5 — City of Shadows
Daelus stood in the elevated rail carriage as it thundered through the city. The windows were streaked with rainfall.
He had brought a book with him to read on the journey, but hadn't opened it. His eyes were captivated by the shapes silhouetted against the gray sky, partially obscured by the stormy haze.
He felt like he knew this city —
intimately
knew. He wondered, had he grown up here? That didn't feel like it. There was a connection, but much like the rest of his recollections, it had become distant and hazy. He had hoped against hope that the cloud in his mind he had felt after crossing over would lift, but instead it had overwhelmed.
The distant towers of a cathedral pierced the clouds. He had visited it during his first week after crossing over, and the three since then. The ancient place of worship could easily have been already standing back in the old world. Daelus wondered if he had set foot within before, in his old life.
He had hoped that attending service would pull a memory to the surface. He was sure that he had been among the faithful back in the old world. Everything about the experience had felt natural and familiar. He knew all of the rituals — when to stand, when to bow his head, and what to say in return along with the rest of the congregation when the deacon chanted certain phrases. Yet, no memories surfaced. It was only a learned pattern that had become second nature. It felt automatic.
He took a long breath, and looked back to the book he clutched. He seemed to remember that it used to be possible to borrow books, but he couldn't find a place that offered that. Book shops on the other hand were plentiful. He had searched for books on history or culture, but everything he had found seemed to only cover events from the past hundred years, and focused entirely on the nation’s victories in war.
In the end, Daelus chose a work of fiction. It was one he had heard several at the lodge talking about — the first installment of a long-running popular saga. It told the tale of a hero who encountered endless hardship, but always overcame each through the power of perseverance and grit uniquely granted to him through his birthright. At first he had found the tale thrilling, but felt it had grown repetitive in the later chapters. Still, he felt obligated to finish it. He had spent money on it, after all.
The carriage jolted to a halt. Daelus returned the book to his satchel, pushed his way past strangers, and opened the umbrella. His destination was a short walk from the platform.
Daelus found himself stealing glances at the scattered souls who also had business out in the early autumn rain that afternoon. He wondered if they all felt as isolated as he did. He would never know. They were random citizens of the city, and confiding in any outside of the delegation was strictly forbidden.
Being a delegate in this new world involved reading a heavy rulebook. Jossimer, or rather, one of his identical younger entourage, had provided it to him on his first day. The entourage had indicated that Daelus would be evaluated on his command of the contents within a fortnight. He had studied hard, and felt that he had passed the test with flying colors, but had been given no feedback on his performance. The only proof that he had passed was that he had not been reprimanded.
The rulebook had instructed absolute secrecy. Daelus felt like he remembered the existence of the delegation before crossing over, but in the new world it was forbidden knowledge. The elaborate instructions on what was and wasn't permitted to say aloud had convinced Daelus to abandon the idea of forming social connections altogether. Breaking a rule by accident posed too great of a risk.
It was easier to only interact with other delegates. Even then, one could not simply say anything they wished. Anything that could be interpreted as criticism of the society, or worse, the Benefactors, was to be reported. Punishment for transgression was vaguely worded. Still, Daelus felt that he could follow this rule, and if need be, report one of his peers. He was, after all, obligated to.
Daelus pulled himself from his thoughts as he reached his destination; the bank. Work to set up his legal identity in the city had been slow and mind-numbingly complex. One step in the process involved the creation of a bank account. He would be given an allowance by the Benefactors, to be used to fulfill his delegated duties.
Not all of it would be disposable income. Jossimer, his landlord, had instated a monthly rent. The arrangement was part of the subterfuge. Delegates only made up a small, secret minority of the city’s elite, so things had to maintain the image of impersonal transaction. Jossimer was to seem to be merely the owner of the lavish estate which Daelus was renting. Ordinary government or financial officials were not to know their true connection.
On entry to the grand public hall of the bank, Daelus was immediately greeted by a tall blond-haired man in a black waistcoat and a crimson bowtie. Daelus didn't bother taking in any other features — the scent told him everything he needed to know. It was an entourage.
The rulebook had also contained a catalogue of rules outlining how the entourage ability was and wasn't meant to be used. The breadth and specificity of the regulations were a trial to memorize. Much to Daelus’ chagrin, he was sure that he had seen and heard of delegates openly breaking many of the rules. Not all restrictions were to be applied equally to all, it seemed.
It was just as well. Every day that passed that Daelus was not practicing the use of the ability was a transgression.
The banking entourage before Daelus was shockingly life-like and set a lofty standard. Its progenitor was undoubtedly an expert. It extended courtesies and invited Daelus to its desk. Daelus was captivated by how it moved. It felt so natural, and strikingly vivid.
Daelus felt his heart clenching. The memory of the only two times he had tried to use the ability still haunted him. He knew he'd never achieve anything close to what he was witnessing.
Once seated, Daelus was shown that his account had already been set up, and contained a figure larger than Daelus had previously felt he would ever earn during a year. Being a delegate, it seemed, came with a guarantee of financial security and comfort. This was accompanied by an itch deep in his mind — failure to live by the rules or to complete his delegates duties meant losing this new comfort.
As the entourage explained how the account could be used for direct transactions, Daelus’ attention strayed to a line of portraits which hung high on the wall of the cavernous hall. He recognized the face of the right-most banker; the chief executive. He had seen that fair-featured face before — at the lodge. The entourage was likely his.
The delegation was nowhere, and yet everywhere. It planted its flag in every aspect of life within the vast city and surrounding nation, and yet only existed as the faintest of shadows - a few dozen delegates and their legion of entourage servants.
The business concluded, Daelus returned to the rail platform. As he stood, distracted by the sound of scattered raindrops on his umbrella, he briefly considered visiting a tavern he knew several delegates frequented. Daelus already knew what the experience would be. They would greet him politely, invite him to their table, but then he would struggle to join in any conversation.
They would take turns regaling the others with tales of their exploits while criticizing society and lamenting how much work was yet ahead of them to put things right. According to their grumbling, even though the delegation held absolute power, they were nevertheless on the back foot in its campaign to right society's ills. Daelus wondered if such doubt in the Benefactor’s plans was something he should be reporting.
The memory fresh in his mind, Daelus decided against that kind of socialization. The thought exhausted him. Instead he headed home.
An hour of travel later, he unlocked the iron gate that marked the outermost edge of the estate grounds, and approached the portico which loomed over the entryway. As he moved to unlock the front door he spied a curious sight. The little red flag on the small postal box was raised.
The unexpected event made Daelus’ hair stand on end. Was it the results of his test, or was a new obligation about to fall into his lap?
Within, he found a letter with a wax seal. Breaking it revealed the message to be an invitation to dinner that very night — from Johnathan.
Daelus let out a breath. He had thought that a simple social call would set his nerves at ease, but instead found a brand new sensation of anxiety flooding his body.
He looked again at the letter. Johnathan’s handwriting had an elaborate charm to it. Daelus felt enthusiasm behind the words. He found himself smiling. It awoke another unexpected sensation within his heart — a longing for companionship.
Finally, he had something to look forward to.