Story Three: Remnants of Reality
Chapter Three
By Heartfire
~*~
You will leave the moment you receive notification of acceptance by Morley.
Quatre looked at the official, crisp letter in his hands once again, re-reading the invitation. He had written to Morley to allow him to visit the country, and offered a business proposal as bait.
Almost two weeks ago, he received the reply… The answer was a surprising yes. He will be honored as a guest by the government.
After you received their acceptance, try to notify us in any possible way. We will not contact you after today so you have to be… creative.
"Master Quatre, why are you doing this?!" Rashid's condescending tone came once again, but Quatre could hear the hidden concern. The young man patted Rashid's muscular arm.
"It's all right, Rashid. Everything will go smoothly." Though he said it, he didn't believe it himself. That foreboding feeling had stayed in his heart…
Rashid shook his head as dread seeped through him. "That means that there will be trouble. Why can't you take any of us? Why do this alone?" He couldn't understand it.
"You know that it will be very suspicious if I bring a Maguanac with me. I will already be under watch and any of my guests will have twice the security. It will be too much trouble."
"But-"
Quatre shook his head, instantly cutting off Rashid's protest. "If anything does happen to me… Remember to take care of everything." Quatre tried his best to show Rashid his confidence. "Especially my family." He had gone through many… precautions these past few days, in case something does happen to him.
Rashid sighed heavily. There's no turning Quatre's decision. He shouldn't even have hoped.
"Rashid…" Quatre stopped and turned, waiting for the answer.
"Yes… yes… You know that I will take care of them…"
"Thank you… Good bye, my friend." Quatre whispered with a soft smile.
Rashid nodded then bowed. "Until you come back, Master Quatre." He will never say good-bye to this young man. His eyes followed Quatre as the lad turned away, walked alone through the passageway… and disappeared. "My friend…" came the slight whisper that left him. Then with his heart and mind, he whispered a prayer of protection.
When you land, there will be officials waiting for you. Morley might or might not be there at your arrival. You are a special guest of the embassy, a prize in the world of business and politics.
Quatre glanced out of his jet window and saw the red carpet being laid outside. Garlands of flowers hung from a shining metal stairway that was being pushed towards his plane while a squad of soldiers marched in perfect synchronization…
'I'm here Une… I will try to not let you down…'
He breathed in deeply, trying to ease his pounding heart. He was nervous and that terrible feeling of anticipation was making his stomach do the most sickening flips.
"Sir, we have arrived."
Quatre looked at Morley's official pilot. 'The man really doesn't trust anyone…' He nodded and stood up, tugged at the lapels of his suit then followed the man's wake. He couldn't believe that he went through three different security measures just for this flight!
The door opened, and for the first time, Quatre was given his view of Arche- or, to be more specific, Arche's airport.
"SALUT!"
The booming cry nearly deafened Quatre as he walked down the stairs. The two rows of soldiers all hailed their swords into the air. Quatre faltered. He didn't know whether to walk on further, or to await a signal. After all, he doesn't know the customs of this secluded country!
A limousine pulled up at the end of the plush, red carpet and a handsome man who carried an aura of command, emerged from its dark interior. A person would be blind not to distinguish this man to be James Morley, what with all those medals that hung upon his lapels!
"Mr. Winner!" His voice was melodious as he walked towards Quatre, his deep-set eyes focused on the young man who was quoted to be more important than the World Alliance President.
'Morley.' The thought registered as Quatre smiled at the seemingly forty-ish man, and walked forward. No one has ever seen the dictator of Arche outside this country… only his brother… The thought of James Morley's humiliated brother widened Quatre's smile. "President Morley." Quatre greeted, extending his hand.
They shook hands, quite jovially in fact.
Never let him think that you are after anything but business in his country. I will have a platoon ready for your signal if trouble arises.
"I'm so glad to finally get a chance to see your country."
Morley nodded enthusiastically. "Call me James, Mr. Winner. You should have written your interest to us earlier. We would have accepted you with arms open wide."
'And with a gun pointed at my heart…' The sadistic thought entered his mind and Quatre instantly erased it. "Then, call me Quatre, James." They were too cheerful… It didn't seem right…
James nodded. "Shall we move along?"
"Of course." Quatre nodded as he walked alongside the man. They were of the same height, but physically, where Quatre was light in every aspect, James was dark haired, and olive skinned.
From there, I can only wish you luck, Quatre.
An official opened the limousine door.
James bowed to Quatre, a signal for him to enter first. With one last look around the airport, one last look at the only chance for escape… Quatre entered the black limousine like a corpse entering a coffin. 'Yes… Good Luck to me…'
The door closed… the engine roared… and hence, it started… his life on Arche. Adventure, mystery and… whatever else lies ahead.
…
Two Hours Later
"And that ends your personal tour of Castle Morjho." James spread his arms to his sides as he faced the clearly awed Arabian. "How do you like my home?"
