The Darkman: Ending
The doors to the great Manor Council room burst inward, admitting two hooded figures amid barking protest of the useless door guards. All proceedings came to an abrupt stop as attention shifted from the center of the room to the invading presence.
Zemus gave a sharp frown as his speech trailed off into the curious silence that swept through the room, more unhappy than his peers at the interruption. Once he gathered his wits, he quickly snapped, “Who dares approach the High Council of the Manor unannounced?”
Eyes flicked over one of the hooded figures – one of the standard Streetkeepers, tasked with carrying out the will and order of the Manor among the citizens of the city. Something about him flickered and shifted, as if hinting illusion. Something that was impossible, anyhow, as Streetkeepers were not trained in advanced magics. They were simply there to serve the public because their skills couldn’t serve the Manor in more important ways.
The Streetkeeper pulled the unwilling second hooded figure forward before the eyes of the Council. This one was more scraggly and held the scent of spoiled food and soiled streets. Noses wrinkled and looks of disdain spread through the watching Masters in the chamber.
Zemus covered his nose and mouth with a cloth, as if to be in close quarters could lead to the spread of something viral in nature. “You bring this knave amongst the Masters! Who do you think you are, Streetkeeper? I demand an answer!”
The darker hood stumbled forward, visibly shaking, bony hands reaching up towards the platform where Zemus stood. The hood fell back revealing a stubbly, dirty face and scraggly unwashed hair. Green eyes plead as his voice wavered, “Master Zemus, please… I can explain!”
It was a strange sight to see Zemus’ usually unmoving face turn pale. The Master ground his teeth as he took a step back. “Who are you? Stay your distance!”
The scraggly man’s face twisted in protest, “What? We talked only yest–”
“Silence!” the Master demanded. Pale was turning heated as anger touched his eyes.
“Is this someone you know, Zemus?” asked a smooth voice from the shadows of the tall dais at the far end of the room. Shapes loomed there, the leaders of the Council, the Manor Lords. Those who never revealed their faces.
“Absolutely not,” Zemus lied again, eyes narrowing. “This is all a setup of some kind. An attempt to sway the Council against my newest proposal.”
“Oh, pah, Zemus,” called a voice from the stands, “This is far more interesting than listening to your newest proposal.”
A trickle of laughter hovered over the Masters seated nearby, causing Zemus to pinch his face all the more.
“In fact, let’s hear what the Streetkeeper has to say about this welcome diversion,” the voice sounded.
“This is preposterous,” Zemus hissed under his breath, leveling his gaze at the still-hooded Streetkeeper.
The man under the hood didn’t respond to the withering gaze. So far, he held his silence and offered no explanation for boldly disrupting the happenings of the Council. He remained quiet now, even among the rain of agreement that echoed through the other Masters.
They were looking for entertainment. Something juicy and political. No one there thought for a moment that Zemus wasn’t guilty of association with this scraggly man. It was just the question of what kind of association it was.
Finally, the smooth voice of a Manor Lord resounded, calling order to the room with a few simple words, “Streetkeeper. You have permission to take the floor.”
The civil servant stepped forward, giving a low, somewhat elegant bow for someone of his station. When he spoke, he addressed the shadows of the leadership, completely unswayed by the antics of the Masters within the Council.
“He calls himself the Darkman,” the Streetkeeper spoke slowly. “His operation took children, some from the streets, some perhaps from legitimate households, and held them in his custody. He used them as child labor and ran a crime ring with the children acting as petty street thieves.”
“Had ta to eat, my lords,” the Darkman began to splutter, spreading his shaking hands. He was on his knees in the center of the room now.
“I speak the truth, yes?”
“You do, sir. But I swear no harm came to the children!”
“Besides living in squalor and thievery,” the Streetkeeper noted.
“My job didn’t pay well to keep that many children,” the Darkman tried to explain, though his words were hollow, even if they were the truth.
“And what was your job?” came the interrogating, telling question from the shadows at the far end of the room. One of the Manor Lords was interested in this story, now.
“Bringing kids to the Manor,” he glossed it over.
“Selling them, you mean,” the Streetkeeper interrupted.
“You make it sound so…” the man’s voice changed to a whining pitch.
But the Manor Lord would have none of it. His smooth voice grew in strength, demanding sharply, “Did you or did you not exchange children for money with someone at the Manor?”
