LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – THE CAPITAL CHANNING – SECTION 4

Back in his offices, Lamont Gudaren studied the full set of documents very carefully, astutely reading between the lines. He’d thought Luvet would make a perfect undercover agent; he had a clean record, and he was such a bookworm and rather dull academician. He was least romantic, a tedious oaf (boor, fool, klutz); so how did he get so enmeshed with Disaidun Agripe? Who would have thought Ceroz had it in him to do what he did. What really went on in that boat would be anyone’s guess? He’d read Zunrogo Tugo’s brief report also, talking about another disappointment.

 

01- PM LAMONT GUDAREN 10-JP

Lamont’s thoughts turned to his most pressing problem, his nephew Yekav. Personally, he didn't care much for the boy.  His ward was a constant source of disappointment and now a definite liability.

“That idiot nephew of mine, Yekov, is sure to be implicated in this crime, though it seems to be only indirectly.  It may take some doing but I still have influence enough to extricate him from all blame.”

Lamont Gudaren would have said good riddance to Yekov, but in view of these recent developments, for if he did not take certain measures in time to nip this in the bud, Lamont knew that there would be far reaching consequences (repercussions) for him.

The charges were based partially on the truth, this proof had been furnished to him, within a detailed report he had commissioned earlier on, by his operatives (agents).  If Lamont wanted to get well ahead of Egil Viggoaries and his cronies, he could delay acting on this no longer.

“All avenues must be blocked; all incriminating evidence eliminated at the source before the cursed eunuch Egil gains any real advantage. Yekov (his troublesome nephew) will eventually be exonerated, but this will be the last time I’ll go through this much trouble for that dastardly boy.  A fatal hunting accident while visiting his half-brother Keigo Ro in Kensu Province… Hmm… that shouldn’t be too hard, to arrange. “

Having settled on the handling of the problem, Lamont Gudaren dispatched his trusted secretary with the appropriate instructions to ensure that the cover-up was carried out immediately, without a hitch.  The matter now settled, he leaned back in his plush chair and wearily closed his eyes.

This whole business with the boy, mounted upon his other concerns, had irritated him a bit too much.  At times like these, he was happy he had only two female offspring.  They were quite beautiful, too, like their mother.  He was hopeful for their future prospects, but they were still too young for him to include them in his machinations.

 Lamont opened his eyes and stared at the stack of documents that demanded his perusal and signature.  Every day was the same.  However much he delegated, his workload still seemed to increase.  There were never enough manpower and funds to allocate, to deal with all of it satisfactorily.  In view of all the extravagant expenditure, especially those of Royal Family’s, the State funds were fast being depleted.  The treasury accounting records showed a consistent, mounting deficit year after year.

 Owing (due) to a summer drought last year in the western provinces and floods along the lower Yawjun River this spring, the government granaries were at only half of the level (capacity) they should be at this time of the year.  Yet with the new military campaigns, the lavish architectural projects, the bribes that must be paid to assuage the rampant corruption, the fiefdoms granted almost at random, the taxes already a burden, perpetually mounting, he wondered, where would it all end?

 As a matter of fact, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren was at his wits-end trying to find a plausible solution to the failing economy, the rampaging deficit, and at the same time to procure adequate funds for the military and the growing demands for the so-called necessary expenditures incurred for the benefit of the state.  The only partial relief came after the advocated wars when the much-needed tribute was finally paid.

How much longer could they sustain this appearance of a strong nation?  The system was rotten to the core.  But would he dare to let any criticism slip through into any of his reports?  His Highness was most intolerant of any failings, any weakness.  Even the Censorate Bureau, the Treasury Department, the Imperial spies, and Internal Security had all acted as if one body, collaborating with him to obscure these findings, stalling for time until a solution presented itself.

Despite all seeming appearances, his own personal finances were in no great shape either; at least not in the kind of plateau (area of stability) he would like it to be. 

