Well, except for the fact that his home was a rather sterile office.

Oh, he had quite the suitable apartment, to be sure.  It was of a decent size for government funded-housing, and perhaps subtly enriched by an enchanting view of the square that Jess had managed to procure. Not that such a thing really mattered to the chamberlain.  What had been of true import was merely the triumph of wresting the charming flat away from his former superior.  The apartment’s interior was distinctly of Jess’ own making, however.  Tastefully furnished in quasi-fashionable of a socially acceptable pedigree, the space really was quite inviting.  Indeed, it had been deliberately crafted to appear so.  Or, at least, to give that impression to all except for Jess himself. Nothing happened there, after all.  No work, no deals, no significant part of his life other than the easily discarded dream.  The apartment was nothing but a showpiece.

But the office… the office gave him control.was symbolic of somehting more substantial than flawless taste.  The office gave him control.

It was secure in that sentiment that Jess whiled away the hours.  The day had chosen to plod along rather anticlimactically after what was perhaps one of the harsher disappointments of his life.  Mourning, brainstorming, pacing; all for naught, as the lack of a distinct Plan undid him.

The soul of Jess Stanton was in freefall, you see. Even the throne that was his green chair could not change it.  For the first time in years he was without a plan.  For the first time in years, he was not the one in control.  And for the thousandth time he found an excuse to view himself in a way that had become all to common, if never expressed aloud..

Useless.  Trash.  Stupid.  Worthless.  Even his new Book was filled with pointlessness.

Fate is cruel that way.

Seven blocks away another victim of the fickleness of his own schemes was also fleeing to what might be considered a home.  Home enough, that is, for a man who had been evicted from the only flat he had ever even pretended to own. It was therefore quite unfortunate that Wallace’s string of bad luck seemed to be holding true; his panic-addled mind confusing directions to whatever scrap of a chance that he had left.

Okay, so he no real idea about where he was going.  It wasn’t exactly like he had much of a choice.  The conspiracy had gone too far; beyond the murky waters of office politics to corrupt even the assistant mayor and his …umm… helper person.  Whatever she was called.  Would it be assistant-assistant mayor?

It didn’t matter.  Not really.  How had this happened?  Wallace really had tried his best; done everything he was told to do without complete.  If anything, Wallace was sure that he was a model worker, that he had promise.  Only losers ended up on the streets, after all.

Only losers.  He wasn’t a loser.  It was all Janice’s fault… it just had to be!  He would put a stop to it, though.   It was after all the right thing to do.  If only the grey slate jungle that compromised the back alleys of Muse would yield his destination.  The wind was growing harsher now, and even though a veritable torrent of rain had been reduced to puddles on the sidewalk it was obvious that a chill was wending it’s way in from the north.  Downwind, in fact – which explained the awful smell of refuse and laundry detergent.

Finally, a chipped wooden sign could be seen above streets sheltered only by clotheslines strung up with the latest batch of overused garments.  He had finally found it, that one bastion of truth in the quagmire of lies that was the capital of Jowston. Even if it was in a part of town that the civil servant would normally never have dreamed of venturing into, this sad little place was only a cover.  For before the former requisitions specialist lay none other than the Blind Duck Pub – home of both dreamers and the damned.   Wallace might have been considered a member of the former, had his current situation not been what it was.

Wandering into the ramshackle and practically deserted little bar, a frantic motion on the part of a balding yet relatively youthful young man soon caught Wallace’s eye.  Of course; it was Bill - the one who had warned him about corruption in the Muse government.  He must be trying to get Wallace to go into some secret soundproofed storeroom.  Probably just a routine precaution, even if the bar was a tomb at four in the afternoon.

Sort the files.  Move the files.  Check the files.  Re-sort the files.  Color-code the files.   All to the metronome beat of an ancient brass clock.  It had been a gift from his mother.  As blind to reality as she seemed was always bit more perceptive when it came to her son’s material needs.

In any case, this sort of thing was usually comforting to Jess.  For some odd reason it’s drab monotony – and the vague feeling of accomplishment it elicited – always proved relaxing.  Not to mention the fact that such drudgery gave his usually overactive mind plenty of room to concoct that next complex scheme or brilliant solution.

