Chapter Nine: The Inquisitive Case of Mister Reaver

Bowerstone was an amazing place, because it had the capability to bring together both rich and poor through the exchange of goods and services. The people who ran the shops sat back on their stools behind their service counters and waited for The Rich to come in and decide they need an over the top gown for things such as Mister Reaver's Masquerades. The event was approaching fast since he had one every other week and whether or not you got an invite depended on your social status or your ability to sweet talk the man with bribes.

Maybe that is the best place to start when describing Mister Reaver. Bribery was something that Mister Reaver enjoyed quite a lot. Someone attempting to give him things that he did not own and with his many years he had obtained, the bribes were beginning to mean a little less with each one given. He wanted money. He wanted power. And let it be known that Mister Reaver was quite great at getting both of these things by himself. The man owned a mansion to itself on the far side of the lake in Millfields and had a guard who stood in wait for guests at every possible hour. The large statue of him in the middle of his yard was just another reminder of the man's sheer inability to not love himself more than anyone else.

It was very well known that the man was a pure narcissist. If it weren't for the fact that he had to always have his gun and his cane on hand, then most wouldn't be surprised to see him holding a hand-mirror. However, it goes that no one would dare say such things to his face.

It was a Sunday, in the evening, most people had returned home for the night. Though, one man had made his way all the way from the Industry district of Bowerstone to Millfields. His name was Philip Nash. He was in his late forties and had been working for Reaver Industries since he could remember; first as an underpaid child laborer, then he grew into a guardsman.

The sun was now set and the man felt even less at ease. He had walked passed a thriving part as he made his way around the famous lake and even from that great distance he had still been able to see the Reaver Mansion. The guard before the manor had allowed him access through the gates, but that did not ensure that someone would open the doors to the manor. He'd knocked ten minutes ago, if he did so recall correctly. From his breast pocket he retrieved the summons that forced him to come with such haste.

Dearest Philip,

It is that time once more! I like to refer to it as 'Debt Hunting Season', because more times than not it ends in someone's unfortunate end, and as you can surely tell, that person is not me. So, Philip, my faithful guardsman, set out to protect what I hold quite dear to myself, I hope you know it is well past due, the time of which we had discussed prior to this notes arrival. I will be waiting.

Yours most sincerely,

Reaver

As he read the letter he could hear the man's voice in his head and he did not sound angry, because his cool voice hardly ever got a sharp edge to it, however, the man hardly ever tromped around with a smile on his face either, but usually he spoke with such a manner that it persuaded you into agreeing with him. Philip wondered if the man would persuade him into killing himself, perhaps.

Just as a visible shudder passed over him the right side to the double doors opened and a man with sullied red hair and dirt stained face appeared. He was wearing nothing but a pair of bloomers and suspenders, only that and a smile. "Can I help you?" he said in a very heavy accent.

Philip puffed up his chest. "I am here to see Mister Reaver."

"Mistah Weavah is busy at the moment. Might I sewvice you instead?" The man leaned in and stared directly into Philip's face. He had a speech impairment as well? Philip had not suspected Mister Reaver as one who hung out with such cases.

"I suppose you don't understand. I have this letter and he has asked me to see him."

The man blinked, one eyelid came down before the other. "Wight. Wight. I will see if Mistah Weavah is available…" he slurred out and began to make a turn to face the front room.

Philip followed him inside and closed the door behind him, as the strange man took to climbing the stairs, seemingly forgetting his arrival. However, as if he knew of his guest, Mister Reaver was already waiting atop of the steps. His signature look of dark hilarity was intact from the day's work. His hat was tilted slightly on his cocked head and his cane was in hand. "Aw yes! It is my darling man, Philip Nash."

The dark haired man did not make an effort to come closer, making Philip unsure if he should do any moving himself. "Now, Philip, where is the money? I am sure that is why you are here?"

"Actually, yes. You see-"

"Let me cut you off there, for you see, you started in a very bad manner. Might I suggest a change? How about," he placed his gloved finger to his lips as if to think of something snarky, but he never had to think, comments such as the one he was about to conjure up were his specialty and he needn't think, "'Mister Reaver, I have all the money I owe you, every last coin. Do not worry for it is all in a nifty little satchel which I will place on the table by the door and let myself out.'"

"I truly wish that was my intention, Sir. It is just that-" Philip tried to begin his plea once more, but before he could so much utter the words, Reaver's free hand had reached into his white jacket and out he pulled his gun. Philip froze.

Suddenly, the dark humorous look was replaced by a stern and malevolent one. They were at a silent stand-off now. Should Philip say the wrong thing he was sure to get shot and if he said nothing at all then still he would be shot. He decided to cut his losses and spill out the contents which he had spent the last few nights going over. "I have a request. I give you something in exchange for what I owe you and never ask another coin more!" he rushed this sentence so completely he wondered if the man had understood.

It took a while for Mister Reaver to reply. "What is it that a lowly guard from the Industry could possibly have in his possession that I may want?" One dark eyebrow lifted inquiringly.

"A servant! I know the perfect servant for you," Philip replied with more courage.