“Ah!  But I have had a few lucky breaks now and then, haven't I?” He stood up, clasped his hands behind his back and slowly strolled over to the window.

 “Mmm! “The sweet scent of rare orchids rose from the courtyard to regale his nostrils.  His eyes fixed themselves to the upright, solid lines of the gingko tree in the center as his thoughts moved on to the upstanding Under Secretary Lenny Sukzor, a man well respected by the Sovereign for his integrity, his strong character, efficiency resourcefulness and his no-nonsense frankness.

In the crunch, it was Lenny Sukzor who could be counted on to diligently carry out the most difficult and delicate jobs that all others shunned for fear of failure. 

 

02- LENNY SUKZOR (2)JP

Lamont Gudaren grinned wryly as he thought back to how the Under Secretary had, quite unexpectedly, disclosed in Court the entire amount of the bribe he had personally received from the emissaries from Kontu, forcing the rest of the Court bureaucrats to do likewise, though Lamont doubted their accuracy of the count, after all, even he had concealed a few small items.

Earlier on, against the advice of many of his well-meaning associates and good friends who had strongly advocated that he gain maximum benefit from the emissaries' offer, Lenny had ruffled few feathers by seeking the Prime Minister Lamont's good council on how best to refuse the gifts secretly lavished on him and return them to the delegation from Kontu.

“Hopefully," Lenny had hemmed and hawed at this point, making an outward show of humility, "this can be done without stepping on any toes, instigating any ill will or triggering any diplomatic incident."

In his heart of hearts, Lamont Gudaren had always disliked the man and thought of him as too ambitious, too pretentious, a tiresome boor and, an instigator of unwarranted troubles if nothing else.

 At the time, he had almost petulantly (sullenly) dismissed him, for his audacity, which would have been a grave mistake on his part. Meanwhile this irregularity raised his suspicions. “Since when, and for what reason our bold, no-nonsense Under Secretary has become so circumspect and elliptical, all of a sudden?”

 Prudently Lamont had at first been rather evasive with his response; but then on second thought, he had concealed his true feelings and his immense annoyance at the upstart and had pretended to acquiesce, with him. Lamont had very graciously then promised to intercede diplomatically on Lenny's behalf and handle the matter of returning the bribes for him. 

Admittedly, that was a bothersome trifle but in the end the benefits he would reap would certainly exceed all expectations.

Lenny Sukzor, not concealing too well his disappointment, suddenly had a change of heart (mind).  Bowing low, he’d profusely apologized for his thoughtlessness in troubling Lamont; then asserting that it would be way too troublesome for Prime Minister and therefore not wishing to impose, stated that, however hard it might be, he would personally handle this matter.

In retrospect, Lamont saw now, this was an underestimation of the man.

 Alas, he’d regretted since then, not anticipating Lenny's next move and upstaging the upstart, by his returning the bribes in a timely manner; for as it happened, Lenny Sukzor had shone like a bright star from that time on, in Sovereign Zakhertan Yozdek's estimation; hadn’t he?

“No matter,” Lamont shook his head, but his face grew long and a dark, as shadow fell over his eyes.

“Well, that's water under the bridge now; a missed opportunity is a missed opportunity.” Lamont shrugged; but then his spirits lifted as he thought, “Oh well, at least it wasn't an entire loss. I still got a piece of Lenny Sukzor’s good fortune.”

Lamont picked up the top document and perused it, “This one can wait.” He disdainfully set it aside.

His thoughts reverting to Lenny Sukzor, “Hmm, it turns out he was way too shrewd and certainly far-sighted. “Lamont admitted to himself.

Or perhaps he lacked concrete proof and hoped to delicately forewarn me and the others of the impending disaster.  That may be why he sought first my unneeded advice when, with that glib tongue of his, he could have at any point in time, resolved the matter himself. 

The Prime Minister considered for a time this well-calculated, politically astute move on Lenny's part.  “No, I'm giving him way too much credit.”  He perfunctorily dismissed (rejected) the notion; still, what had transpired next, with an unexpected turn of events, had been a boon.

