《The Devious Plots of the Hero》


 Prologue: The Birth of a Hero

    A hero is made by circumstance, particularly tragedy. Which is perfect for me as I lost an entire world to an apocalypse. At least it looked like one. In truth I only saw the beginning of the end. The earth cracking, meteors falling, lava filling the streets, people screaming, and a woman¡¯s laughter coming from the sky, and that was just in the ten seconds I managed to survive. Not sure what actually took me out in all that fun and excitement. However, after a brief stay in the afterlife, I am now fully functioning in a new life in a genuine fantasy world.


    I was now born the son of woodcutters, and lived a carefree happy life. I ran and played in the wild wonders of the forest. Occasionally I spotted a strange, yet harmless animal. Returning home before dusk or faced the wrath my parents used to mask their inherent worry. My father was the strict type and used the old school discipline methods of childrearing. Most modern families from my old world had moved past corporal punishments, but despite the outdated discipline, and occasionally sore behind, I could tell he did care deeply for his children and wife. Mother was a bit of a pushover in all honesty. She followed him and never questioned his dreams in life. Only quietly fulfilling them and keeping the family functioning in her thankless yet strangely happy role. A oddly too ¡°traditional¡± coupling of people. They complimented each other nicely.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Unfortunately they had to go out with an extra corpse. The more romantic option would have been a simple double homicide, without the tag along third-wheel. Oh well, to be honest I had not thought this current scenario out fully. Sometimes you just have to take full advantage of an unlucky thief.


    I could hear the metal clomping of the guard captain climbing up the dirt path to the hut. Sure enough I will soon have what I want. After just a little traumatized act, some questioning, and a little counseling, they will have to send me and my baby brother to the orphanage. The possibility still exists that my parents were holding out on me and we will be sent to some distant relative. Either, or, the first step of the path to glory is complete.


    After all, all heroes are orphans.

 Chapter 1: Your Father, My Friend

    The guard captain stormed into the front room, breaking the top hinge of the door in his metallic and clangy entrance. He saw the body of the would be thief first. Sprawled out, chest down, with the head turned to an uncomfortable angle to reveal the look of confusion frozen on the criminal¡¯s face. The thief¡¯s blood has long since drained from his cadaver. Spreading around the man¡¯s corpse for that lovely pool of blood effect.


    Then the captain saw me sat in the stagnant blood. I purposely kept a blank expression on my face to sell the act. While not sure if I can pull off a correctly terrified and anguished performance, despondency is a much simpler alternative. Although the coagulating blood was quite a disgusting substance, and once sat down I did not move for the red fluid would show any activity.


    ¡°Melvin¡­ Are you hurt? Where¡¯s your mom and dad?¡± My face gave a very visible involuntary flinch at the mention of my name. Seriously! Melvin! That is not heroic at all! The name just screams nerd! I am not doing that again!


    ¡°Melvin¡­¡± He takes a knee in front of me, getting his leg armor plate covered in blood.


    I quickly recompose myself, not sure if I had just broken my illusion. My head pivots to look at the door of my parents bedroom. More guardsmen are walking in by this point and follow my gaze, but the captain stays with me. I think he was a friend of my father, as I had found them chatting quite casually on a few trips into town and I believe they may have occasionally drunk together. Honestly though, I had never paid much attention to the man. He was a rather plain placeholder with just enough gruff that one could possibly believe he is a guard captain, and most of that was carried in his ill fitting shaggy beard.


    ¡°Captain Harper.¡± A guardsman walks out of the bedroom. Harper, I guess I will need to remember his name from now on, looks at the man and gestures for him to both be quiet and carry on the report. I watch out of the corner of my eye, silently glad that Harper did not catch my slight laugh as he looked away. Hard to believe they would rather play charades than simply wait til the child was out of the room.


    ¡°Shi... uh¡­ um.¡± Harper was apparently having difficulty as the guardsman ran his finger across his throat and shook his head.


    Suddenly, a cry pierced through the house. All the noise had woken up my one-year old little brother Atal. This was his fourth time crying this morning, but I had just kept ignoring him. He would be fine being alone for at least half a day.


    I was always jealous of Atal¡¯s actually cool name. From where were my parents picking these? They do not even sound like they are from the same country! However, despite my misgivings on the name, he may yet play an important part in my legacy. Many heroes have younger siblings they need to protect. However, typically girls are better than boys for this purpose, and I might just have to leave him someplace where he will not bother any future plans if things get troublesome.


    A guardsman went to fetch the crying child. Entering the room with his sword drawn. He returned swiftly with his weapon resheathed and a baby in one arm. Harper made a move to grab me as well to which I offered only some slight resistance. He was stronger than he looked. The plate metal armor he wore was covered in the same blood coating me and the floor.


    The group of guardsmen and children leave the house, meeting more armed guardsmen outside in a quick huddle. They look at me quizzically but offer no questions. Harper gives a few simple instructions and the group runs past him, taking up positions around the home.


    Harper, the guardsman holding Atal, me, and two others go down the hill upon which the forest cabin is located. I try to twist around in the captain¡¯s arms to get a last look at the house, but Harper just gently nudged my head away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look back, not yet.¡± His face is expressionless, yet his voice betrays him as the sadness and concern is so thick I felt the emotion thickening in the air. I pull my head in and curl into a ball in his arms. A brief smile falls on my face as the thought crosses my mind that I might have traumatized the good captain.