Mister Reaver lowered his stilled weapon. Then things took a strange turn as the man let out a heavy cackle. "Barry!" he snapped after a pause in his guffawing. The red headed man appeared a moment later wearing a table cloth around his unsightly scrawny hips. "Barry, this man just suggested the most incongruous idea. He believes that I need a servant."

The man, Barry, turned toward Philip with his mix-matched eyes. "That is most pwepostowous thing I 'ave heaw-ed," he stated in his defective dialect, as well as the slur of alcohol.

"Quite, that is exactly my rejoinder."

Philip felt dizzy. The man and his impaired servant were making fun at him. "Please, listen, Mister Reaver. I have come to realize that you rather enjoy company and pleasure. I am sure that the person I wish to barter off will fit such needs."

"You owe me eight-hundred gold. Do you know how many companions I could take with that?" When Philip stayed quiet for a moment, Reaver continued, "About 53.33333 and so on," he waved off the end of his sentence with his blasé hand. "Those are the high quality companions as well, I might add."

Philip didn't want to have to do this; this next step was intentioned to be his plan B. He got down onto his knees and clasped his hands together. "Please. It is all I have to offer."

Reaver was smirking again. Was that a good sign? "I do so enjoy how you easily put up the life of another so easily over your own. Most people come in with the most woeful of tales; which I am supposed to pity, or so I presume. You come in here and offer someone else's life? You're a dirty little man my friend. Return here tomorrow and we can discuss the situation further."

Philip felt his own lips form a weak smile, but a smile none the less, because he had done it! He would find some poor street urchin and bring them to Reaver's for a life of servitude. The homeless of Bowerstone could only dream of such a fine life in this estate and he would make it come true for them. He turned around to leaver, and heard a faint click from behind, but decided it was nothing, but the movements of Mister Reaver or his servant. Before the loud bang of gunfire consumed the entrance hall to the Reaver Mansion, Barry had let out a loud snort, causing Philip to glance back and see the Mister Reaver with his gun pointed right at him. Philip took a few quick steps and be the time his hand was on the knob to the door the gun was fired.

Mister Reaver looked back at his Servant and with a voice of indifference he muttered, "Clean up that mess, Barry. The put your britches back on we need to take a walk. I'm feeling faint from the reek of injudicious decisions.

Reaver left the front hall and went to the festivities that lurked in his dining hall, where Barry had spent much of his night putting the contents of all his bottles away. He was a generous man and people just did not seem to understand how truly caring he was and when he did not get what he was owed then sometimes matters had to be taken up a notch. Philip was not the only one to come in and dare to be brave before Reaver, and he most certainly would not be the last. Since he had debt on the brain he figured he should go grab a few important papers and claim what was rightfully his. Several bodies were strewn throughout the dining room and he stepped over them with grace and he couldn't care less if he accidently kicked a few a few of them on his way through.

Once everything was taken care of he went back to Barry- who was now fully clothed and holding a blood-soaked rag. Reaver told him to drop it and leave it where it lay so they could go out. The papers Reaver held were contracts, one belonged to Philip Nash, and he would go in and evict his poor little family and take the house to sell, because he doubted it would be worth more than what the man owed him. "Eight hundred coins, Berry," Reaver sighed to his servant who was walking right at his side, as he handed off the contracts, since he had a servant to take care of such tasks.

"Quite a lot, Mistah Weavah," the man replied, now in the middle of juggling the rolled papers.

The men walked around the lake along the path and saw that at one of the local homes another party was taking place. Reaver's had ended some time ago and the bodies littering his floors would have to be the next big project for Barry to clean up. As they drew closer to the house they saw three figures sitting near the path. One further up the hill than the others, but all three faces watched the men pass and Reaver did enjoy the chance to parade himself around with his head high and hat even higher. He even noticed the usually slouch and improper servant straighten at the sight, and did not fail to hear him grunt out, "Ladies," with his heavy-breathed voice. Reaver let out a single, "Ha" before stopping to converse the women.

"Good evening, Ladies. It seems as if tonight will be positively delightful for a small stroll about the lake." Reaver stated, placing his cane on the ground just to show that he owned a cane, because he never actually used it.

"Indeed it is, Mister Reaver," one of the woman stated and she let out a fit of stifled giggles.

Reaver thought these women were fine and all; he wasn't picky, not really. No. He wanted to know who that girl was standing aside staring at them as if some sort of spy, even though her attire told all, she was from the higher class and she was just being a scout like most of the persons in Millfields were, as they stood watching so they could run off to tell tales later. . "May haps you wish to join us?" Reaver called back to her. She just stared with a look of confusion. "Yes you girl. I see your eyes traversing over our beings."

He noticed how it took her quite some time to reply and wondered if she were not just shy. He supposed if she joined them, then Barry could have his fun and what not, because he saw his servant watching her with his mix-matched eyes filled with untainted yearning. Finally, the girl stated, "No. I must stay and tidy up from this day's festivities!"

Reaver saw Barry's head drop, but his gaze did not, Reaver walked on and the women stood and followed after him, while the servant watched the girl run back to the house, after she looked back one last time. "Come on, Barry, no need to gawk at the night air when we will be enjoying it soon enough."