Francis LaPorte and the Association of Good Fellows

Songs in the Streets

Friday, 7 Sh'vat, 5693

Sir Edmund Chimes, Bishop of Engleheim and Inglegrad's chief representative to the fifty third assembly of the Kingsmen World Alliance, was driven by his chauffeur down the crowded streets of Bevel that morning as the sun shined down through the windows of the black automobile. He watched out the widow to see the residual joy of the people's celebration of their new chancellor and the hope of the change they so desperately needed.

"I have never seen so many flags," the bishop marveled, taking in the sight with wonder.

"Well, sir, it is a time of celebration for many," his driver told him in his thick Garman accent.

Chimes nodded, "Of course."

The sight of children being held aloft on their parents' shoulders, holding their nation's tricolor flag and singing the anthem of the republic only became more common as they neared the hotel at the center of the capital. It was here that the Council of the World Alliance would have their planning conference, and it was here that his driver pulled over, beside the broad walkway and the glass doors of the towering building with a black marble front.

As he exited the car with a word of thanks to his driver, a bellhop rushed to take from him his travel bags.

"Bishop Chimes?" the young man in the bright red uniform asked to be sure of his charge.

"Yes, that's right," replied the man with thinning white hair as he presented the boy with his luggage.

"The Council of the World Alliance is meeting on floor eight, sir. East Wing, Conference Room 804, right next to the hotel ballroom," the young man informed as he led him into the grand lobby of the Charlotta Hotel, finely decorated with polished brass fixtures and gold chandeliers covered in crystals. "Many of your colleagues have already arrived and will be expecting you, I think. Bishop Embridge asks that you come right away to see them. It seems there was a bit of a scheduling mix up he would like to get sorted."

"That's all well," he said, "but what of my things?"

"I'll see that they're delivered to your room and waiting for you when you arrive," the bellhop assured him.

"My room," Edmund repeated, keeping his brown eyes fixed on his helper.

"Yes, sir," the boy said, handing him a room key with a red ribbon tie. "107."

Edmund smiled with a nod and the two parted ways, the boy having stopped to check him in with the desk clerk as he proceeded to the elevator.

"Warten Sie bitte!" a man called in the Garman tongue as he stretched out his arm towards the elevator.

"Warten?" Edmund replied, struggling to remember the language. He reached out his hand and caught the door as it closed, pressing the button to open it.

"Danke," the young man said, catching his breath as he hurried in beside him.

Edmund nodded, watching him as the elevator doors closed. He looked to be a kindly man, polite in manner, with flaxen hair, carefully combed, and blue eyes like ice which peered intensely through the lenses of his circular glasses. The man was fair skinned and athletic, with rosy cheeks and pleasant countenance. Edmund found his presence strangely calming, despite the barrier in language.

"Tut mir leid Sie aufzuhalten," the man said humbly with an embarrassed smile. "Es gab ein Missverständnis bei der Organisation und jetzt komme ich zu spät zum Meeting," he.... explained, Chimes took it.

"Uhm..." Chimes stammered, unsure of what to say. He certainly didn't know Garman well enough for this. "I'm sorry, my Garman isn't very good," he admitted. He waved his hand apologetically and smiled to show himself friendly.

"Oh! My apologies," the man replied, swapping effortlessly into Inglegrish. "Thank you for your patience with me in holding the elevator."

"Well, you seemed to be in a bit of a hurry," Edmund replied, impressed by the young man's acumen.

"Ah! Running late, I'm afraid. There was a bit of a..." the man paused, searching for the word, "misunderstanding." He glanced over at the floor buttons on the elevator. "You are on your way to eight as well?"

Edmund looked at him, surprised. "Yes," he said. "My name is Edmund Chimes. I'm the Bishop of Engleheim, and—"

"Chairman of the Council of the Kingsmen World Alliance, dedicated to promoting understanding and fellowship between the Kingsmen sects scattered throughout Caldor!" the man replied with genuine, unfettered enthusiasm. "Please forgive me for not having recognized you. My name is Francis LaPorte," he said, offering his hand in friendship, "and I'm afraid I'm not quite anybody."

Edmund smiled. So, this was LaPorte. "The theologian," he said, shaking the young man's hand, still cold from the weather through which he had raced. "You've done some work with us before, haven't you? You helped us plan the youth conference."

"Yes," Francis nodded bashfully. "And here I am again for it. I'm hoping to arrange for a meeting of Garman and Sylvian youths. As you know, there has been some tension there since the war ended."

Edmund nodded, well aware of the sensitivities of the topic. "The dangers of allowing your nation to become the battlefield," the bishop remarked. "I know that they were particularly offended when your empire's armies fire-stormed their capitol."

Francis looked at him and smiled politely. "Yes," he said, his eyes like piercing blue lights, "and it certainly didn't help that they imposed upon us such demanding war debts that our people suffer gross poverty as they shoulder the burden of a newly formed government whose currency isn't worth the ink they use to print it."

"It will be a difficult thing to foster understanding between them," Edmund remarked sympathetically. "It would impress me if you could manage to convince them to talk at all."

Francis shook his head thoughtfully. "We are not our nations. We are men. More than that, we are Kingsmen, and, as Kingsmen, we are brothers... no matter our state, our status, or our reason. If our suffering is great, then our love must, also, be great... even greater."

The elevator stopped and a ding of the bell rang out to alert them of their level as the door opened, and the two passed by the ballroom of the Grand Charlotta Hotel on their way to the conference room which had been rented out by the Kingsmen World Alliance.

Edmund's eyes strayed to the elaborately arranged tables and brightly colored banners, streamers, and decorations which hung around the room in the spirit of Garma's jubilation over its people's newly appointed leader.

"It's quite a celebration your country is having," Edmund remarked, speaking to LaPorte of his perception.

"Some of us," his newfound friend replied quietly.

Chimes couldn't help the feeling that he was holding something back. Though, he was too embarrassed to ask what.

Francis stopped. "Do you see that insignia there?" he asked him, pointing to a golden image stitched at the black center of the banner striped in their nation's colors of red and black and gold.

"The circle of leaves surrounding the twisted cross with a serpent wrapped around it?" Edmund clarified, wanting to be sure.

"Yes," Francis replied. "A perversion, I know, but... that's the Good Fellows."

"And if they're Good Fellows, how bad can they be?" Edmund remarked dryly. He had begun to see the greater picture.