ambrose’s face. “Your judgement is complete, let it be known. For a year henceforth you will only be known as Reborn, and once this year is over, you will have paid your debt in this mortal realm. Then and only then will you reclaim your name and attend sermons every day of the week for yet another year, this is the condition for your return to society, and perhaps your road to salvation in the afterlife. You shall be marked for all to see, and once your journey is done, let them look upon you in good grace once more, because your faith was stronger than your urge. Go with peace, confess and repent.”

Ruben figured that was their cue to leave, so he grabbed the slightly dazed Ambrose and guided him out through the pews. Suddenly he noticed other men and women sitting there, writing ferociously with a pen on paper. Scribes? Really? This day just got more and more bizarre by the moment. He almost dragged Ambrose along until they reached the door again, and to his surprise the same damn choirboy opened them. And with an obnoxious smile greeted them. “Please follow me,” he said as they once more followed him through stairs and corridors. They met others on their way, but everyone was hurrying past, and no one wanted to look at each other. It reminded Ruben of the corridors at a whorehouse, not the actual interior but the behavior, like everyone was ashamed of being there, or so super uncomfortable that they did not want to be recognized. 

Arriving at the Subdivision Reeducation for Dignity, level 2, Ruben had to fight rolling his eyes. These fucking names, they just got worse and worse, like they ran out of normal words, and chose to use a thousand-year-old thesaurus in order to sound super clever.

They were greeted by another choirboy looking person, and the first one just seemed to evaporate or something. “Greetings” He said, and Ruben mumbled “greetings” back. “Please place your prisoner in this cell, and wait outside here, you are welcome to help yourself to coffee and cigarettes while you wait, they are at your disposal in the designated Enforcer room next to this cell, he pointed at a room with a thick see-through door, surely it couldn’t be glass, but some sort of plastic. “Great,” Ruben said a little confused, this was the goddamn weirdest church ever, so they punished people for just about anything and everything, but they handed out coffee and smokes? Perhaps they knew that without the Enforcers goodwill they had nothing, they needed the grunts, and so were prepared to pay them in small luxuries?

Ruben watched as the door locked Ambrose in the cell, and then he himself went to the bizarre break room. There was coffee and cigarettes as promised, there were also a radio. People were sitting around small talking in hushed voices. Ruben helped himself to a cup and two smokes, damned be, if they were free, he wanted two. He looked at his wristwatch, he was supposed to start work thirty-five minutes ago. He looked over at the other people sitting around. “Hey, I can’t be the only one slightly confused here, I don’t recall the letter saying anything about how we should deal with being late for our regular jobs?”

A woman with a slightly tussled bob turned to look at him, she looked so tired she was about to drop. “You are not alone, but we haven’t been able to get a straight answer out of these monks, or whatever they are.”

“Dignity Enforcers,” someone said in a low voice.

“Right…” The woman said, annoyance evident in her voice. “I guess this is the first night they are doing this, and whoever planned the process didn’t take the class on time management I suppose.”

Ruben chuckled; he liked her already. “I guess our employers will have to deal with the Church of the holiest taking up our time.”

“But will we get paid? I don’t think so.” A large, bearded man in the corner said, sipping what Ruben could only guess was one cup of coffee too many. “I mean this is important work, but it doesn’t pay my bills.” Everyone was in agreement and nodded.

“I suppose we all have to take this up with the Administrative Enforcer at our workplace, right?” Ruben said, hoping he was right in his assumption.

The woman nodded, “Yep, and watch him bury it in paperwork.” She whispered in a conspiratory tone to Ruben. He laughed again, thinking of Stamp, the little fuckwit with the blue suit, and the ill-fitting discount hair piece. “Ruben, Chastity Enforcer.” He held out his hand, “Constable by daylight.”

The room went slightly silent, apparently everyone was a little on edge when it came to the Chastity Enforcers.

“Helena, Truth Enforcer.” She smiled as she shook Rubens hand. “I teach home economics, and science. When they let me out of my casket, that is.” Her smile faltered a little. “I used to teach two different languages, and religion, but then the faculty deemed it pressing to replace useless language skills with the exciting world of homemaking. And who am I to question that?”

Ruben laughed, but it felt more forced, the easy banter was replaced with strained silence. No one was this forthcoming with criticism of the system, well not in earshot of people they don’t know. Ruben was no idiot, his parents, bless them for all their conniving ways, had told him about people like this. She was planted there to test the resolve of the Enforcers, and if he just went along with her ‘harmless’ critique of the church, he would find Enforcers on his doorstep tomorrow night. No fucking way. “I think home education is an important skill, how else would the young people learn about running a sensible household.”

“I teach at the university.” Helena stated as would it mean something to anyone but her.