    A few hours later, I find myself in the guards barracks. Well, not the actual barracks but a guest room on the third floor. The city guards had given both me and my brother baths, and put us in here to rest. The only adult in the room was the wet nurse brought in for the baby. I suspect she is also here to keep an eye on me, although she has mostly kept to herself in the corner with her knitting.


    Occasionally I could hear footsteps outside the door or the muttered voices of the standing watch on the room. So, obviously I heard the overly clangy guard captain coming down the hall and walking in after exchanging some pleasantries with the watching pair of guardsmen outside the door.


    Harper walks in and looking tired and somewhat older after the experience this morning. First person he notices is Atal playing in the middle of the room. Chewing lightly on a stuffed cloth horse one of the guards had given him. Making those infuriatingly cute baby noises. Looking at the sight causes Harper to give a brief and gentle smile. He stares in content for a few seconds before moving onto his gruesome task, looking at me.


    I am sat up in the fetal position, on a chair, in the corner. Hugging my knees with my eyes just slightly poking out. Looking every bit like the scared little child I should be. Having to acknowledge my presence in the room is enough to pull back the captain to the grim reality. His face visibly drops and he audibly gulps as he tries to psych himself up enough to approach me. While I knew Harper was friends with my late father, how close were they that he would react in such a way?


    ¡°Melvin. How you doing?¡± He kneels down so he is at eye level, but his eyes only hang on my face, avoiding meeting my sight. A forced reassuring smile is plastered across his face. ¡°It¡¯s already two past noon. You must be... Hungry?¡± He seems to be having trouble speaking to me. The face looking at me is contorted into what Harper probably thinks is a reassuring smile, however I can see the pain in his eyes, hear the fear in his voice. All understandable. What do you say to a eight year old who has just lost his parents and killed his first man?


    I slightly move my head in a nod. So gentle one could mistake the action as an illusion, but the man before is holding my entire image as to not miss anything as if I may disappear any second.


    ¡°Alright, um, I¡¯ll go down to the mess and bring us up something. Uh, any requests, I might be able to talk the chef into cooking you whatever...¡± His awkwardness is palpable and kind of entertaining in a way. Random stops and trailing off sentences galore. As a cityguard he should have seen plenty of situations of comparable gruesomeness. How did he ever make the rank of captain? Silently, I shake my head, with slightly more assertion this time.


    ¡°Alright, be right back, uh.¡± He lets the sentence fade away in his persistently floundering speech. But, as if to contradict his bumbling speech, Harper stands back up with a graceful twirl into a walk at such a speed my eyes can barely perceive the movement. The feat was even more impressive when I realized he had done the maneuver in a suit of plate armor and apparently subconsciously, if the confused pause and scratch at the neck afterwards is any clue.


    ¡°Can I come with?¡± I say to the retreating captain, while trying to keep the voice quiet and timid with enough clarity to avoid a mood destroying ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡°What?¡± Harper¡¯s dazed response strikes the dramatic atmosphere hard. However, not all is lost. He seems to have heard the request but was just taking some time to deal with the suddenness. Good, as I can not ask twice, as I am supposed to be emotionally feebled right now.


    ¡°Uh, yeah.¡± The repeated bumbling around this situation is not filling me with confidence in the captain, but I feel I can still get what I need from him.


    Leaving the third floor of offices and conference rooms, we make our way way to the first floor cafeteria. So far the building has been unimpressive with mostly wooden furnishings and little decor. Surprisingly the only thing of interest is the wall fixtures that light up as we pass. I know that this otherworld society does not possess a working knowledge of electricity, so the effect can just be chalked up to magic.


    The manipulation of the strange force/energy of mana, a practice called magic, is indeed a confirmed feature of my new homeworld. Although no one will tell me how magic works, and active practice seems to be discouraged for young and untrained individuals. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    In silence, Harper and I enter the barracks mess hall. The room is similar to others in the building, just bigger, with tables and an order counter taking up an entire wall. Due to the odd lunch hour only a quiet group of three eaters persist in the corner.


    Harper directs me to sit at a table as he goes to the counter. To appease some of the building boredom I try to observe the three amicably chatting in the corner, though they are too far away to hear.


    A bowl of stew and a chunk of bread is placed down in front of me. Looking up I see Harper carrying a plate of similar foodstuffs. Although his bread chunk is both darker and bigger than mine.


    ¡°All the cook has on right now is stew. We would have to wait for any requests. I suppose this is quite late.¡± Another awkward smile graces his face, which quickly wilts when exposed to my quiet indifference. Tensely he takes a seat across from me.


    I begin taking slow spoonfuls while the captain watches quietly. He wants to talk, but the silence that has descended seems to be too strong. I gently lay the spoon in the bowl.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to eat? You¡¯re hungry too, right?¡± Harper is knocked out of his stupor by my questions. Visibly reeling back and blinking himself to reality. Unfortunately his mouth did not go agape to complete the look. He finally looks me right in the eyes. Not just the face, the eyes. A slightly relieved smile twists onto his lips.