“It’s that devil Egil Viggoaries that rendered me this great favor, despite him.”

03- EGIL VIGGORIES -9JP

 The thought of his nemesis seething in rage brought a fresh broad grin of satisfaction to Lamont’s lips.

“I, myself, could not have thought of a better plan than this stroke of luck.  Always plotting to undermine my efforts, it serves that mongrel- dog right that he should now stew in his own juices.” The Prime Minister gloated.

Indeed, before he could fulfill his promise to Lenny of returning the gold to the emissaries, a sudden turn of events had dictated that he follows a different strategy and gain an invaluable opportunity to add a prized addition to his web of secret affiliates. Even though he had not moved thus far to collect on the debt, he was content with the knowledge that Lenny Sukzor was now his to do with as he saw fit. 

“Yes, Lenny Sukzor, with your unblemished reputation, I now own, your body and soul, lock, stock and barrel.” 

The Kontu emissaries had struck a favorable bargain, wherein they had agreed to take the gold itself back without any ill will but would, to mollify their Emperor, leave the rare gifts with their recipient.  Just before Lenny's gold was to be transported back to them, however, a disastrous fire, coincidentally started by lightning, had decimated (consumed) half of the Under Secretary's mansion.

Though the gold in question was stored in that wing of the building that was completely gutted by the fire, it would still have been salvageable with a little effort once the rubble was cleared.  And lo and behold, when they managed that, they found that the entire lot had simply vanished without a trace.

Lamont had suspected that arson was merely a cover-up for a robbery affected by the cooperation of one or two of Lenny’s retinues (attendants).  However, his subsequent covert investigation failed to uncover least trace of incriminating evidence at the scene.  This proved that the thorough job was executed by a professional group’s backing; one capable and powerful enough to affect covert, illegal transaction of disposing of a hot item, one such great mass (heap) of gold.

“Yes,” Lamont sat in chair by the window, “in some ways Lenny Sukzor is still naive. I could have perhaps prevented his open ended (unrestricted, indefinite) investigation and spared him from all that dire trouble; for all the good it did.”   As it were, from the first moment Lamont had heard of the fire, he’d guessed there was a deeper plot at the crux of it all, and it wasn't hard for him to deduce just who, considering the open altercation at Court Lenny had had with Egil Viggoaries just the week before over that trivial matter, the perpetrator (executor) behind it all was.  The eunuch was most notorious for his spiteful (malicious), vindictive nature and his greed, and hardly anyone else had the power to get to Chief Inspector Yori.

“No, that wasn't it, at all. “The Prime Minister quickly dismissed that feeble basis from his overall hypothesis (theory). “There was far more at stake here.”

Knitting his brows, he inclined his head and digressed, reflected on how the Chief Inspector had been a competent, reliable officer ever since Lamont Gudaren had handpicked him for the position.  Up until the fire there had not been any cause, not even the slightest reason to question Yori's integrity or competence.  For eight years of diligent work, he had maintained an unblemished record to his credit but in the blink of an eye that had all changed when, despite the hints of arson, he’d refused to consider any notions of foul play and had persisted in contending in his otherwise meticulous report that it had been lightning that had caused the destruction to Lenny's property.  Of course, Yori was a man who relied solely upon solid evidence to draw his indisputable conclusions, and in this instance all the facts available pointed to lightning as being the cause of the destruction. 

There were no irregularities to warrant Yori's suspicion, what else could Lamont have expected of the man?  The Prime Minister had even asked himself what grounds he had to suspect the Chief Inspector.

“All right then,” the Prime Minister quietly conceded. “There must be another explanation for Yori's unsatisfactory (botched, bungled) investigation of Undersecretary Lenny Sukzor's case. “

 “Perhaps I'm being too harsh, too demanding of the man's ability?” For even his (Lamont’s) own team of experts had failed to prove otherwise; as with all the findings, all the clues had tallied perfectly with the Chief Inspector's original report.  But Lamont Gudaren was innately (instinctively) stubborn official; for countless hours hence, he had poured over both the reports himself, meticulously examining every detail, scrutinizing every recorded fact and, even though it all came to no avail (even he could not detect any irregularities, no suspected insertions, or a single dubious statements) still, he’d remained most insistent on his suppositions.