Quatre half smiled and nodded as he noted the Baroque armors, Renaissance paintings and other antiques that decorated the hallway. "Your home is quite impressive, James. This Castle was built around circa…?"
"Circa 1700, 1722 to be exact." James proudly announced as he clapped his hands to a servant who had been standing by. The servant bowed and left.
Quatre nodded once again. The Castle was quite beautifully restored. The marble flooring of dark blue hue with intricate designs on each square had made him think twice before walking on it, and the intricate carvings of mystical animals above head made him want to just stare at the ceiling all day long. Everything about the house was right… except for the host.
"Will I be given the pleasure to see the dungeons?" He wasn't looking for a fight, but something about James just didn't seem right to Quatre… something kept ticking him off. He's glad Duo was able to smudge this person's family tree… 'Hmmm… I wonder where that Lawrence is…'
The telltale darkening in James' eyes showed Quatre more than he bargained for but before he could be sure, the man's cheery demeanor replaced it. "No, you will not. The architects of this country during that century did not like having dungeons at the basement of their castles. Rather, their elements of torture and carnage have a special house, often called Ululat."
"And where is this House of Ululat located?" Quatre prodded. He would like to put a sock in his mouth, just to stop his prying sadistic conversation, but try as he might, his tongue seemed to have gotten out of control. So far, he had been having continuous cruel and pessimistic thoughts. Why? He doesn't truly know.
James turned away from Quatre as the servant came back into the hall, tray in hand. "How about a drink. I'm quite thirsty, and with your long journey, I'm sure you are too, and famished."
Quatre nodded as he accepted the offer. "Yes, very much so. Thank you. Just water though. I do not drink." Their conversation is too stilted… too politely formal… it's so obvious that they were both wary of each other… Could it be that James suspects…?
The servant offered a glass of water.
Quatre cautiously took it… Could it be that there's poison in his drink?
They sipped their drink in silence as they admired the paintings that adorned the massive walls here and there… 'Gory paintings,' Quatre thought to himself as he looked away from a knight who staked a man with his sword. Detailed so much so that the glistening blood that dripped down the tip of the sword seemed so real… And the anguish on the murdered man's face!
Ah, Death… Cruelty… That was why he's here, to stop such things in the wake of another war… For Peace. Now, every time that he will pass this hall, he will be reminded.
"Do you like ballets, Quatre?" James asked languidly as he gently rotated his glass. The liquid lapped at the edge of the crystal, almost as if the wine itself didn't want to be drunk.
The dark thoughts that had covered his mind faded while images of children in pink tutus and leotards entered. He could only smile as he remembered one of his niece's ballet performances. "Yes… You could say that."
"Good, because I am taking you to our Performing Arts Center tonight for a grand performance by the best ballet dancer in the world!" James unceremoniously plunked his crystal goblet on the silver tray, still held by the meek servant.
"Best ballet dancer? What is the dancer's name?" Quatre asked, trying to remember any performing artist.
"Her name is Yvannyah Matfei."
Quatre saw the unquestionable look of pride and a softening about James' face.
"This is her first performance since she broke her ankle about a couple of months ago." James shook his head. "The stage… what a dangerous place to be, and yet that is where she is happy. I was not able to visit her since I had been… busy, and she had not wished to see anyone in her state." James shrugged. "Artists and their quirks."
Quatre nodded. James Morley does not have to lecture him about how girls- or women for that matter!- could get when they want something for themselves! A frown appeared on his face. 'There you go again… Another sadistic thought… Stop it!' With one last sip from his glass, he gracefully placed it on the tray.
"Very well. I would be honored to see Arche's artistry." Quatre looked away. 'A ballet in this calculating country… A form of creativity against death and destruction… how ironic… Then again,' His thoughts went to nature. How some animals change colors to lure their prey to their death… and… 'The deadliest prey is the most artistic and colorful of them all…'
"Sir." A man in uniform saluted to James. The dictator only nodded. "You are needed at Gate Four."
James turned to Quatre and gave him an apologetic look. "Excuse me, Quatre. Matters at hand. I'm sure you understand."
Quatre nodded. "Of course." Matters at hand, my foot. "What time should I be ready?"
"6:30 pm. A servant will take you to your quarters and remind you of the time." James bowed curtly. "Good day."
"Good day." Quatre reiterated and watched as the dark man walked out of the hall… A movement on the side caught Quatre's attention and he saw another servant, fidgeting in embarrassment. He couldn't help but smile at the man.
The servant falteringly smiled back. "Shall I take you to your room, sir?"
Quatre looked around the hall one last time before he agreed. "Yes, of course." He followed the shy man and couldn't help but feel his nervousness. To help ease the man's nerves, he started a conversation. "So, what's your name? How long have you been working here?"
Shy responses and encouraging comments whispered inside the dreary hallways of Castle Morjho as they walked through the labyrinth of doors, passageways, and stairs…