    ¡°Melvin, it¡¯s odd saying that name, I¡¯m not great around kids, so, forgive me.¡± And the clumsy grin returned to his face, as he scratched the back of his head in the manner that forces his eyes away to break contact with mine.


    ¡°Did your dad ever talk about me?¡±


    ¡°Not really. He never really talked about his friends much.¡± I had definitely seen the captain around while growing up, but had never paid much attention tell now.


    ¡°Well we are, were, friends. I suppose he never told you how we met?¡± I shook my head as Harper visibly calmed down with a look of reminisce. ¡°It was ten years ago now, and I had only been a guardsman for three days. Somehow I was waylaid by people on the street with mountains of complaints. I wasn¡¯t even working then, just forgot to bring a change of clothes to work. Had to walk home in uniform. Got caught by some guy whos landlord had ¡®illegally¡¯ raised his rent and wanted legal action. Then the landlord came out and started screaming, waving a rental document around. Then a mother complaining about someone else¡¯s unruly child. On and on, more and more people showed up to bi¡­ bark at me. They were all talking and yelling at the same time. Honestly, I¡¯m not sure where they had all come from.¡±


    ¡°Then, while I was thinking I was going to start crying and screaming, a big barking voice roared out at the crowd. ¡®Hey! All you fu¡­ fudgers had better get in fudging line or find some other guard to cry and whine at.¡¯ That was your dad, standing bravely against the complaint mob. I could have sworn he was one of the divine descended when I saw him.¡±


    ¡°With his help and muscular intimidation we managed to get the crowd thinned out and manageable. He even left at some point and came back with more guardsmen. They said they would handle it so I offered to buy my saviour a drink. At the bar we hit it off. Drank all night. In the morning the captain called me in and commended me for handling the situation well, despite my lack of experience as a rookie. Started giving me more responsibilities and jobs than the other rookies. So as thanks I made it a regular habit to go out with my saviour, Bren. Then after a year of this I did something that ruined everything.¡±


    Captain Harper seemed reluctant to go on. His smile was genuine, but so were his tears that welled up in the corners of his eyes. He had not touched the food, even though I had kept eating mine through the story telling. I kept my face blank in order not to betray my lack of emotional scarring over the recent incident, but what face should I have had for this. The man was visibly shaking and emotionally breaking.


    The pause went on for about two minutes. I stopped eating. Harper sat frozen in his speech. Unwilling to continue on his own. I had to ask.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± He jolted back into reality and continued on with the tale as if no break had happened. But this time his tears flowed freely.


    ¡°One day I asked if we could be more than just friends. He calmly and nicely said no, he doesn¡¯t do that. But after a year of growing to love him, I couldn¡¯t let it go. I was crying, he was trying to calm me. I took the chance and kissed him.¡±


    Dropping my spoon, I stared at the man in front of me differently. Luckily the captain could not see through his own tears at this point, as my face betrayed an understanding an eight year old should not have of this situation. Who admits to lip raping a child¡¯s father to that child? I do not even know the public perception of homosexuals in this world. No, remember heroes are open minded, the public does not matter. Fuck! This is supposed to be the kind of bullshit that is spouted after the story is finished and the public can yell at it then.


    ¡°I ran away after that.¡± Oh, for the fucking, shitting, love of all that is holy, why is he continuing the story.


    ¡°He tried to talk to me for two months. I just avoided him. Eventually he gave up and some time later a wedding invitation was dropped off in front of my house. While I didn¡¯t go, I asked around and found out he had gotten someone pregnant, your mother. A year later he showed up at my door new wife and baby in tow.¡±


    ¡°He treated it like we were both just busy the past two years. Like nothing happened. I was about to either kick him out or run away, then he said something I will never forget. ¡®Melvin, I haven¡¯t properly introduced you to my wife Miah. And this is my new son, Melvin. Don¡¯t go getting mixed up for him with the same name and all.¡¯ He said it with this wide smile. Not a hint of anger at my childish behaviour.¡±


    It¡¯s his fucking fault! This bastard is the reason I am named Melvin! I wonder what damage I can do to him with a spoon! He is exposed right now, a few stabs would not be hard. Everyone awkwardly left the room when the captain started watering his soup with his snot, so no witnesses. No, no, remember, I am an eight year old child. An eight year old child who just listened to another man spout his love for his late father. How am I supposed to fucking respond to this!


    As for this supposed meeting, while I do have some early memories of my new life most things before the age of four are hazy. I guess babies do not have the best perception or memorizing capabilities. Something I considered good, as I only have a few memories of being changed. Truthfully, the process was quite demeaning.


    ¡°Sorry, I don¡¯t know what came over me. I always meant to tell your mother some day. I shouldn¡¯t have said so much. You just look so much like your father and¡­¡± Please do not tell me that. I am not into older men. NO! No, not into men. Fuck, I am confused and sure that my despondent face has failed to hold through this landmine of a story.


    He looks up at me, his face a mess. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you cry once since I found you.¡±


    ¡°Dad said strong men don¡¯t cry in front of others.¡± I just made that up but I have to say something. This is bad, I am still panicking. How do I interact with this?


    ¡°He was always one to play the tough guy. But I won¡¯t tell anyone, and I think everyone else left.¡± Melvin Harper is giving me a relaxed and calm smile. I want to reach up and feel my face to check my expression, but I know that would be a mistake at this point. I was sidetracked too long and have to get what I wanted out of this interaction.