The more everything appeared to be above board, the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach prodded Lamont to dig deeper, to investigate all avenues, even the seemingly innocuous ones, to expose what, at present, stubbornly escaped all notice.

 “Some elusive, incriminating thread would eventually link things up.  His hunches had not failed him thus far and it was inconceivable that they would do so now.”

04- CHIEF INSPECTOR YORI

 In truth he’d been rather fond of Yori, as much as he could be of any subordinate.

Despite any proof, on a mere suspicion, Yori's life had been expediently forfeited, so coldly that, even now, the Prime Minister shuddered when he thought about it.

“But it couldn't be helped.”

 Lamont’d dreaded losing him but no sooner, unbidden; names of several possible successors had come to mind.  There was no shortage of competent men to replace him with.

Lamont clenched his fists and angrily turned his eyes away from the gingko tree to follow the tall intertwining hedges that skirted a winding pathway which snaked behind a man-made mountain. Going over, he quickly signed the other document he’d set aside. “There, it was done. Yori replacement would be Halsten Stig”

He stroked his beard, suddenly saddened by the thought of what must inevitably follow.

 Perhaps that fool Lenny had inadvertently, without malice, unleashed this series of events; but the Prime Minister still held him partially to blame.  Why couldn't he have been straight with Yori?  The proof of Yori's innocence had been obtained long after his accidental death.  All that could be done had been done for his wife and surviving child, to ease Lamont's conscience, and the financial burden was added to Lenny Sukzor's still unsettled account.

 Why should the Under Secretary be spared from the consequences of his actions?  All because, when Yori had asked to receive the statement of account of Lenny's losses, the missing gold had been purposefully withheld from the list.  Lenny had remained apprehensive about the idle gossip that could flame the belief that he had instigated arson himself to keep both his integrity and the gold.

“So, he feared above all that his impeccable, precious reputation should be tarnished.” Lamont disdainfully pursed his lips, reflecting on how the Undersecretary’s arrogance, for such a trifle, had wasted a good man's life. That, however, had been the one weakness that had rendered Lenny Sukzor vulnerable to him and at the same time, landed them both in deeper trouble.  At least that was what he had allowed the seeming consequence (upshot), to be generally known.  Fortunately, he had been awakened to the underhanded ploy of his nemesis who, also perceiving this weakness in Lenny; he had no doubt engineered the theft of the gold, not just to discredit the Under Secretary, but also to snare the Prime Minister as well, once Lamont had stuck out his neck for, in support of Lenny. And mistake number two; to extricate himself from this trouble, he had pushed his team to a more in-depth investigation into the case.

 

(END OF SECTION 4)

THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 7

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 7

For the remainder of that morning Svein, riding alongside Fradel, had respectfully kept his silence understanding that a serious grievance was at the root of Fradel's reverie. 

Most appreciative of this quiet, Fradel struggled hard but without avail, to dispel the gruesome, vivid images forming in his mind's eye: The mound of earth, overgrown with grasses and bush, the old man sitting at its edge, perfectly motionless, the gnarled walking cane resting unused on the earth beside him; these visions still persisted in haunting his peace and try as he might, after all this time, he could not purge his heart of a dogged, all-consuming despondency and guilt.

