“I suppose we shall see.” Dominik heads out the door.
“He seems nice.” Charles Derhert is resting his hands on the table.
“That he is.”
“What is this contest?”
“It’s quite simple, Charles, we compete for the crowd and we gain accim. That can lead to a lot of things.” Fodor Dresk smirks. “Haughtiness is certainly a part of it.”
“You don’t like competing?” Charles Derhert asks.
“I want to help people – not beat them down. Unless there’s a good reason to.”
The years went by far too quickly. Fodor Dresk is an attentive and deeply resourceful man, and in time Charles Derhert became his most successful student – a marvel to the people that beheld his works. They were stunning and lifelike depictions of historical and religious events, of the peoples themselves and the city itself. His fascination with the expanding wilderness also found its way into his pieces. The desert and the oasis where the master and the student made their way through. Beneath the staircase, hidden from prying eyes – lies the abominations of Charles Derhert, cursed paintings containing his dreams and nightmares.
Dominik is older now; his face is aged like an old cedar tree. “Where did those years go, aye?”
“Hello, Dominik, how are you?”
“Older.” The old man sighs derisively. “That’s the emotion I feel.”
“You wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yes. It’s a good thing you didn’t inherit Fodor’s mind. He’s decided to compete – I wonder if I’ll be alive long enough to see him win.”
“Do you still attend to your stone, Dominik?”
“They tell me not to – breathing in stone dust is bad for you. I wouldn’t be able to teach if I wasn’t near it.” Dominik leans forwards. “So, d, what do you think he’s competing for?”
“Coin?” Charles Derhert pauses for a moment, before his mind clears of shock. Disappointment and sadness floods into his mind. “A willing spouse?”
“It’s hard to say – I don’t know if she’s willing, but then again I’m an old man. My days of chasing are over. Long behind me.”
“Does he need my help?”
“He wants your support.” Dominik extends his old, bony hand. “You are his prized pupil.”
Charles Derhert stops.
Dominik nods slowly. “I understand how much he means to you, Charles. But this day always comes, when a man makes a decision that changes the course of his life.”
The old man looks closely at the young man – he can feel his sadness.
“No. He didn’t want to tell you – but he believed that he owed you an apology for his decision.”
“Who is this fine dy?” Charles Derhert asks bluntly.
“Her name is Catherine Mallory – a very clever and pretty thing.” Dominik folds his hands together. “You might find her out there, above the crowd, or at least her kin.”
“Has Fodor spoken with her?”
Dominik shrugs. “I can’t tell – he’s keeping his mouth closed.”
“Is she that scary?”
A good hearty ugh erupts from Dominik’s chest before he starts coughing. “You might be right. I think you should try and speak to her – after all, you do want to help Fodor, don’t you?”
“I do. I just hope that they stay here at least, in Duskenveil.”
“I’ve known Fodor for a long time, d, I don’t think he’s going anywhere. Not for a while.”
Charles Derhert heads outside to get a sense of his emotions. It’s there away from the crowd – that he runs into Catherine Mallory and Alise Cartwright.
“I don’t like this, Catherine, neither of these men are safe to be with.”
“I’ll be ready, Alise, you don’t need to worry. I’m not the foolish girl I used to be.”
They pause for a moment, hearing the approach of Charles Derhert.
“Are you another admirer wishing to procim his affections? Or an artist?” Alise Cartwright didn’t have the patience to waste on a formal greeting.
“Why are you here?” Charles Derhert squints at the two of them.
“To avoid both those sorts.” Catherine Mallory answers honestly.
Catherine Mallory is an incredibly beautiful woman; she shines in the dim alleyway. A bright and luminous figure with raven bck hair falling around her shoulders, high cheekbones and dazzling eyes would capture the interest of any man. There’s a deep intelligence behind her eyes and she smiles with good humor.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you – for I am an artist.”
Alise Cartwright shakes her head quickly. “We didn’t mean like that, sir, it’s just neither of us are used to this sort of thing. A competition – for some great prize. I despise it.”
“I would’ve been happy – living a humble life yet here I am.” Catherine Mallory spreads her arms, doing a courtesy. “I don’t know if I care for either man, Fodor Dresk or Prince Zar’va. I don’t know what this is. Is God testing me?”
“You’ve done a lot of thinking, and it hasn’t calmed you?”
“I’m not partaking in being a philosopher.” Catherine Mallory dismisses her uncertainty. “I want to do what’s right for my family, my friends, and the people I meet. I’m sure you can understand, sir, that I’m here as a mercantile maiden.”
“A clean merchant – what do you sell?”
“I dealt with cattle – quite obedient if you’re present.” Catherine Mallory sighs. “I wish I could return to that old life – but as this is an opportunity to climb higher and find a good man.”
“What have they done so far?” Charles Derhert inquires.
“Fodor Dresk is a stunning performer, the Prince matched him well.”
“Matched him – I doubt that.”
Alise Cartwright smirks with plenty of amusement. “Who are you, sir, are you one of his?”
“I’m his prized pupil. His most talented student.” Charles Derhert straightens as well as he can. “Fodor is a man of great strength.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Catherine Mallory smiles. “It won’t be long before I am called to judge.”
“You could walk away.” Alise Cartwright points out. “You have no obligation to either.”
“I can hardly abandon what I’ve joined. It wouldn’t be befitting.”