    But should I. I will have to spend possibly years in close quarters with him, and I do resemble my father. No, he appears to have matured and learned his lesson about forcing his affections on a straight man. And I am definitely straight. Confirmed that in the last life and this one. There are plenty of places a kid can go where women will not question ulterior motives.


    The bigger problem is the name. He cursed me with this moniker of a nerd and I should not stand for this injustice. However, I have mostly gotten used to the title by now. What possessed my late father to think to use a former friend as his child¡¯s namesake? Did he think this would patch the relationship. Most people around the base call my apparent cognomen either Harper or Captain, so I do not think he likes the name either. Perhaps I can also get away with going for my last name as my common alias.


    After calming down and processing the information, perchance I may have overreacted. This just means he will be emotionally attached and will fulfil my request to the fullest extent. I look up to find the captain staring at me gently. Patiently waiting for the emotional dam to break within me. Unfortunately, the dam has run dry. No, there was no water to begin with, and I can not just start crying on demand.


    ¡°I want to be strong.¡± I purposely choke out the words. ¡°I want to protect people. Can you. Please teach me how to fight?!¡± Harper¡¯s smile drops slightly. The man is definitely disappointed in my choice of a combat solution. He probably was hoping I would try to live a peaceful life.


    ¡°Perhaps this is for the best.¡± He closes his eyes, straightens his mouth. When he opens his eyes again his face is in an obvious state of forced neutrality. A mask to hide the truth.


    ¡°You want to protect people?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Harper¡¯s face hardens slightly. However, on his current emotionless countenance, this projects a stern, unyielding visage. ¡°And what will you do to those that hurt them?¡±


    ¡°Stop them.¡±


    ¡°Will you kill them?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Will you?¡±


    ¡°... If I must.¡±


    I want to crack a smile, but I keep a disciplined face. There was no way of knowing what I should say, but those answers must be hero worthy. Or atleast good aligned.


    ¡°Hah.¡± Harper¡¯s face relaxes but does not return to his smile. At least the emotional mask is gone. ¡°Fine then. Melvin Keir, I, Melvin Harper, will start you on the path to true strength. Enough to protect all that you hold dear.¡±


    The captain extends his hand for me. The urge to laugh swelling within me ready to burst. But I must not give in to such a base desire, for I will lose what I have just gained. A teacher that knew my father. A common trope in any hero story.


    I grasp his hand. Giving my best little determined kid face, which is just a slight frown and narrowed eyes. He nods in response. Letting go of me and absentmindedly taking a bite of his stew.


    ¡°Hurk! What is that da¡­ cook putting in this!¡±

 Chapter 2: Haunting Memories

    The chains binding my hands and feet extend out into the all consuming void. I appear to exist in a small bubble of light with no identifiable source. Standing on a nondescript grey ground. Around me are shadows of my image. Dark copies of my old form. While I have not seen a mirror I know that is no longer me. I am emaciated, boney, wrinkled, and scarred from my time being tortured by mocking facsimiles of myself.


    Around me I can hear the others. Others trapped in this place and facing similar trials to myself. However, over time the sounds have grown noticeably less. Have they lost their voice? They should not have perished as no matter what is done we neither die nor grow old. We can tire but not sleep. We can hunger but not eat. We can bleed but not run out. This place can not kill us, so what ultimate fate have they met? Did they take the deal?


    I close my eyes. I can see him. A strange man stands there. Beckoning me to him. Something inside tells me to give myself to him. That he will stop all of this. I want to, desperately so, give in to end the torment. But when I approach the man in my mind, I can feel myself slipping. I know I will disappear into his being. Cease to be.


    ¡°No!¡± I open my eyes, and the comforting promise of nothingness disappears. The shadow beings are surrounding me. Holding onto sneers of contempt, and glowing red spears. The heat visibly distorting the air, and singeing their wielders. They pay the burns no mind and impale me from all sides.


    ¡°AhH!¡± I open my eyes. Something is holding onto me, clasping me, trying to restrain me. However, my arms and legs are free of the chains, so I flail my fists at the assailant. They try to endure, but their hold loosens. Placing both of my feet on their stomach, I kick the offender off.


    I am free. I start taking deep breaths. Calm, I need to be calm. Take one breath, two, and keep going. Check to make sure you are all there. Right arm, left arm, left leg, right leg. They are there but something is wrong. They are strangely small, childlike even, and then I remember. I have already escaped hell.


    ¡°Uggh.¡±


    I look over the edge of the bed. The woman charged with the temporary care of my brother and me is sprawled out on the ground. Hands clasped over her abdomen.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± I say in my meekest possible voice.


    I started the morning off with the exercises Harper assigned to me, like the good pupil I was. In my previous life I would have tried anything to get out of this repetitive, tiring, annoying activity, but Hell has a way of getting that attitude out of a person. Also the lack of any electronic media is a big contributor.


    My mind starts drifting to the nightmare I had last night. This would not be the first time such an event had occurred. These dreams have happened since coming to this world. My parents kept the information quiet, so now this will just help sell my distressed child persona. Understandably, I try to actively forget my time in the underworld. Usually the dreams are brought on by something happening to trigger a memory, but what was it that pulled up the hot spear torture?


