Banner Men
DEVON YETH
Devon Yeth was used to the long silences, but sometimes he thought Robucke had fallen asleep, only to be surprised when the man continued a sentence he had paused some minutes previously.
"Are you getting this all down, Yeth?" asked Robucke pointedly. Devon was familiar with the man's distaste of uselessness, of failure and laziness. Never once in the man's presence did Devon Yeth fail to hear an instruction.
"Yes, Sir. Tell Captain Fawk to retrieve the Crown."
Robucke eyed Yeth suspiciously. Devon was used to this. It was hard not to see all phases of a man's personality when you were virtually living out of his pocket. Devon Yeth was a twenty four hour man, there whenever Robucke instructed him to be, with mind ready to catch any spoken word or phrase. But he never wrote anything down. Not one word. He saw it as his job to protect those secrets of his employer, in the true sense of a Secretary; the keeper of secrets.
But it wasn't all go. Even Robucke had to sleep sometimes. That was when Devon would go give instructions out to others. He even managed a little time for himself. That was more precious than gold - than diamonds; than an honest politician.
"Right, well, I think that's all for now, Devon. I'm going to look over old reports." This was Robucke's usual code for taking a snooze. Devon Yeth only had a limited window for his business, so bowed and exited the office. He scurried down the corridor to the nondescript door, barely noticeable in the sea of paintings and fake greenery Robucke insisted on keeping, despite him never leaving that office door. He didn't even know they were there, regularly cleaned and wiped. Devon made it so, on the promise of the one time Robucke left his apartments and walked the corridor, whereupon Devon would feel Robucke's wrath. He had never been reprimanded and had no intention of being so any time soon. Usually because a reprimand from Robucke often meant death.
Inside, the room was of a minimalistic concept; one seat and one desk. Siting now on the seat, behind the desk was a weak old man, one who had seen much judging from the rippled features and the tired old eyes, the arthritic fingers twisting painfully and the pure white hair, missing mostly at the front and thin and wispy everywhere else.
"Reginald Mim. What brings the Keeper of the Histories to my humble office?"
The man croaked a reply, "Devon, my boy. Out to see the world?"
"I'm going out on business, if that's what you mean?"
"Well, not entirely business, is it?"
"To what are you inferring?" asked Devon Yeth, indignant.
"It is said that you have a - dalliance with someone in the city."
"What if I have? What business is it of yours?" said Devon, coming round the table and holding the back of the seat, gesturing with his other for the old man to rise and get out.
"He has many secrets for you to keep, I know. It would be a shame to see you - ahem - removed for a loose tongue." said Reginald Mim, standing as instructed and moving to the door. One of Devon's minions arrived at that point. Mim smiled first at the minion, then at Devon, "Be careful, my boy. That's all I'm saying. It would be a shame to lose you." he finished, still smiling as he disappeared from sight. The minion cleared his throat.
"Uhm, Sir? Are there any instructions?" The man clapped his hands together nervously.
Devon stared at him for a second or two, trying to get the dangerous words of Reginald Mim from his mind. The idiot's words were taking up precious memory space, "Ry. Yes." And Devon Yeth then began his daily ritual of delegation, relaying the instructions, with his own personal twist on the words given to him by Robucke. Robucke was a giant of a man, a hero to many, but he didn't really understand the minutiae of running Rindlebrooke. Devon did, however, so took it upon himself to add or adjust the instructions accordingly, "I will take the Captain Fawk instruction to him personally. Dismissed." Ry, the minion nodded and left to do his part in the chain of command. Nothing written, obviously, so the poor man had to try and keep it all in his head.
He didn't have an eidetic memory like Yeth. But there must never be a paper trail. It also made Devon Yeth very valuable. He knew, literally in some cases, where the bodies were buried. He knew everything; only him. He was a very important man, and the Four Houses knew it.
Devon Yeth then left his office. At least for the time being, he would make this time his. He was the kind of man people moved out of the way for when he approached them, but Devon always greeted them with a smile and a word, "Gaf! How's the wife?" and, "Mose! Still with the limp I see?" were his shouts as he left the relative intrigue of the Halls behind him. There was only one place in mind for Devon, so he made a bee line for it.
#
The place was secluded, as far as that was possible in a large city, but Rindlebrooke held its little secret places, virtually invisible to all but the most determined. The shadow was strong here, bringing a slight chill to the already stunning perma-cold of the Droke, the merest slither of light struck a wall at the end of the hidden tunnel. Bushes and strange types of fauna blocked the other end of the tunnel. And there was a door. Devon taptap-tap-tap-taptapped on the wooden struts. The door opened. A man, younger and better looking than Yeth came out. Devon grabbed him by the waist and planted the most desirable kiss on his lips, before the two disappeared inside, closing the door behind them, arm in arm.
If Devon had bothered to look round him, he would have seen the flash of shadow breaking the slither of light in half. The shadow was human shaped.
#
Now back in the city at large, a mere hour later, Devon Yeth jostled his way into the Square, an area of Rindlebrooke that Robucke referred to as, "A necessary evil." There were bars and eateries. This is where Devon knew to find the Banner Man. His target lay just where he expected him to be. Captain Fawk was watching Devon as he walked, or at least a point in front of Yeth. Devon could see the man was obviously counting flies, "Captain Fawk. Admiral Robucke instructs you to -"
"Instructs does he?" interrupted Captain Orcus Fawk with raised eyebrow.