This was, however, not the usual type of day, and Jess was drawing blanks.  Worthless.  As usual.  If only he wasn’t so pathetically powerless, if only….

Yet what had he done to deserve this?  Everything was planned so meticulously, so perfectly, that it had been bound to succeed.  Some fatal flaw must have doomed it from the start.

It was all Jess’ own fault.  All of it.   Not that moronic lackey Wallace or his slacker assistant- they were too idiotic to bear any real blame.  Damn, he really wanted a chocolate… no.  He wouldn’t let himself sink to that level of weakness.  Another failure, no matter how tempting, would be of no use here.

Papercuts drew blood but little pain from fingers callused only by the pen. There was a lesson to be learned here, something more important that pain or the soft swish of papers leaving his hands for a more proper place.

Murphy’s Law: everything that can go wrong, will go wrong.  Sensible, that.  Therefore, one simply had to plan things so that nothing would go wrong and then all would be well.  All should be well.  Unless one was a bloody failure, that is.  Unless one subconciously forgot and became no better than the mindless studies in mediocrity that populated his life.  If only he wasn’t so goddamn worthless…

“Lord Jess?”

A shadow was cast over the room, deepening the shadow hinted at by flickering kerosene lamps.  The daylight might have driven such shades away, had velvet drapes not been closed.

The burly figure’s tone possessed a singularly distinct grating.  It was thus that Jess rose from the rather undignified position of kneeling before his filing cabinet without fear.

“Lawrence,” the assistant mayor replied, succeeding in at least keeping vocal tone from betraying his failure.  The spy must not sense any weakness.

“News from ‘ighland, sir.  An’ may I ask why nobody’s in the …”

“I gave them the day off.  Continue.”

Lawrence was equally adept at hiding his emotions, which was useful in masking the shock inevitable upon learning of Lord Jess’ relative generosity.

“Yes sir.  Looks like Ruka Bright’s … well, sir, let’s just say that the ‘ighland forces are looking very impressive, sir.”

“I see,” responded Jess, now reclining in the usual cushioned seat.

 “Stats?”

“Nothin’ too concrete, sir.  Those White Wolves are very strict with security…. But I’d have to say sir… well…”

“Yes?  What is it!”

Honestly; couldn’t the man speak properly? Idiot slacker.

“Well sir…. Unless Lady Anabelle implements drastic measures, sir… there’s no way that Muse can stand up to an army that size.  I’ve got the report here, sir.  It’s sketchy, but…”

“I see.  You may go now.  Let me know when you hear from Danae.”

“Certainly, sir.”

The chamberlain barely noticed the door’s closing.

“Damn,” there was nothing else that could really be said.

Jess was too idiotic to think up a simple Plan, the Highland Army would be moving in for the kill sooner or later, and the whole city was doomed to destruction.  In short, the world was going to hell.

Wallace had been correct about the storeroom, although the soundproof part was highly suspect and it seemed to host more disheveled chairs and old newsletters than damning documents.  If the orderly had knew what exactly was bought and sold by whom in this very room during the more lively hours of night he surely would have fled in terror.   It was the sort of place that by all rights should have been made more seedy by some errant smoke or caked grime.  There seemed to be at least an attempt in progress to cultivate the latter.

 Around a poorly lit table which must have formerly graced the dining room of some member of the middle class or other sat two nondescript men.  Not including the enigmatic Bill, that is, whom Wallace had had the fortune to meet in the market a few weeks ago.   He was currently ushering the unemployed gopher inside.

“Guys,” Bill motioned, “this is Wallace.”

Their audience nodded.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” one of them, a greasy looking fellow in stableman’s livery, greeted Wallace.  Wow!  Someone was finally appreciating that he was truly meant for…. Well, for something at least.  They seemed to think so.

“Mind telling me exactly what’s going on here?” he questioned, standing in the limelight as it were.

“Not at all,” another grinned, himself a stocky though well-built specimen clad in coal-stained coveralls.