    I switched from push-ups to the next exercise on the list, sit-ups. The list Harper gave me was actually quite disappointingly mundane. Nothing extreme or unusual. Just basic calisthenics that I had done in school in the old world. I trust Harper will not lead me astray and keep me on mundane practices for long.


    Suddenly, something clicked inside my mind. Harper. Hot spear impalement. My body tensed up as the two images overlapped in the worst of ways. I tried to force the images away but every aspect of the resurgent memory was being filled in with a new, terrifying implication.


    ¡°Stop. Stop.¡± I was already on the ground, so I curled up into the fetal position. I try to think of anything else. I think of my success on the plan, my elimination of the two obstacles and acquisition of a helper.


    ¡°Ah!¡± That was a mistake. Now my parents were in on the scene. My imagination will not stop colliding my thoughts together. My own vividness being my ultimate betrayer. The images are getting more extreme and explicit. Just stop! Why does she have that!?


    I laid there for ten minutes until I figured out how to stop thinking.


    After my morning workout and nothing else of note. I left the room of the inn the city had arranged for me. Apparently the barracks do not have guest bedrooms, so they stuck my brother and me in a small inn until they figure out what to do with us.


    Outside the room was a guardsman propped up on a wooden chair. The lazy guy was nodding off on the job, if the way he stiffened when I opened the door is any indication. I wonder how long I will be under active watch. While he is supposedly here to guard me, I know is secondary task is to keep track of me. Apparently I am a flight risk. Possibly a suicide risk. Maybe even an intermittent explosive. One of those, maybe all. They are not mutually exclusive states of existence.


    ¡°Morning, is Ms. Clair up yet?¡± I still need to sell the depressed act, so I keep my head down and voice low. Honestly, I have no idea if my acting is good are not, but most common people are not analysing traumatized children for lies.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Yeah, about half an hour or so. She poked her head in to wake you, but decided to let you rest a bit more.¡± Wait, thirty minutes ago was when the ¡®nothing else of note¡¯ was happening. If she saw that then obviously she will report it as an affect of the recent trauma. Also the fact I punted her across the room in the middle of the night will not yield good results for my projected mentality. Hopefully this does not affect my entrance into the orphanage.


    The guardsman walks me to the main hall, where Clair is sitting at the back table holding Atal. She is a middle-aged woman with that natural motherly aura. Fitting, as she should have kids of her own due to her occupation as a wet nurse. At least I hope she is employed as one, or she would have been doing something really disturbing back in the barracks holding room.


    ¡°Morning.¡± I mumble making sure I only briefly catch her eye before breaking contact. ¡°Sorry for being late.¡±


    ¡°Uh, n-no problem. Me and Aty here just got up.¡± An obvious lie even if the guardsman had not ousted her already. The plate in front of her is mostly gone. Even the bowl of baby mush is mostly gone, with minimal floor mess. An impressive feat, most of Atal¡¯s food usually ends up on the ground. However, something she said intrigued me.


    ¡°Aty?¡±


    ¡°Well a cute little boy has to have a cute little name.¡± She tickled the barely one year old¡¯s stomach as she spoke in that annoying tone people use to talk to babies. And Atal just smiles back at her, encouraging this type of behaviour. He really should stop doing that. I swear if she calls me ¡®Melly¡¯ her fate will not be pleasant.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go and order you a good, hearty breakfast, Mel. Growing boys need to eat, so what do you want?¡± She may have just avoided the worst fate.


    ¡°Anything is fine Ms. Clair.¡± I take a seat while she runs off to place the order. For someone who witnessed me break down twice, she seems to still be taking this job professionally. I would have to do something rather drastic to defeat a social worker, I guess.


    Clair returns with a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage. I stare at the simple meal and the word ¡®mundane¡¯ enters my head. The staple fare of this world is not much different to my old world. I have seen odd foodstuffs in the market, but they all seem to run high cost. Apparently, from my information gathering, most of the oddities are specialty stock from far regions. For some reason or another they simply cannot be exploited on large scales and remain local produce for certain areas. In truth, I do not care much about the crop diversity. I simply want to try new flavors, butt the common meals still do their jobs.


    ¡°So¡­ Captain Harper said he will be a comin¡¯ by to collect you to answer some questions, but you don¡¯t have to if you don¡¯t want to. Say the words and I¡¯ll send him packing. Give him my old one, two.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure he can beat you, and I¡¯m fine. I¡¯ll go.¡±


    She looks at me oddly with a small smile. I can not really tell what she is thinking, but I think that was a positive outcome. Women are difficult to read.


    After I finish eating we continue sitting at our table in the main hall. With awkward silence from two of use, and baby gurgles from the other pair. Why does the guardsman seem to insist he can hold a conversation with an infant?


    Thankfully Harper arrives in short order. He is not wearing his full plate today, instead opting for the simple leather guardsmen outfit. After yesterday¡¯s lunch he made a few probing questions on if I wanted to live with him. He seemed nervous about outright asking. Probably does not want to get stuck with commitment no matter how he feels about me. Understandable, he is a single man with a demanding job and two kids would greatly affect his lifestyle. Personally I feel the city orphanage works best into my plans, so I told him Atal and me would be better off in professional care.


