Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
Wednesday, 24 August 2005 |
At this point, you’ll have begun to notice that Nemoy has a tendency to curse quite regularly. We apologise for this. If asked, he would claim that it is better to let your feelings out in the open, than to let them boil them up inside you. Many people have tried to quash this belief, but all in vain. We all have our foibles; some people’s are just worse than others’.
Brother Rubeus sat in his study in total silence. The first thing that one noticed when entering the room was the darkness. Rubeus rarely allowed much light in his room. There were no windows, and today, the only light in the room came from a solitary candle.
Rubeus was by all accounts, a reclusive man and therefore kept to himself. He was also a deep thinker. Brother Rubeus had been known to lock himself up in his room for days on end, just thinking. He planned everything to perfection. You didn’t rise to the rank of Grand Master without being careful.
Although his rank demanded a certain reverence, Rubeus had always preferred to be called Brother. It was generally believed that anyone going by the namesake of Brother wasn’t so important, and this same naïve belief had allowed Rubeus to quietly gain promotion in the Order over the years. It was amazing how easy it was to kill someone when they thought you were inferior and not a real threat to them.
For those who could not bring themselves to call him Brother, Rubeus also accepted Master or Sir. Anything else would be considered by him to be an insult. To insult a Grand Master, especially this one, would not be a wise move, believe me. Rubeus could think of numerous whimsical ways to punish someone, such as ‘Death by Rats’.*
Among Rubeus’ numerous talents were his finely tuned reflexes, and his ability to see very well in the dark. The latter would soon come into play...
The door to the Grand Master’s study opened slowly, without a sound. But Rubeus had noticed the change in light. To the untrained eye, the darkness coming from the outside was no different to that inside his room, but to Brother Rubeus, it was that of one darkness changing to another.
Whoever it was must have been good. He or she had to have been careful not to stand on the creaking floorboard. He’d also avoided the squeaking door. Both had been specifically designed to make noise, with something like this in mind.
What the intruder had not planned for was a flying knife. It caught the would-be assassin in the jugular, and his body (for it was indeed a man) slumped slowly forward onto the ground, as if in slow motion. Rubeus rang the bell and instructed the guards to dispose of the body.
Events like this were not out of the ordinary. There were numerous attempted assassinations in the Order every month, but only a handful were ever successful. Of course, this was of no comfort to you if you happened to be The Deceased.
Rubeus had not shown any anger towards the guards for their incompetence in letting the assassin through unnoticed. This was for a couple of reasons.
The first was simple: Rubeus was now beaming. He loved the rush that he got when someone tried to assassinate him. It made him feel vibrant. Moreover, it made him feel alive in this dull, dull world. It, as he would say, “kept you on your toes.”
The second reason was far simpler: he needed someone to dispose of the body.
Of course, there would be repercussions later. It struck Rubeus that, for someone to have carefully avoided the creaks, they had to have been told about them. This in turn meant someone on the inside had betrayed him.
‘Impudent fools. Do they actually think that I would allow myself to be assassinated that easily?’
It was fair to say Rubeus had been more vigilant lately than usual about an impending attempt on his life. There would always be someone who wished to become Grand Master, especially now that the Chosen One had been found. Rubeus knew that fact all too well.
‘I’ll find him or her later, whoever they are. But for now, I have more pressing matters to attend to.’
Nemoy was angry. It had been a bad week. Not only had someone tried to kill him today, but there had also been that whole incident in the tavern.
‘At least the fight wasn’t my fault,’ he lied to himself.
‘Okay, so it was my fault. But I didn’t throw the first punch,’ he replied, again to himself.
This might have been the closest time that Nemoy had come in years to an attack of conscience.
‘All right, all right. I did throw the first punch. But I had good reason to.’
After coming to a compromise with his conscience, Nemoy continued on his way, though he had no specific place to go to. Nothing out of the ordinary there then, as in the last few months, Nemoy hadn’t had anywhere in particular he wanted to be. He had been content enough just to take each day as it came.
Now things had changed. Somebody had tried to kill him, and probably still was. Nemoy wanted answers and he wanted them now. He racked his brain to think of anyone who begrudged him. On closer inspection, Nemoy realised that the list would probably include nearly everyone he had ever met. He had never been much of a people person, and people didn’t think too much of him either. Perhaps it was the constant swearing.
Instead of making a list, Nemoy decided to take a new line of enquiry. When was the last time an unusual event had taken place? It could only have been the tavern. After all, he had caused quite a disturbance that night…
Although he wanted information, Nemoy was somewhat reluctant to return to the tavern. This reluctance was understandable for he had been very fortunate to escape last time with his life. If it hadn’t been for how dark and dingy the tavern was, Nemoy would have never been able to slip away during the fight.
Finally, he made up his mind. Nemoy wanted answers, and if that meant having to face possible dangers, then so be it.
‘Right, first thing’s first: where’s my damn horse?’
________
* Actually, this punishment rather speaks for itself. I hope you don’t need me to draw you a picture.
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