“Still, most those young girls have not left their parents’ home yet, and what you are teaching them, prepares them better for the future, than any language.” He knew he was bullshitting so hard he would grow hoofs and moo in the next five minutes if this kept up. He sipped his coffee and did his best to look inconspicuous.

“Are you for real?” Helena said, shock evident in her face and voice. “Are you married, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I am not,” Ruben said with a little smile hidden in his cup, “I live at a hotel on the daily, I have no need for a wife, or a mother.” He couldn’t hide his laugh anymore.

Helena stared daggers at him, but when the man next to Ruben started to manically giggle, she got up to leave in a huff. And by the time she left, a couple of the guys in there was laughing.

“God, I needed that laugh,” Ruben professed.

“I think we all did.” The man next to him said, “thank you.”

“Kenan?” A Dignity Enforcer called into the breakroom. “He’s mine.” Ruben said raising his hand, wondering why he seemed to skip the line. The Dignity Enforcer this time was a young woman, she couldn’t be much more than seventeen. Crazy that they would conscript them so young, and to then witness all this? Surely this girl would end up with a motherfucker of a therapy bill someday. She smiled as a loon and Ruben found himself smile back.

“Collect your prisoner.” she was about to say more, but a shrill scream cut through the air, echoing off the corridor. The girl however did not seem bothered in the slightest. “As I said, collect your prisoner, and bring him to the big number 2 you see written there on the wall, wait there for the Punishment Enforcer to call you in. She grabbed Rubens arm and pulled him along towards the cell where Ambrose was locked in. “Word for the wise, when he is strapped in, pull down his pants, there is some –“

“What? Why would I want to do that?” Ruben cut off the girl’s explanation rather rudely, but he couldn’t believe his ears.

She stopped and looked at him with a motherly sort of stern expression, a face that would make anyone stop and listen. “Because there is a good chance, he will involuntarily relieve himself during the procedure, and surely you do not wish to leave your Reborn with wet clothes?” 

“Oh.” Ruben sucked in his breath, when yet another scream cut through the thick smelly air in the corridor. “I see your point, forgive me.” He smiled a little unsure smile at her.

She did not seem to care, and just continued her introduction to what was expected. “The chairs are hosed down after use, but it doesn’t help much on the general smell of the room, due to the fact that we are underground, so there are no windows, and this is an old building and apparently the plumbing leaves something to be desired. I am sure the Holiest will tend to this in due time, but for now, the smell is bad. I don’t know your prisoner, but you should be prepared for him resisting. The Punishment Enforcer will of course assist you, just as you are expected to assist him.” She stopped as they were close to the cell. “Stand fast and know that you are aiding this prisoner in becoming a Reborn, this is not truly a punishment, as it is an eternal reminder for the Reborn, that once, the Holy Minister of Judgement, saw him fit for redemption. Oh, and as soon as the mark is made, and the branding iron removed. Move. Or you will spend the rest of your day with vomit on your clothes. When he is able to move, guide him to the nurses.” She pointed down at the other end of the corridor, “to the end and to your left, you will see a sign. There will be a nurse there to aid you in what you need to do from there.”

“Thank you,” he said in a slightly dazed tone. This was utter madness, it seemed like this giant operation had not only been erected in a day, but also widely accepted as necessary. Branding? Come the fuck on. But he supposed it was to prefer, given the other opportunities these poor sods had.

“Brother?” the young woman said, looking at him expectantly, and Ruben just blinked, what? “Are you ready to help the prisoner?”

“Yeah,” Ruben said, and cleared his throat, realizing it sounded less than insincere. “Yes, yes I am.” He resisted saluting her, honestly, he wasn’t sure she would appreciate the joke.

She gestured at the man standing on the side of the cell, unlocking the cell door. Before they called for Ambrose, the woman turned to Ruben, “I know this is all new to you, but we have carried on the Holiest laws for a while now. You seem like a good sorts,” he heard her voice slip slightly back into whoever she had been before this insanity, he could almost pinpoint her boroughs. “So, whatever you choose to tell your prisoner, that is on you. Tell him what to expect or do not. Stay till he is lucid at the nurses or leave as soon as he is in a cot. That is also up to you.” She smiled a brilliant smile, “After all the Holiest know, but you are the one that has to live with yourself.”

He couldn’t have been more gob smacked if he tried, “That is solid advice, eh, Sister?”

Her smile widened. “I’m’ glad you chose to stay and listen.” And there she was, snap back to brainwashed. Ruben shook his head, “Of course, it was my pleasure,” he heard himself say as he walked past her and called for Kenan.

– Nati ben Haran

He hated this, he hated finally seeing the man he had hidden away in paper form for so long, stand there in the middle of his own tiny hallway