    ¡°Good morning Melvin, did you do your morning exercises?¡± I give a curt nod to Harper¡¯s probing question. He appears quite relaxed around me now. A good step if he is to teach me fighting. This also means I can breach another topic of great importance.


    ¡°Can you call me Keir, please?¡±


    ¡°Your surname? Why?¡±


    ¡°Your name is also Melvin. I don¡¯t want to cause confusion. Also, you go by your last name.¡± He responds confusedly to my statement, then a strange knowing smile plasters itself onto his face. He appears to have shoved some deeper meaning into my actions. Oh well, it is better to let him draw his own conclusions.


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Yes! Successful name change on one person. And since I have stated my intentions, all I have to do is address myself as ¡®Keir¡¯ from now on until the name sticks.


    ¡°Should I order you anything, Captain Harper?¡± Clair offers him a meal as he sits down. She seems to be treating him respectfully, if not a bit curtly.


    ¡°No thank you, I will be fine Clair. Me and M...Keir have some time I was thinking on showing him some meditations today.¡± Clair seems to lighten at that.


    ¡°That would be perfect. The boy could use some peaceful moments.¡±


    ¡°Then we will head over to talk to the inspector afterwards.¡±


    Clair seems to darken at that. ¡°You would have him remember that so soon! He is just a child. The inspector can wait on his fat ass a few days.¡±


    ¡°Inspector Barden is not fat. And Count Iora has taken an interest into the case. We can¡¯t drag our feet.¡±


    Clair slumps over dejected. I quickly put her want to protect me from the harsh world aside. The count is interested in the case. Why? This should be an open and shut investigation. Will I be found out if they look too closely? I need to see what this inspector is actually thinking if I how to throw them off my scent.


    ¡°You¡¯re not against it, right Keir? After we talk to him we can do some sparring. Maybe check how well you handle a sword.¡± Harper looks at me, not nervous at all. He knows I will say yes.


    ¡°Sure, that¡¯s fine.¡± I say without any particular enthusiasm. The inspector probably does not even suspect my true role so I should not overly worry. Some sword practice with Harper sounds fun. Although, the so called ¡°sparring¡± will probably be just me swinging a hardwood stick at Harper.


    ¡°Uh.¡± I release a short grunt as something assaults my mind. The fabricated images from earlier are resurfacing. I made a mistake of briefly imagining the sparring with Harper, and the banished imaginings of Harper doing terrible things with his ¡°hot spear¡± and newly acquired ¡°hardwood stick,¡± are once again assaulting my psyche¡¯s weak points.


    BAM!


    I simultaneously slam both my hands and my head onto the table, albeit holding back on the force used for the head. The sudden noise, shock, and pain pull me back into reality, and when I look up my three adult companions are quietly staring at me with looks of concern.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± I offer with no explanation.

 Chapter 3: Broken Premise

    After my brief episode in the inn even Harper was now telling me to rest, but my insistence to still go won out in the end. The captain was now leading me through the barracks once again. Climbing back up to the third floor, which houses the offices and waiting rooms.


    Before coming here, Harper had still shown me the meditations as promised. Honestly, I do not see the practical use in fancy sitting and breathing, but I should not unnecessarily question the training. The guard captain knows more about these things than me. At least he should. He did cancel the sparring training for no reason after my slight spat in the inn.


    Harper walks me to a door just like the others in this hallway. Simple, unadorned wood but on the other side lies one of my greatest hurdles. An investigator in any world will have some nose for the truth. No scratch that, perhaps truth is too strong a word. More like annoyingly finicky, and obsessively pedantic on overly minor details. If he catches whiff of anything this may become troublesome.


    Harper raises his hand to the door. He looks back at me quickly to check my condition before delivering a quick knock. A moment passes and I finally notice that I am more nervous than I thought I would be. If I am ousted here my future would only be that of a villian. I may even face execution. I should have asked about juvenile law before this. Would probably be good to know if special laws even exists, but I could not make any inquires without arousing suspicion.


    ¡°You¡¯re here. Oh, where does the time go. I¡¯m just wrapping up another meeting. Come on in.¡± The man who opened the door waves us inside. He is a younger man in his late twenties, with a gentle smile and face. His clothing is well cleaned and pressed but messily thrown on his form in a way that indicates lack of care by the actual wearer.


    Harper and I enter the rather large office room. The walls, desks, and bits of the floors are covered in books, boxes, and miscellaneous papers. The messy gentleman who opened the door takes a seat at the large desk, and begins riffling through various papers. However, someone else in the room immediately drew my attention.


    Standing in front of the desk was something not human. His body was long and gangly, but draped in fine robes that hid the odder parts of his form. The head though, was on full display. And it was an eye catching display. His jaw ended in a point that looked like it could be used to open cans. His earlobes drooped down stiffly, also ending in a sharp point. Leather had been sewed onto his shoulders to protect his clothes from any resultant scrapping. The hair on his head looked as stiff as a horse¡¯s and tied back with metal bands as if the strands would escape. He looked at me and I noticed his eyes were too upturned, almost to the level of a caricature.


    ¡°My Lord, please forgive our intrusion¡­ and the boy¡¯s indiscretion.¡± Harper took a sharp bow, while putting a hand on my back and giving a light push to indicate I should do the same. I realized I had been staring at the creature in front of me, so I followed Harper¡¯s advice.


