Defenestrate The Masses
Attrition Of The Soul
The entrance to the reception of Black Dog Collectors was cavernous. The building lay against another, a tall office skyscraper, creating a stylish diagonal building to accentuate the Pyramid’s architecture opposite. The reception nestled in the building, ensconced in the fabric of its design. The overly efficient man behind the desk waved Edward River toward him. Edward was however waylaid on his approach by the sudden appearance of Helena Romaine. She smiled and clasped her hands together.
“Edward! So glad you came!” she mewed. The Receptionist looked genuinely affronted by this curtailing of his prey.
“I’m still not sure – “
Helena linked her arm with Edward’s and led him to the elevators, “Just hear him out. You never know, you might be pleasantly surprised.”
“Who is it I’m to meet?” asked Edward, stepping into the glass-sided lift. As they rose, the City became a parody, looking smaller and smaller the further they ascended.
“His name is Daedalus Devereaux, CEO of Black Dog Collectors. He’s gruff, certainly, but he has a way of charming you. He’s unique amongst the business genus. He pulled himself up from nothing, made himself something. Now he likes to spread the benevolence he once sought when he came up in the world. He finds you of special interest. Come.” Helena led the way from the elevator to the only door in this sterile white corridor. Two letters were embossed in brass, as large as Edward’s head on two large oak doors. It was a pair of D’s, presumably to identify the office of Daedalus Devereaux. Helena Romaine pushed open one of the doors and let Edward River enter.
What lay beyond wasn’t so much an office - it contained the traditional signature of an office; the long desk and the plush executive chair, but it also contained a bar, a bed and a sitting area. The floor was bedecked with red carpets and rugs of varying pile and thickness, the sitting area likewise covered by throws and thin rugs. The wood was dark stained and expensive. The walls were raised to look like the room was carved from living rock and an imitation of a log fire seemed to be carved from the same rock. Daedalus Devereaux stood at his bar pouring himself a drink that had surely had been mixed earlier. It was a gloopy green, almost fluorescent in the diffused light. Daedalus Devereaux waved Edward River over to join him at his bar. As Edward moved over, Helena Romaine closed the door to the office solidly behind her back, with a smile. She moved over to Daedalus Devereaux’s desk, where she perched herself confidently on the corner, watching the two men.
“Edward! I’ve heard so much about you from the beautiful Helena. Drink?” Edward shook his head, “Suit yourself. It is delicious. Made from the finest fruits, and alcohol from the furthest fields? Still, each to his own. Please, sit.” Edward sat on the bar stool, ever cautious, “I imagine you’re curious why I wanted to meet you? Alright, cards on the table. I know of your, shall we say, creator? Conrad Miller? He was once a good friend and faithful employee of mine. He began writing down his method, stored his ideas in books all over the City. Each volume leads to the next. Granted, I hear you ask, why don’t I just get some of my people to retrieve them? It’s not that simple. Conrad was a complex man. You know this, as he pieced you together. Why I asked you here is that I would imagine over this short period of time you’ve wondered who you are, why Conrad made you, what’s your purpose - where is he? So I thought, who better to search for these volumes, translate them, and find your creator? You are the glue that keeps the truth together, you know? Discover that truth. Set yourself free. It needs to be you Edward. Only the son of the man can understand the words.”
“So what do you get out of it?” This had only just occurred to Edward. There was the faintest of chuckles coming from where Helena Romaine continued to watch the conversation.
“What do I get? Apart from the gratifying feeling I have helped a man in need? Well – “
“I don’t need anyone. I have no needs.”
“That’s as maybe. But surely there is a curiosity eating away at you? Somewhere deep in you mind?”
“A slim one, granted, but what stops me finding it anyway, in my own time?”
Now Devereaux allowed himself a smile. And he smiled broadly, “Ah, well that’s the thing. Follow me.” Daedalus Devereaux rose to his imposing height and gestured for Edward River to move to the door of the office. He followed immediately behind, joined by a reluctantly aspected Helena Romaine.
