A bleary-eyed Alice returned from Counter's Hall in a stupor, educated in a somewhat casual manner regarding such dire themes as September First and the Great Five (as the Master Bringer had at a different time), to Soal and Irene's temporary residence in a formerly vacant house of adobe in the quieter southern reaches of Hendera, bordering the Crusade's presence in their role of the Ambassador's defense. "I can hardly wrap my head around it," she shared a seat at a molded central table with the Master Bringer. "This is what you two have to go through all the time, huh? And it used to be so different, in both meanings. Revolutionary leaders... 'Lint Corp'... the fact that your name isn't 'Sam' around here... and now, this."
Soal and Irene could only nod to the naive Alice, her ineptitude in the situation prevalent, as could be noticed with the wrinkled maps, incidental defensive gear, and field guides filling a handmade Henderian basket at her side (a gift of Lucy's from her people). "And we don't even know everything," Irene sighed. "In fact, hardly anything. Stay on your toes, Soal's mom." The Green Phantom's unvarnished nickname for the uptight matriarch of Soal's domestic family was a long-recurring joke between the Master Bringer, although rarely expressed in person.
"Count also informed me," Alice wagged her finger, struggling to remember a message from the Henderian throne, "to tell you about something that happened somewhere within the Eternal Crusade. They're saying something happened with Ivel and some of his higher soldiers."
* * *
Ivel paced back and forth yet again between two of the steepest walls of the oldest building in Hendera -- and the one furthest removed from the others -- a shrine of sorts dedicated to the Revolution's efforts and their leaders' flight.
The Commander had always assumed there would be a crisis when he would have to come to the Master Bringer's aid. Charles Hemingway, the pseudo-Sulukridger and one of the most trusted sources of information of the intertwining eras bridged by the Rift, was certain that the Master Bringer would require the Crusade on their own -- and his own -- affairs. Now that it was necessary, Ivel would be forced to treat one of his long-burning hatreds in life (Hemingway himself) to a quiet clash of ideologies: that of his own, disciplinary and instinctive by nature -- and that of Hemingway, whose calculative and efficiently centered mind enabled him to outwit all psychologically inferior opponents. Through the pseudo-Sulukridger, the Master Bringer could possibly overtake the Crusade and lead their world to a horrific failure on 9101, which Ivel was sure to avert when his opportunity arrived. The Master Bringer were his allies, but his choices with them were limited.
Simultaneously, the Ambassador, heavily guarded and in his own chamber of the shrine, had been exhibiting an unwelcome hospitality to the Master Bringer that nearly advocated such a decision to be made. Keeping him further in check guaranteed that Ivel stayed in power, and saved everyone when 9101 came. Furthermore, Hemingway himself was to be "stalled" in a way, by keeping him to discuss a plan of action with Count and the Countess, who were in their own corner of the ideological battle anyway.
In an instant, a greasy-haired servant burst into the room, dragging a Lint Corp-branded cart overflowing with bottles of an indistinct liquid behind her. "This is our latest delivery, Commander. The sender has not specified its purpose but merely suggested that it be carried directly to you. I will return shortly." In an equally short amount of time, she darted out of the room, leaving the unstable cart in her place.
"What is this?" Ivel spoke aloud for no apparent reason. "And who dared to suggest bringing it to me... no, us?" Baffled, he decided to take a closer look, only for his forehead to crease in concern upon this inspection. He would have in his past taken more kindly to such a delivery, but of recent he had attempted, somewhat unsuccessfully, to alter his ways. Unsuccessfully, however, may have been an understatement. Deeply resentful, the temptation still seemed too great to bear. And within one minute, he had already gulped down half a bottle's worth of the substance.
The same servant from a moment earlier returned, awaiting Ivel's next order. She had expected directions more humble than his current ones.
"Serve it to the whole Crusade," he grinned with drained eyes. "I want everyone to -- h-hic -- to spend their portion wisely."
YOU ARE READING
The Sketch Rift: The Eternal Crusade
Fantasy{Book Two in the Sketch Rift Trilogy} Samuel Lawrence, or Soal, is revolted by the mere premise of returning to the bleak metropolis of Hendera. But these hopes are laid to rest when sentinels of the enigmatic Charles Hemingway draw his reentr...