"Yes. Instructs." was this man a simpleton? "Admiral Robucke instructs you to commence with the mission. He said that a lackadaisical attitude, followed by your continuing procrastination, will result in punishment. He says to go see Terry Sayas and Basil Getty immediately. They will give you the information you need to complete the mission. And he says you are to go right now, or I am authorised to -"
"Okay, okay, Devon. Let's not test what it is you will do and won't do, eh?" smiled Fawk as he stood, "Never mind. One day, eh?" said Fawk. Devon Yeth walked away, rolling his eyes.
"That was Sonny Serte, wasn't it?" asked a man in the shadows. Devon ignored him and kept walking.
"Sonny Serte? Administrator Serte?" continued the man.
Devon laughed a little, "No, that was the Banner Man, Captain Orcus Fawk -"
"You know what I'm talking about." insisted the voice.
"Who are you?" asked Devon, still smiling, but turning to face the man.
"My name is Errod Weyn. I think we have something to talk about." The man was dressed like an office worker trying to appear intriguing, but the overall effect simply didn't work.
"I have no idea -"
"Come on, Yeth! You're not an idiot! You know what I mean."
"What do you propose?"
Weyn gestured for Yeth to follow him into the shadows, so that their exchange would go unnoticed, "I'm thinking that old Robucke would look at this - affair - as a dangerous turn of events, wouldn't you?"
"He would probably be disappointed, yes." agreed Devon.
"You can see where this leaves us?" said Weyn, leaving the unspoken unsaid.
"So, you are proposing blackmail, I take it?" asked Devon finally.
"Let's not use such - venomous words like blackmail, huh?"
"So, ultimately, what is it you want, Mr Weyn?"
"I want to climb the ladder, within the Halls, but it takes so long, and I'm an impatient man."
"You want me to - what - lift your profile up in the Halls?"
"Not just my profile. Also my paygrade, my living accommodation, my work - I want it all. But I'm not greedy. I want enough to be comfortable, Mr Yeth. I want to be somebody."
"And this would be an end to things, would it?" asked Devon, through knotted brow.
"Not a word about it, Mr Yeth. Nothing. Ever."
"How can I be sure you wouldn't just renege on the deal, when it became not enough?"
"You'll just have to trust me, won't you, Mr Yeth? You know a lot about trust, don't you?" grinned Weyn wickedly. Devon looked deeply into Weyn's eyes for a moment, eventually sighing in resignation and nodding his agreement.
"I will do as you say, Mr Weyn, but you must have patience for a little while. This is no simple political machination here. A few strings need to be pulled, and that may take a short time."
"As long as it's moving forward." said Weyn with the same stupid smile on his face.
#
Of course Devon Yeth did nothing. He continued his business, kept Robucke's secrets - and his own - delegating to the minions and visiting his lover. But the return to normality took one more bump.
Devon Yeth was drifting through the Halls, smiling and conversing as he did, when he was grabbed by the arm and pulled into an alcove, invisible to the other staff in the building. The person who had grabbed him looked in a dangerous frame of mind.
"So, Devon. You decided to ignore my warning? I think I should go see Robucke -"
"No!" Devon Yeth interrupted Errod Weyn, with all the anxiety his manner could muster. He dropped to his knees, looking up at the man, arms outstretched in a need for penance.
"You think this will stop me?" said Weyn, realising he had the upper hand, "You promised you would do it, and you haven't. What do you expect me to do?" Devon grasped for the man's clothes, but Weyn swiped them away easily.
"Please! Please! Please!" repeated Devon, fawning and on his knees.
"All I want is what we agreed. Is that so hard to do?" said Weyn, slightly feeling sorry for the man, but holding his ground.
"I will! I promise! He'll -"
"I know what he'll do if he finds out. Just do it, okay?"
"Yes! Thank you!" said Devon in supplication, hands grasped in prayer to Errod Weyn as he walked away, showing pity on his face as he disappeared.
Devon Slowly rose to his feet, wounded. He sniffed and wiped away the tears. He headed for a particular room, somewhere where he could get things done.
"Captain Hersh? Raven?" he said, opening the door and stepping inside. He wiped his nose on his sleeve.
"Yeth? An unexpected pleasure." said Raven, looking up from her armchair, "How can I help you?"
"I have a little job." Slowly, the wickedest smile crept onto Devon Yeth's face. His eyes darkened and his posture relaxed. He chuckled a little. Of course, Raven had seen it all, so merely shrugged and sat up in her chair, listening.
#
It was a short time later, perhaps a day, while Devon Yeth walked the corridor as he always did, in preparation for his regular meeting with Robucke, a familiar face stood before him. It was the deceptively weak-looking Reginald Mim, back for another dig, it seemed, "Devon! Thought I'd tell you, one of my Pravendi's was handed the Crown earlier. Seems good news is in order, eh, my boy?" Reginald Mim began to walk away, before dramatically pausing and returning, "Oh, and by the way, do you know they found one of these up-and-comers of the Halls eviscerated, his genitals tied to a pole and thrust through the poor man's innards like a cannibalistic shish kebab? I wonder how that happened?" said Reginald Mim, raising his eyebrows. He clapped Devon on the shoulder a couple of times, before walking away, clearing his throat and whistling a happy ditty.
Devon Yeth rolled his head, letting his bones crack and releasing the built up tension there before opening the office door.
"Good news, Sir!" Devon said as he slid inside.
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