Currently, Fradel’s mind yet again ruminated (cogitated, recollected) of that long ago, the unpleasant happenstance (twist of fate, quirk) which should have been ordinarily locked in his subconscious psyche. Fradel inhaled deeply and sullenly harked back to that time when on route to Terek  he’d, sighting a solitary seated figure some distance down the road, assumed the old man to be asleep or in a trance; but, when a shaft of sunlight suddenly peeped through the dense rain clouds, Fradel’s acute vision had then noted the glistening tears streaming down the man's pale, wrinkled, sunken cheeks.  Now ordinarily, he would have sent his stewards to make inquiries but, propelled by an unexplained, strange desire, he’d dismounted at the edge of the roadside. As he was hot, he first took off his garment’s (top) outer layer and, handing this and the reins of his stead to one of the stewards, meanwhile, (ignoring) paying no heed their strong protests, ordered them to stay put, then went forth to investigate.

 As he advanced towards the old man, he’d for a spell, experienced some trepidation but kept on with determined steps regardless, climbing the rocky, uneven hillock, till he had reached the sorrowful being.  Halting a few steps back, he'd respectfully bowed in greeting, introduced himself as gently and politely as he could, however, giving him a pseudo-name Serek Vern, which Fradel had adapted wishing to be anonymous during his travels, and then, inquired about the old man's health and possible needs.

The old man appearing oblivious to it all, had at first, remained perfectly still. 

Fradel (Serek), nevertheless, being reluctant to leave him in that state, he’d advanced ever so slightly closer and was about to accost him anew when the old man sharply raising his head, seething, glared at this bothersome, pesky stranger.

Dokurek, which Fradel Rurik Korvald later came to know his name, had initially acted with uncalled-for hostility.  His cold, gray eyes had burrowed fiercely, contemptuously into Fradel's and lingered there, scrutinizing him, for a long spell. 

At the time, the icy, hateful gaze, like a frozen blade, had stabbed at Fradel’s empathetic heart!

Even after some elapsed time, while Fradel had assumed he was making inroads with Dokurek, the old man, with obstinate hardness, had retained his original skepticism of Serek’s (Fradel's) ignorance of the common facts, of his naiveté and his motives.  But, gradually, bit by bit drawn out of his shell, he’d thawed, then eventually entrusted Serek (Fradel) with the truthful accounts and factual answers to his persistent inquiries. 

It turned out that Dokurek's two promising scholar sons had been buried alive beneath that nearby mound along with some three hundred and twelve other literati.

This revelation shook Fradel, then and to date, to the core of his being. He’d never been the same since.

"And, make no mistake about it,” Dokurek had nodded gravely, pointing a bony finger, "this mound is but one of many.  Yes, many, many, more, most containing even more corpses than this, exist scattered throughout this great country of ours."

 Dokurek, moreover, added with such bitterness in his voice: “They even built roads over some, so tread carefully young man, the next time your path crosses one of these.  They have no respect for the living, why should they have any for the dead?"  Inclining his head downwards again, he'd scoffed contemptuously, as hot tears once more glistened in his eyes, but he’d bit his lip angrily to stem them.

Noting disbelief in Serek’s (Fradel’s) eyes, he’d swallowed hard, then grinding his teeth, announced sourly, "And secretly, ever so secretly, it's still going on!" His face was contorted with pain and anger, yet he could not stop now.  "When the scholars suffered such a fate, you might ask, what became of their families?"  He shook his head vehemently, "I'll tell you what!  Some were banished to the frontier where they were sold into slavery, some into forced labor or killed outright and all, without exception, had their property confiscated.  And why the hell not…There is great profit to be had in this sort of vile undertaking by the greedy, grasping patricians (nobles, aristocrats).  In many instances they fabricated charges to fill their coffers and to construct a powerbase.   In these dark times, justice is always trampled underfoot by the selfsame rapacious bureaucrats.  A slander without proof in the ears of the right person would be sufficient for a court of law to proscribe the victim.  On pain of death, who would dare mount a defense or champion the righteous cause?”

It became clear to Fradel that the old man was speaking from bitter personal experience; and that he, too, had fallen prey to the greed of akin official.

"And I thought he was a close friend!"

 Fradel raised his eyes from the old man's clenched fist to see him staring once more in the direction of the mound. 