The Darkman flinched back, covering his face. He half-squealed, “I did! I did! But I was doin’ as I was asked!”
“By whom?”
The man’s eyes flickered over to Zemus. He didn’t need to say anything.
It was Zemus’ turn to attempt to explain, “He was hired to locate the boy… the one who escaped… as the Lord Master instructed.”
“How did the task of locating one boy turn into running your personal child trafficking service?” the Manor Lord didn’t sound pleased.
“It wasn’t like that,” Zemus responded with a deep scowl. “These children were orphans, families lost to the Unremembering. They were given a place in the Manor, either as a student or as a worker, earning their food and keep. I assure you there is nothing nefarious about this. It benefitted both society and the children.”
“In that case, why not establish an orphanage? Why this whole Darkman organization? Why buying children?” the Streetkeeper asked with an edgy voice.
The unspoken questions lingered around Zemus. Why the secrecy? What were you gaining from it?
In return, the Master just glared down on the Streetkeeper as if his look could melt the brash man’s will.
Once again, the Manor Lord intercepted, pressing the Master with sharp words. “I agree. This so-called investigation was handled extremely poorly, Zemus.”
The Master didn’t respond. There wasn’t much more he could say to appease the anger of the Manor Lord.
The Darkman, however, wasn’t above begging and sniveling at this point. His hands and knees were pasted against the floor, clothes leaving marks of grime along the polished surface. “My lord, you want an orphanage? Why didn’t you just command it? Give me the resources. I can run a right-lovely orphanage. Still search for that boy of yours, too. Just give the order.”
The Manor Lord rose to his feet. Eyes darker than the shadows reflected in contained fury. His voice held undisguised disgust, “Right now, I order you to shut up.”
The man did so, clamping his jaw shut with a shocked click.
His attention returned back to Zemus, asking, “Is this the only one hired for this repulsive plan of yours?”
“I hardly think that rehoming orphans can be called–”
“Answer my question.”
Zemus gave a growly look, “He’s the only one. We figured the boy who escaped remained in town.”
“The boy who escaped is not your concern anymore,” the Manor Lord informed him. Then, his voice shifted, changing completely in tone, as if someone else was speaking through his lips. “The child will return to us in one form or another. It’s inevitable.”
The silence that followed the words broke at the sound of the Darkman’s pleading snivels, “Only doing what I was told to do. I swear. I didn’t harm no kids…”
“Get him out of my sight,” came the Manor Lord’s disgusted order.
“Where should I take him, my lord?” the Streetkeeper stepped forward to claim the Darkman, who was now nothing more than a shameful puddle of sobbing begs.
“I don’t care. Do whatever you want with him. Just keep him off the streets and get him out of my face… for his own good,” the answer almost sounded growled.
The Streetkeeper gave his bow once again.
When he straightened, the Manor Lord spoke, stopping him. “Also, have your men investigate the Darkman’s quarters and bring me any further information you can find.”
Zemus gave a strangled look. Perhaps there was something in the Darkman’s possessions he didn’t want found.
The Manor Lord must have taken note of it, because his next order sounded more pleased, “And… have the men ask around. Find the children who were transferred to the Manor in this method. Ensure they’ve been well-treated. Fix anything you find.”
The Streetkeeper paused, turning to peer up at the shadowy figure atop the dais, surprised at the unexpected compassion. The Manor Lord’s dark, glittering eyes met the hooded gaze of the Streetkeeper. Something exchanged between the two. Something that left the Streetkeeper staggered for a moment.
The smooth voice from the shadows also sounded different, almost sad, as it gave one last command, “Now go.”
The Streetkeeper bowed to the shadows of the Council room. Then he took hold of the rope that bound the Darkman’s wrists, and led him stumbling from the room. The hallway was full of his terrorized cries, which receded into muffled sobbing. There would be no mercy for the one who disgusted the Manor Lord.
In the middle of the Council room, Zemus stood, looking more irritated than anything else. Despite the foul turn of events, everyone knew that nothing would come of it for Zemus. The Darkman would take his fall, instead.
For the High Master spoke long ago. Named the names. And those were the names of the untouchables within the Manor.
Untouchable, at least, until the name became unspoken.
The Council remained silent, waiting the next command. The Manor Lord’s glare was apparent as he obliged. “Sit down, Zemus. We’ve had enough of your rot for the day.”
Zemus’ nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gathered up his papers and returned to his seat as if nothing had just happened in that room.