“No, why don’t you tell us why you’re here,” Bill cajoled. “After we’ve evaluated the situation we’ll see if we can trust you.  Pablo has, of course, done a back ground check…” the miner – or whatever he was – was waving at him.  How exactly a guy like Pablo would conduct a background check was unclear, but Wallace assumed that these people knew what they were doing, being a bit less amateur than himself.

“Ummmm… yeah,” Wallace began rather inauspiciously, “you see, it all stems from Janice.  She’s… uummmm… this woman in accounting that I swear is a Highland spy and I think that she’s controlling Lord Jess and his assistant….”

“Mind control.  Of course, “ Bill agreed, pulling an unsteady looking chair up for Wallace to sit on.

“Ummm… yeah!”  exclaimed Wallace, not quite convinced.  That did sound a little far-fetched – wasn’t blackmail a more likely?  “Anyway, I tried to get her fired in order to save the government, but she somehow engineered it so that I would be the one to take the fall…”

“Classic,” Pablo cut in.  “This must all be the work of Ruka Blight’s hypnotization rune.”

“I guess so…” or maybe not.  Whatever.  He needed these people’s help.

“You see Wallace, those of us gathered here are dedicated to finding the truth behind a conspiracy for global domination…”

Global domination?  Well, he certainly wouldn’t put that behind Highland.

“…. Windy’s falsified death, the ‘Sindar Ruins’ created by the government to conduct top-secret mind control experiments, Jillia Bright as magically engineered super-weapon… all are possibilities, and we think that the government is trying to hide the truth from us.”

Looking rather grave, Pablo’s friend Bill continued the lecture, “Whatever it may be, there is an obvious governmental conspiracy to engineer this war in order to subjugate us all to the global hegemony.  But  don’t worry, Wallace… you can help us with all that.”

He could?  He knew that there was a way to take down Janice… he just knew it!  Even if it did involve working with this obviously much too paranoid people.  At least they were nice, and unlike most people actually listened to him.

 “I can?”

“Certainly”, the mostly silent caretaker of horses answered.  “Although you must realize that Bill and Pablo get a bit… carried away with these things.  I, for one, think that it is simply the capitalist overlords trying to keep the proletariat down.  The people’s revolution is imminent, however, and Pablo’s mind-control foolishness…”

“It IS NOT FOOLISHNESS!  How many times do I have to tell you that the Dwarves are holding…”

“There are no such things as Dwarves.  They are the horrible propaganda of the evil capitalist trader hierarchy of Toran that…”

“I’m with Pablo, Daav.  You never know what those ‘Sindar Ruins’ could hold.  Of course, I don’t believe in Dwarves either….  Anyway, it’s obvious that all we really need is for out democratic leaders to show us the truth and…”

“Oh, you WOULD say that Bill.  It just goes to show you that those who have lived to long with the vile trappings of capitalism…”

“Ummm…guys?”  Wallace ventured to interrupt the now heated argument.  Miraculously, the three political theorists were so unused to being interrupted that it stunned them into silence.

“Yeah, Wallace?”  Bill responded, face somewhat softened by cellulose now flush with adrenaline.

“Soooo… we are all in agreement that there is some sort of conspiracy controlling Lord Jess, right?”

Their somewhat more relaxed posture and resumed nodding seemed to indicate so.

“So what exactly can we do to stop it?”

“Easy,” the now sitting Bill stated. “You still have your keys, right?  We’re going to break into Lord Jess’ office and get proof that Lord Jess is being controlled somehow, by…ummm… whoever that may be.”

“Evil mind-controlling dwarves…,” came a dark muttering from one corner of the table or another.

“That’s enough from you, Pablo!  Daav; get the equipment.”

“There’s equipment?”

An hour, a change of clothes, and several arguments later the group of four was making it’s way through the deserted governmental halls.

“Bill, why did we change into all-black clothing to sneak into an empty office?” Wallace asked while peering around a smooth marble corner.

“Shhhhhh! Do you want ‘them’ to hear us?” a harsh whisper lashed out from behind.

“Sorry, “the former orderly cringed.  They did have a point; Janice could have Highland spies out watching him or something.