"And to think my son held him in such high esteem!  Bah!” Dokurek turned angrily to spit on the ground.  "Curse you, and a curse be upon your whole family!  May you and your descendants be cursed forever in Hell?"  Dokurek's chest rapidly rose and fell in fury, until he finally grew a bit calmer.

"The reason for these atrocities...  How is it possible, you may ask?  Ah!” he fixed his dubious, pained, angry pupils above his deep-set, gaunt(boney) cheeks on Serek Vern (Fradel Rurik Korvald).

 "Have you had no knowledge of these sort of vile deeds at all, none?  What about the foul happenstance (coincidence) that had reportedly claimed Taok Therkan’s life?” Dokurek asked skeptically.

"Taok Therkan?” Fradel furrowed his brow, and then confessed to, in his remote dwelling having scant news of the famed scholar, save for once, being lucky enough, to have come across one of Taok’s brilliant essays. Impressed, he’d sought to procure more, with no result; meanwhile, the mystery, the silence surrounding the scholar Taok Therkan had never been satisfactorily explained to Serek Vern (Fradel) and he, at present, implored Dokurek to enlighten him on this subject.

Dokurek shook his head, "It's inconceivable to think,” he looked straight at Serek Vern, considering: “how could your family have been spared this ferocious, evil tide that has swept the nation?  I know of this from the mouths of many, that these long years have been anything but brutal to all Literati. Why should you, your family be spared? And now standing before me you lay claim to knowing nothing?  No, you're false!  Worse, you must be an informant, a spy!  Is it conceivable that you are sent by that cursed Zaur to...?”

 Dokurek looked down to hide the sudden manifest disdain from his eyes then fretfully, stealthily looked about him.

 His eyes rested on Serek Vern 's servants, then narrowed into slits.  "And why should you be bothering with the likes of me?  Why not sic one of your dogs on me and have done with me?  Or is it your delight to first toy with your prey?"

 He turned an angry, defiant gaze back at Serek Vern only to meet the scholar's somewhat indignant, perplexed face.

 Dokurek immediately regretted his suspicious outburst.

Fradel had surmised later how, at this point Dokurek was filled with a great need, a burning desire to believe in someone, anyone, while the flames of his life-force still burned in him. His past misjudgments had cost him dearly and rendered him cautious, distrusting all; now and always seeking, expecting some sinister motive behind every kind of gesture. 

For a time, the old man had remained nonplused, shaking his head and mouthing half-crazed, barely comprehensible mumblings as he turned a deaf ear to Serek Vern's gentle arguments. 

"But there is nothing to be gained in trapping me.  It was not my will, my wish that my sons were scholars.  Besides, what do I possess now?  In my heyday, sure, I had substance then. Even ten years ago I had means, holdings to be coveted.  I commanded such respect!  But now…now I have nothing, nothing of any value or use to anyone.  Nor do I have any surviving affiliates left to be targeted.”

“But then, hmm, yes, you do look the kindly, honest sort. Suppose I take a chance?  Perhaps I've been too hasty in suspecting you?  I mustn't let my paranoia cloud my judgment.”  Dokurek continued mumbling to himself as though Serek Vern (Frade)l was not there.

Fradel, in exasperation having fallen silent, threw a cursory look at his impatient men and then thoughtfully looked down; in fact, he was (considering) of a mind to leave this insane old man when, catching the last part of what he had said, convinced Fradel to persevere just a bit longer.

 “Yes, you may be my very last chance."  Dokurek suddenly ceased his mumbling and decisively looked up. His eyebrows unraveled and he made a genuine effort to smile in a friendly manner.

"Forgive my obstinate ways, sir, but you can hardly blame me.  It's all the more incredible that you are a bona fide scholar.  No doubting that.  I'd even venture a guess that you come from a long line of illustrious scholars."  Allowing Serek Vern (Fradel), no chance to agree or dispute his statement, he nodded vigorously, "Furthermore, my eyes can attest to the truth of your claim that you are a stranger to these parts and that you must have led a life of seclusion, that’s why I’ve never heard of your name, a self-imposed recluse perhaps?"

 Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) reaction confirmed this guess and reassured, Dokurek leaned back, smiling.

 "Also, your distinguished attire, your decorum and fine, polished speech makes it all too evident that you are a well–off gentleman, perhaps an aristocrat.  A recluse scholar from an undisturbed sanctuary who has managed to prosper in these volatile times, an anomaly?” the old man shook his head, amazed.

Despite the tinge of sarcasm in his tone, Fradel had read no malice in Dokurek's face.  This perplexed him more.  And what did Dokurek mean by 'very last chance'?

Dokurek cleared his throat then in a softer tone rattled on, "You are so unassuming, so patient and not the least bit arrogant.  You have a great disposition.  You are by all appearances a good man, not unlike my Kuer.  Still, all the more reason for you to beware!"  He fixed his intense gaze at Serek Vern (Fradel) and said a bit more forcefully.  "You watch yourself young man!  Guard your words, his spies are everywhere.  His policies may undergo yet another change, and quite suddenly, too.  Then you're gone.  Pouf!  In one day.  Or worse still, it may all be a hoax, a scheme to finally entrap you.  I'm curious, though, what part of the country did you say you're from?  Which remote region was it that you hid in?"

Fradel had made no such claim, but his denial was cut short by a gesture of Dokurek's hand.  "No, don't tell me.  I'd rather not know.  Such knowledge is of little use to me now, anyway.  It's enough to know that there is some small corner of this Empire that was spared, where the forces of evil could not wreak havoc."  Dokurek abruptly fell silent and looked away, his eyes resting on the two small mounds nestled under the swaying branches of a willow tree.

 After a time, Dokurek turned to face Serek Vern (Fradel) and with eyes brimming with fresh tears, reiterated his warning, "You must beware!  It's too late for my boys and it's too late for me.  I've got one foot in the grave already, but you..."  He smiled warmly at Fradel.  “I can't emphasize the importance of this enough.  He's like a jackal, a wild beast on the prowl.  His poisonous tentacles reach the four corners of the Empire, and it makes no difference what service you may have rendered him.  Disaster can befall you at the most unexpected turn. Under his rule, all manners of evil flourish and you can never, ever anticipate when the next catastrophe strikes!  So, it’s best you remain vigilant in safeguarding your life.”

Fradel was distracted just then by a debased snigger (snort, chortle) from his servants who had drawn close and were very much engaged with their heads pressed together in animated, amused mockery.  More infuriating still, Fradel’s ears picked up the steward’s disdainful ridicule, "Crazy as a Cakook!"  As if to demonstrate he then stood up, flapped his elbows, craned his neck and began drawing circles with his toes on the ground as he mimicked the bird.

 In mid twirl his eyes caught Fradel's fierce look of reprimand.  Chastised, the servant froze in his position. Similarly, the rest also cowered with stilled tongues and abjectly bowed their heads. 

When Fradel turned his eyes back to the old man, he found Dokurek keenly studying him.

"I'm right about you.  This time I'm right.  My salvation may just be at hand.” he mumbled then quickly looked away to escape Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) questioning gaze.

This time it was Fradel's turn for skepticism.  Had this all been a well-orchestrated performance, a charade on Dokurek's part?  Was he testing me?  Testing me for what?   Fradel had heard of cases where men touched by madness would slip into and out of reality, one minute sane as could be, the next, steeped in peril and precarious, imaginary fantasies.

As if surmising this, Dokurek looked up at Serek Vern (Fradel) and smiled wryly, "I wish it were so but, alas, my penance is to remain completely sane, mindful of all my past wrongdoings.”

“All right, I will tell you everything.  I've kept my silence long enough…but not here, not within earshot."  He indicated Serek Vern’s (Fradel's) servants with a wary look and a point of his chin.

 He rose and Fradel, signaling his men to stay put, followed the old man to a distant spot.

 

(END OF SECTION 7)