“Opinions do not matter that much. There’s always different cities in this kingdom.”
“This is the culmination of our argument.” Catherine Mallory rubs at her eyes. “I want to be practical about this – you do understand, sir?”
“Do you love them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I will.” Catherine Mallory composes herself. “Maybe I won’t. I don’t want harm to come to either of them – but whatever choice I make it’ll be forever.”
The moment passes into the mist of their own thoughts. As they all return to the present.
-
“The rest of the story unfolds as it was recorded.” Vukosava says to the group, as they open their eyes one by one. “Thank you, Charles, I think we have a fuller picture of Catherine Mallory and what we have to do.”
“That would be?” James asks quickly.
“Appealing to her sense of doing right by her family and others. She knows deep down what’s right and wrong.” John interjects.
“It still makes me sick – with how everything went down.” Harley grumbles. “I mean, can we really bme her for feeling this way? You know – wanting to punish the wrongdoers.”
“I do feel sorry for her, Harley. But I can’t condone what she intends to do. If we stand aside and allow her to have free reign, it’s over. She’ll get to every prison in this state, and then she’ll keep on going. They’ll be blood.”
“Sir Victor will also be supporting her.” Charles Derhert points out.
“Does she even need his help?” Harley crosses her arms angrily. “Like seriously.”
“If Carlos and Alexi are following the same logic we are. They’ll make sure the prisons are covered. They’ve been talking with the authorities, trying to brush everything under the rug. If the prison gets hit, it’s harder to dismiss.” Vukosava folds her hands together, working her fingers.
“Prison riot gone wrong?” Amber asks.
“Yeah, maybe.” Vukosava didn’t have time to waste on the schematics of it – if there’s a solution to the Red Queen it's talking to her. That little competition from way back then between Fodor Dresk and the Eternal Prince, for the hand of Catherine Mallory is causing problems all these years ter. If they go to the biggest correctional and reformation facility in the local area, it’s a guarantee that Carlos and Alexi will be there too.
“You’re thinking a lot.” Harley snorts.
“I’m certain we’re going to run into old friends – and this time, Carlos will not be merciful.” Vukosava nods grimly. “I don’t bme him for his anger.”
“I don’t bme Catherine Mallory for her anger either.” Amber says facing the others. “She didn’t deserve a fate like that.”
“No one does, yet here we are.” Nathen is getting up, stretching out his legs. “Let’s get going.”
As they get ready to head off, Vukosava’s mum and dad stop them.
“Where do you think you’re going now?” Dad looks at each of them sharply.
“We have something that we need to take care of, Mr. Stevanovic.” John immediately replies.
“Need to? The st time you needed to take care of something it didn’t go well.”
Amber walks up. “Thank you for having me, Mr. Stevanovic, I’m ready to go home.”
Mum’s face softens temporarily. “That’s no trouble, dear. Please rest some more – and make sure they’re not dragging you around too much.”
Vukosava looks closely into the eyes of her mum and dad, they’re a relentless bunch.
“We’ll be safe. You don’t have to worry about us.”
“Worrying is what we do best, dear, you’ll understand that when you get older.” Mum sighs. “Or maybe you won’t.”
“If you have something to take care of – go.” Dad mutters.
With permission – they run out onto the street, getting into Nathen’s car.
“At this rate, we’ll need to visit a car yard sooner or ter.” His is an old rust bucket, a family heirloom that sticks around far longer than it should. “So, we’re going to the Kingsgrove Correctional Facility – the biggest prison in our area. I swear if one of those old watchtowers falls on my car, I’m going to lose it.”
“It’d be an improvement.” Harley is sitting in the front seat. “How are we going to get inside?”
“We’ll cim that we’ve got a family member or close family friend on the inside.”
“I’ve been delving through the Federal Agency of Prisons Registry; they run a very tight list on federal inmates that have been incarcerated since 1974.” Vukosava is sitting between Amber and John, projecting her voice so everyone can hear. “I’ve done a search – I’ve found some that could fit the bill. If we all have someone to visit – it might provoke less suspicion.”
“You think they’d fall for it? Oh, hey, this is the first time we’re here. We got a family member or friend on the inside, and didn't think of going beforehand.” Harley snorts. “I suppose we have no better strategy, huh?”
“Unless you count waiting for the Red Queen to get there first, then slip in.” Vukosava couldn’t accept this as a possible method to success. If the Red Queen starts killing on sight, a minute, no, even a couple seconds could lead to dozens of people being dead. This bck and white moral compass the Red Queen possesses is frightening. If they don’t get inside fast, everyone suffers – those that truly deserve it and those who don’t.
As they draw closer to the prison, Vukosava realises something important. Kingsgrove is correctional by nature and therapy dogs do have a long history in helping people with issues regarding stress and overstimution. If there’s a time to test what she’s capable of – it’s now. A wolf is an ancestor to dogs – they remain close kin. Who’s to say that she couldn’t make them feel a bit rebellious?
John nods slowly. “If you got something up your sleeve, use it.”
“There’s a program often run in helping prisoners reform, giving them something to focus on. That would be caring and training therapy dogs.”
“That’s your back up pn, rattle a few cages?” Harley grumbles. “Maybe we’ll be lucky and they won’t set the dogs on us.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Vukosava finishes simply.