    ¡°Please rise good captain, and you too, young man.¡± The non-human¡¯s voice was smooth, relaxing, and charming in a strange way. Not natural, but a practiced tone that oxymoronically projected hints of humility and strength. I looked up to find him smiling slightly at me.


    ¡°In truth Captain Harper, I do not mind the staring. Perhaps if I properly showed myself to the people, instead of sequestering in the manor all day, this would not happen as frequently as this does.¡± The creature gestured with his arms as he spoke, revealing a strange series of pointy lumps under his sleeves.


    ¡°Lord Iora, you do not need to prove anything. You are always working for the good of the territory. Weylin only prospers because we have such a good count.¡± Harper is really laying it on thick.


    ¡°Captain, please such wild flattery will corrupt my modesty.¡± The Lord¡¯s face lost his mirth in his next sentence, ¡°I would suggest you stop.¡± The words were a stern warning, devoid of his earlier merth.


    ¡°Now then.¡± His calm, practiced voice returned. ¡°Young man, I believe introductions are in order.¡± Lord Iora looked at me with a calm patient smile. A few moments passed until I realized I was meant to introduce myself first. This was probably some noble etiquette I did not know about. Probably something like the lower ranked introduces himself first.


    ¡°Uh¡­ I am Keir.¡± *Thump* Harper stomped his foot next to me to indicate I had done something wrong. Luckily for me he avoided the cliche of actually stepping on my foot, but this is unfair. How am I supposed to know how to treat a noble. There are too many rules and minutiae in the backwards noble system.


    ¡°Uh- I mean, I am Melvin Keir¡­ sir.¡± He will pay for making me utter that name.


    ¡°Hahaha. Children are always so refreshing. I am Count Nicolas Walton Iora, Head of House Iora. Young Keir, I suggest you study the rules of etiquette. Not all nobles will be forgiving for a blunder. Even with children. Perhaps Captain Harper can assist. Afterall, he becomes so nervous in my presence, all he can do is supply me empty compliments.¡±


    ¡°My lord, they are not-¡±


    ¡°Harper! I must be taking my leave. My business with Inspector Barden is finished. Would you care to escort me back to the manor. You can give me the details on the city guardsmen as we walk.¡± The statement was more command than question. Harper seemed to slightly panic at the order.


    ¡°Lord. What about K-¡±


    ¡°Young Keir will be fine. Corliss! We are leaving.¡± A young woman who had had been going over a stack of papers in the far corner stood up. She deftly maneuvered the mess of processed trees to arrive at Count Iora¡¯s side as he grabbed Harper and prepared to leave.


    ¡°Young Keir, I hope we meet again under more pleasant circumstances.¡± The lord gave me a small smile, and a gust of wind seemed to blow past me. A gentle, comforting touch of air that I would have thought to be a trick of the mind if several papers had not moved slightly at the same time.


    ¡°My lord, perhaps Sergeant-¡±


    ¡°Come on Harper.¡± The count physically pulled the captain out of the room, and the woman named Corliss softly pulled the door closed behind them.


    With the count gone, I surveyed the room again. Admittedly my first inspection had been derailed by the nonhuman nobleman. There are now three other people in the room with me. The man at the big desk, still sifting through papers, that had let us in seems to be the most important. He is probably this Inspector Barden that everyone has been talking about around me. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The man sitting to the side with a stack of blank paper and three inkpots is most likely a recorder for the following proceedings. He will probably stay quiet as a rule, unless he needs us to repeat ourselves or something.


    The last person is an old man with greying hair, dark skin, and pristine white robes emblazoned with the symbol of the Goddess of Order, a perfect circle bisected by twin vertical lines. I simplistic symbol, but I assume that they want it perfect every time so the simplicity is probably by design. The priest was simply reading a relatively thick book. Seemingly ignorant of the happenings around him.


    ¡°Okay. Got all of them together.¡± Inspector Barden stood up and approached me, who had yet to leave the vicinity of the front door.


    ¡°Hello there. I am Inspector Barden.¡± He held out his hand in greeting. I have yet to see the gentle smile he has waver. Barden¡¯s mood could be most likely summed up as the eternally pleasant type. I shook his hand limply, but Barden did not take offense at my appendage¡¯s imitation of a dead fish.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be asking you some questions, so let¡¯s go sit on the couch next to Father Dingbat.¡±


    ¡°DINGBA! You insufferable child! Will I have to put you over my knee, like elders are meant to do with misbehaving youngers!¡± The priest closed his book as he yelled at the inspector, swiftly swinging it around in the manner of a paddle.


    ¡°No! No! That won¡¯t be necessary Father Dingus.¡± Barden had a slight smirk on his face, and Father Dingba¡¯s face went still. The priest stood up and leveled his arm and book at Barden.


    ¡°Alright! Alright! I¡¯ll stop. Please forgive me, oh honorable clergy.


    ¡°...¡± Dingba lowered his arm and walked to the nearest bookcase. He began taking books down from the selves.


    ¡°Um? What are you doing?¡± Barden was visibly confused.


    ¡°Alphabetizing. It calms me down.¡± The priest somehow gave an answer that was even more confusing.


    ¡°Okay?¡± Barden seemed to shrug off the obsessive behavior. He took a seat in the second armchair, the first already claimed by Dingba. This left the central couch for me, unless I wanted to fight the priest over his seat when he came back from his self imposed shelf work.


    ¡°Would you like something to drink. I¡¯d offer you some liquor but unfortunately I¡¯m on duty now.¡± This earned him a smack on the back of the head by the passing Father Dingba on his way to his vacated chair.


    ¡°Just water, please.¡± I say in a noncommittal monotone.


    ¡°Make that a double, Father!¡±


    ¡°Humph. Ordering around a servant of the divine. Where do you get off.¡± Despite Dingba¡¯s protests he did prepare three cups of water from one of the pitchers in the corner. As Barden took his cup he placed his papers down, giving me a chance to peek at the contents.


    Ugg! No use. This world¡¯s writing is the equivalent of trying to read Russian written in cursive. Things look similar to English and I can recognize a new symbol or two. But just when I think I can recognize a word, the rest blends together into a squiggle across the page. I have failed to find someone who can teach me, and every attempt to teach myself resulted in subpar, scattered knowledge. If only this could be as easy as the new spoken language. I do not even remember learning the tongue. It just sort of happened. Guess I could credit the achievement to the baby brain.


    After my quiet internal rumination on my own failings, I took a sip of the water and discovered the drink was refreshingly cold. Interesting, the priest must have done something. Magic, or do priests cast with faith, either, or, perhaps I should actually pay attention to some of these religious kooks I have seen wandering around on occasion.


    ¡°ARG! Why¡¯s it so hot!¡± Inspector Barden shouted as he tried to drink.


    ¡°Order is balance. To make our drinks cold I took away the heat. This heat needed a place to go.¡± Father Digma calmly said, while taking drinks of his chilled water.


    ¡°Then why not put the heat in a fourth cup none of use will use!?¡±


    ¡°And waste the time and effort the workers put in to bring you that water.¡± Digma seemed as if he was holding back a smile. Barden was also slightly grinning. He had probably expected this sort of action, and was just playing up his announce for fun.


    ¡°Wait a minute. Do you necessarily have to use water for the heat? You can¡¯t just put it in the wall or something?¡± Barden narrowed his eyes at the old man, who just smirked in response. Barden got the meaning and jokingly turned to me for help.


    ¡°Keir! Dingle Mingle is bullying m-¡± At that very moment a now empty cup flew at the Inspector. Both moved faster than I could really see, but Barden¡¯s resultant position seemed to imply he dodged the flying vessel and caught the cup after it had passed. The action demonstrated a level of skill and reflexes that betrayed his overly goofy personality.


    ¡°Hey! Careful, you almost broke my gun cabinet!¡±


    Wait?! His ¡®what¡¯ cabinet?


    Looking behind the inspector did indeed reveal a display cabinet with a glass front lined with gun shaped objects. I must have missed the display on my initial inspection of the room because it was on the same wall as the door by which I had been standing. The bodies of the weapons seemed to be carved out of a single piece of wood each, with metallic inlays snaking along their lengths. They appeared to be front loading, both the rifles and pistols, as the all wood body did not seem to have any breaks in the form.


    Shit! This is a major thematic break. When Tolkien set the rules for medieval fantasies, firearms and gun-like objects should have been banned from these worlds! And these are shaped exactly like old muskets and flintlock. How is this the middle ages?!


    Perhaps they can only be operated with magic, or ¡®something¡¯. The various inlaid metals, as I have been led to believe, mean the item is enchanted, or as they call it, ¡®magically enforced¡¯. But only a magic user can freely use enchantments. So this must be some type of mage weapon. Yes. When I look closer, the guns do not even have triggers on them. And I have not seen any in eight years until now. Definitely not a common weapon.


    Still, this is not good for the theming.


    ¡°-mind you not to th¡­ Keir are you alright¡± I had let the other two continue their comedy routine, while I examined the gun case, and been caught staring. The two adults were now staring at me. Not worried, per se, more of a quizzical type look.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± I kept my eyes down, and spoke in lowered volume.


    ¡°Have you ever seen a gun before?¡±


    ¡°...¡± I kept quiet, as there is little someone can do with silence. And the inspector is in no position to make me speak. He let the matter drop for now.


    ¡°Alright, so let¡¯s get down to business, shall we.¡± Inspector Barden reached behind his chair and grabbed a small box. While pulling out a pair of gloves, he set the container on the floor in front of him. Peeking into the box everything inside seemed to be wrapped in black, slightly waxy, looking fabric. I would probably guess some sort of animal hide. No idea what animal. There are some strange creatures in this world. One I ran into frequently in the forest is a rabbit with four jumping legs instead of two, and travels by front flip because of that.


    The gloves he was laying to the side seemed to be made of the same waxy, black hide. What¡¯s the purpose of this. The box is most likely the evidence box, even if I cannot read the bold letters on the sides and everything inside is wrapped. But for what would he use the gloves?


    Wait! The guns show that I cannot make assumptions about the technologies available to this world¡¯s denizens. Which means the strange material is most likely for preserving the¡­ oh fuck.


    ¡°So then! Let¡¯s get started.¡± Barden clasped his hands together with a smile.