A Daughter's Duty

Chapter 3

"But –" I stopped. Maybe it wasn't the right time, but I needed to ask. "But if you want me to join this organization, I must know a few things, right?"

"Yes, my dear." She said. "You must. But, as my dear old mother says, time will tell you."

"Its taking too long." I mumbled. She chuckled.

"It won't seem long, soon." She said. "When I first joined the organization with your parents, I didn't have a clue about anything. I didn't even know what corruption was properly. But I waited and soon, everything became as clear as crystal."

"How long did you have to wait?"

"Hard to say. Maybe a week or so."

"A week," I said to myself. "Oh sure, I definitely have that much patience."

Soon, we came to the dining room, and I saw Ministerio Iustitia again – fifteen people sitting around the table, Mr. I at the head.

"Well, my dear," he spoke. "Have you decided yet?"

"Yes, sir." I said. "I'm joining the organization."

A polite applause was heard.

"Good," said Mr. I. "And now, to make it official, sit next to me, please."

The person sitting next to him vacated the seat and gestured me to sit. I did.

"Hold out your right arm." I pulled my sleeve up and held it out. "It will be better if you close your eyes."

I glanced nervously at my aunt, who was purposely trying to avoid my gaze. I closed my eyes, hoping for the best.

Suddenly, white-hot pain seared through my arm and spread through my body. All the air was sucked out of my lungs, so I couldn't scream. My brain functions had stopped, so I couldn't open my eyes. The only thing I could register was pain – and excruciating heat.

When the pain lessened just to the brink of tolerance, I slowly opened my eyes. The smell of burnt skin wafted through the air. I looked at my arm. A small beam balance was printed on it. On one plate was a pile of money and on the other, a sword. Above the beam balance were the words, 'Ministerio Iustitia' written in small calligraphy. I looked up at Mr. I's grim face. In his hand was a burning hot stamp and the hand holding my arm was trembling slightly.

They had stamped me with their emblem.

"What – what was this for?" I stuttered, wincing at the pain in my voice.

"I know it's painful, dear," said Mr. I. "But it is necessary. It is the proof that you have joined us. Go to any nation and show this to their ministry of justice, they'll know that you are no outsider."

The butler came in and handed me an ice pack. "Apply it, mademoiselle. It will make the pain less and make the mark permanent."

"Thank you, Gilliard," he said and turned to me. "Gilliard is our most reliable serva – I mean, helper, Ms. R. