"We're nearing the end of our little adventure, Walden." The paunchy man sitting across from MacNair took a long draw from his wine goblet, a satisfied grin donning his stubbled face. "I can almost taste our success, can't you?" His eyes wrinkled at the edges with his broad smile.
MacNair pulled his dinner plate closer to him, gracelessly scooping a forkful of steaming squash into his mouth before answering. "You really think this is going to work?" He eyed his associate carefully across the expanse of the wooden dining table.
"Ahh, Walden...why do you doubt me so?" He chuckled heartily, his rotund belly bouncing with the gravelly sound. "I've told you, this is more than a remedy to me. It is a dynasty resurrected. I will reclaim all that has been taken from my family...there is no doubt."
MacNair garbled something inaudible as he continued to transfer the trace remnants of his meal into his rapacious mouth.
"You've seen the fibula. It contains the very blood of my ancestors. No one will renounce me the throne when they discover nobility courses through my veins. And if they do-" His face contorted into a silky sneer, one that beckoned someone to dare cross him. "They will feel the weight of the past two millennia rain down on them with relentless fury."
His words seemed to ignite something nefarious in the cretin sitting across from him if the wicked expression on his face were anything to go by. "How much longer, my Lord?"
This was the first time he had addressed his corpulent companion as such and the appellation was so mellifluous it caused him to titter in delight. "Ahhh, Walden...the future of Egypt is marinating deliciously right before our very eyes." A smug lilt donned his lips as he gestured across the dining room to where the large black cauldron bubbled a tendrillar nebula of redolence. He inhaled deeply to allow each fragrant fragment to adequately saturate his senses. "Do you feel it?" His eyes fluttered closed as he hummed in avaricious appreciation. "There is great purpose in this season of waiting."
An oppressive silence hung in the air between them until he finally opened his eyes, looking across to MacNair with razor-sharp focus. "And anything worth having is worth waiting for." He sat up more rigidly in his armchair and garishly cleared his throat. "To understand that which propels me forward, you must understand all that lies behind. Ours is a tale of much fortitude and tenacity eclipsed by senseless bloodshed." He took a contemplative sip from his wine goblet, carefully calculating how much to divulge to his bedraggled underling.
MacNair fidgeted with the edges of the coarse linen thrown haphazardly upon his empty plate, greedy eyes imploring his liege to toss him even a paltry scrap of information. He was desperate to ascend from bootlicker to confidante and it showed.
His pensive counterpart seemed to consider it. He tilted his chin, appraising MacNair's form before adding in a mournful tone, "The road my family has traversed has been arduous even on the best of days. My father and my father's father and all those who came before them have been unrelenting in their crusade to right the injustice that was inflicted upon us." He paused to examine the ramifications of proceeding. Thus far he had exclusively worked alone, relaying only that which he deemed necessary to reach the mean's end. This signaled a marked departure from this reliable tactic and he wondered if divulging more would prove to be a misstep. However, recognizing the hapless fool for not being entirely useless...and remembering how pivotal he had been in achieving his most recent success...he continued. "That brooch and this flower are all that remains of the greatness that once was my family." He stroked his finger methodically along the grain of the dining table. "To think what our lives would have been like had their lives not been stolen from them." Thinly-cloaked anger seeped through his voice, upper lip curling over his teeth when he uttered the word stolen.
MacNair's voice cracked from lack of use. "Who, sir? Whose lives were stolen?"
"The Queen's," he answered, almost trance-like, staring down at where his finger paused mid-stride. "They were meant to live and rule forever."
"They?" he grunted in reply, trying and failing to solicit a more elaborate response.
Ignoring the question or perhaps too lost in thought to have heard, he continued, "Were it not for the vengeful enemy who pursued them to their death, the dynasty would have remained untouchable." He reached forward to draw another pull of wine, peering up at MacNair over the goblet's rim. "This is the closest anyone has come to correcting history's course. Only one other predecessor has even come close, yet he too failed." He lowered his voice to a sobering level. "Failure is not an option, Walden. Do I make myself clear?" The temperature in the room dropped immeasurably with his declaration.
MacNair struggled to swallow before managing a hoarse, "Yes, my Lord."
"Bring me the fibula, Walden. It's high time I walk you through the history of the Dynasty."
MacNair dipped his head in dutiful obedience as he moved to rise from the table. "Yes, my Lord. Right away."
Mere moments later, he returned from the upstairs repository with a look of abject horror on his face, which consequently had drained it of any trace of color. "My Lord!" he said, his voice a pained moan. "The fibula...it's gone!" And with that, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he fell in a muffled heap to the marble floor.