Edward River was led back to the elevator, but this time they journeyed down, descended past the reception, deep underground. Once the door opened, they were faced with a corridor similar to the one that had led to Daedalus Devereaux’s office. This was a little longer, but eventually came to a door. Devereaux removed a misshapen key from a waistcoat pocket, inserted it into the virtually invisible lock and turned with the faintest of clicks. The door popped open, into a tiny utility closet. Devereaux pushed this door, which opened out into a room, musty and damp smelling with the distinct odour of rendered paper. The tang of metal in the ink danced on the tongue with crackles of nerve ending stimulation.
“Above us is the Pyramid. Where we stand is my private stock of knowledge in that great building’s library. We are many feet below the surface. Here is the most secure something can be. And here, my friend, is the book I brought you to see.” Devereaux dramatically stood aside and presented the Volume with a sweep of his hand. Even Helena, behind him, let in an involuntary breath.
The book was bound in old leather, the skin tanned to a shiny glean. It sat on a lectern, unopened. Letters inches high were embossed into the surface in gold. This one read, ‘For the Attrition of the Soul’. Edward, in spite of himself, reached out nervously for the thick bound book and opened it randomly. He read the words that sat before him invitingly.
“My mind is troubled, my soul is in attrition, held prisoner by the body that holds it, by the capabilities of the man. Weakness is too obvious in this bag of bones. Nerves stretch to breaking point. But maybe I have a solution. Maybe I have a way. I have a name in my head that dances in my dreams, that begs me attend. The name is ‘Edward River’.” Edward closed the book, his mind lost in contemplation. This gave Daedalus Devereaux room to occupy Edward’s conscious.
“You see now how important it is? There are others like this around the City. Just as valuable, just as important, just as full of knowledge. There is your truth, Edward. There is your creator. There is your history, your present and your future.”
“I still don’t see what you get out of it.” countered Edward, turning to face Devereaux. His smile remained, but his eyes had lost the humour. They burned. Edward could see whatever Daedalus Devereaux wanted out of this, it wasn’t Edward’s happiness.
Devereaux took out a small black device with only one button upon it. He pressed it and from a hidden door came four men, mindless drones, virtually identical and full of menace, “I have these men to help you in your search. Don’t mind the weapons they carry. That’s more for your protection than theirs. It’s - a troubling time nowadays in the City; a period of flux, what with the poor uprising and some idiotic folk hero. I even hear say there are escaped criminals on the streets? How terrible it would be to come face to face with one of them? I would hate that to happen in your hunt, Edward. One day these criminals may return to prison. Maybe they won’t, but I want you to be safe, Edward. Don’t make things difficult, Edward. Please don’t. We don’t want things to get unpleasant, do we?”
Edward realised he could argue the point, but he had only words, and although the adage spoke of words being like a weapon, this was only theoretical, allegorical - a metaphor. When faced with real weapons the only option was to run. So he did. He pushed his way through the surprised men who reacted far quicker than Edward had thought. He could already feel a rumble below him, picking up energy and running through his legs, into his torso. By the time he was at the door the men had come through, the black mist was already settling around him. It clung to his arms as they swayed back and forth, sucking to his legs as they thrust onward. The Rook was complete as he swooped out the door, the armed men already chasing him into the Pyramid beyond.
“Interesting. Though I can’t say I’m not surprised - or disappointed.” said Daedalus Devereaux with an audible sigh, reaching into another pocket where he produced a kind of personal radio device. He clicked the wide button on the side and spoke into it, “Get me Anathema.”