Thus the band pressed on until they came to the very door of Jess’ office.  Closed, as usual, but that wasn’t really a problem since Wallace had needed to have keys made for it in order to carry out his various errands.  Inserting the intricate piece of iron into it’s corresponding lock, all four waited with baited breath as Wallace turned the key…

Though quite content at this point to wallow in self-pity, Jess was once more disturbed by the outside world.

What the hell?  Some moron seemed to be trying to get into his office while they should be off doing…. slackerly things.  Maybe it was just Lawrence.

“Law-“

Suddenly, four men of about his age tumbled into the office.  Rather oddly dressed – why the were these bufoons wearing badly-dyed karate uniforms? – and generally unkempt, they certainly weren’t what the chamberlain had been expecting.

“Would you mind giving me a reason not to call the guard right now?” Lord Jess drawled, sick to death of whatever cruel and unusual surprises the world had in store for him today.  They certainly all looked like your average run-of-the-mill morons; surely Anabelle or Highland wouldn’t employ anyone this incompetent…

“Lord Jess, sir?”  someone squeaked, glancing back at the terrified-looking bad of ragtag idiots which accompanied him.

Wait a second…. Jess knew that voice as well.  Wallace?  As in the Wallace who had ruined his beautiful Plan and propelled him into an unproductive funk?  The Wallace who had caused him to waste a perfectly good working day!?!  The Wallace that had made him act almost as pathetically as one of his slacker employees? The Wallace who should be some weepy waste of welfare!?!

Suddenly, things didn’t seem so depressing anymore.  His mood was, in fact, taking a turn for the explosive.

“What the HELL do you think that you’re doing!”

“Just stopping by to…ummm….apologize,” Wallace wilted, his easily ignored companions silent.

“You don’t apologize for losing important documents, Mr.Stadtmier.  You ARE FIRED.  Do you have any other questions?” Jess snapped.  How dare this terminal moron try and come crawling back after what he’d done?  He wasn’t worth the oxygen that it took to keep him alive.

“Ummm… No…… Not at all sir,” his former lackey and the loser patrol were beginning to edge away

“Stop right there!  Why did you put on that foolish getup and come back here.  The truth, if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life counting ceiling tiles….”

“We, ummmmm,” the group’s designated spokesman sputtered, “we wantedtoseewhythepapersweresoimportant, sir!”

He didn’t know… This was beyond comprehension.   The goddamned bloody freaking moron slacker had ruined everything and he didn’t even know!?!

“You MORON!  Those papers could have proved Lady Anabelle’s collusion with Highland and put me in the mayoral chair.  Now GET . THE. HELL. OUT!”

And thus our intrepid theorists were pushed outside, a slam of the door marking their passing.

Hmph.  That had been oddly cathartic.  Why were all of the people in this city so hopelessly brain-dead?  And why was he even caring that their home might be destroyed…

….Why did he care……?

Kick-started perhaps by a shot of healthy rage, a process was beginning once more in the back of the chamberlain’s mind.  It was so obvious; he should have thought of it sooner…. But then, who else would have had even that mental capacity?

A new Plan taking shape, and the chamberlain’s face was free to once more twist into his version of a grin.  He would have to buy another book.  It was too bad- he had been somewhat attatched to the black one, but caring that much about leather colour would be idiotic….. Adn this chair!  It had been making him lazy.  He would have to have Rousseua get one of his other lackeys to throw it away.  In retrospect, Jess should have known better.  The wooden chair kept him awake in mind and body - invaluably spine-twisting.

Fate is a cruel mistress, but it is a mistake to assume that her only concern is with prophetic dreams and the foreordained actions of shining heroes, shadowed mystic, and the generic fallen angel.

Even rats have destinies.

After their mad dash from the premises, four men of overactive imagination stopped to catch their breath and restrain what might have been hope tinged with surprise.

“Did you hear that…. Lord Jess is one of us!” Pablo gasped.

“He must know much more about the conspiracy than we do.  Highland and Lady Anabelle… who’d have thought?”

Even poor, abused Wallace had that look of inspiration, “I understand now… I can’t believe that I did that!  But maybe he fired me to protect someone else who knew the truth…. Of course!  I knew that Lord Jess was trying to be nice.”