#
The Rook swathed through the countless corridors, looking ever eager to rise into the sky and escape its confinement. The men who gave chase could not keep up, but they were replaced at virtually every corner by a similar group of clones. Occasionally one of the men would catch an arm or the body of the Rook, who would stop, take them out in a flurry of limbs masked by the black tendrils, never settling, always prodding and searching for contact. Each floor the Rook climbed took it closer to freedom, but often an unexpected danger. Those above had already been informed of the Rook rising, so prepared rudimentary traps to catch the fleeing creature. Each time the Rook came into contact with a suspended wire or mocked up grid of shock sticks, it took the punishment but never broke stride. With a sweep of its arm this way or that, the Rook contacted with one of its pursuers, throwing them into doors that crashed open, or walls that cobwebbed the cracks from the impact of the bodies, some simply flung into groups of awaiting people, innocent in their pursuits. The Rook was like a hurried fly searching for an open window. Once it saw an exit, whether it be plate glass or open air, it took it, crashing out the side of the Pyramid, the glass splintering and spurting as though fired from a cannon, spraying the ground with razor sharp shards. But the Rook was gone. Into the City. The Rook was free.
#
The Tenebrous Daedalus Devereaux. How misjudged he really was.
Edward River found himself lying on his bed in his home in the Wedge. He stared at a fixed point in the ceiling where a crack had appeared and was gradually, and over time, snaking out to touch other cracks, making a neural network imposed pathway design to the lack of brain in this manufactured head. The hour was late, but the day was a mystery. During these blackouts he found he could lose entire days to its removal of knowledge. This time, as he crawled out of bed, a faint black smoke oozed from his reposed position, unnoticed by Edward himself. He freshened up, dressed and returned to the room, to prepare food before his daily scavenge. This time on return, a woman sat at the chair he usually occupied himself when conversing with Jude Ennis.
“A nice man let me in, Edward. You left without saying goodbye?” she looked genuinely disappointed.
“I told him and I’m telling you. No.”
“Edward, there’s more to it than he let you know. There is the Great Item. This is the ultimate prize of the hunt. It’s what Daedalus Devereaux desires the most. It is what he craves. He cares not if you find Conrad Miller. All he cares about is the object. He will kill to find it. It’s what he does. He is willing to fight for souls, seeks to lure people, instigates tests upon humankind. I implore you, find it before he does. There’s no telling what will happen if he obtains it. You can never let that happen.” Helena reached down beside her where she uncovered a book, large and leather bound from under a fashionable wrap. She unfolded the wrap and lifted the book, handing it to Edward. It was the Volume he was enticed with by Devereaux, part of the trap he had set, using Helena Romaine. Edward set it on his bed, returning his attention to Helena.
“Why should I trust you? After all it was your contact that led me to this debacle?”
“I agree. You shouldn’t trust me. I am manipulative, conscience free, in an ever fluctuating place of conflict. But there is something, Edward - something about you that intrigues me.”
“I could say the same about you.” Edward sat on the bed and flicked randomly through the large volume.
“And remember there are others. All over the City. Some maybe hard to find. It took many years for Daedalus just to find that one. Take nothing for granted.”
“Won’t he want to kill you for bringing this here?”
“I’m sure he would like to try. But I am more valuable to him alive.” smiled Helena.
“Maybe you should leave – “
“Maybe I should. Don’t want to draw too much attention to who you are and where you are. But be aware, he has released Anathema.” Helena stood and moved to the stairs.
“I’ve taken on worse.” started Edward, moving also to the stairs to show Helena Romaine out.
“I’m not talking Proctor Tennant here, Edward. He is a pussy cat compared to Anathema. Just watch your back. Besides, I’m sure He will rescue you if you need it.” she said, over her shoulder as she walked out into the courtyard, taking in all the eyes that were now upon her. Edward watched her as she left. What did she mean, He would rescue you?
It was strange. After all this oddness, the threats, the promises - Helena? He no longer felt abandoned, frightened, wandering through the wilderness searching for those who would understand and shelter him. He now felt he was a sensitive, emotional creature whose only aim was to share his life with other sentient beings like himself, with a belief that the Great Item would fix everything, all the ills of the world - the poor, the confused, the hopeless. The Great Item was the ultimate reveal of everything.
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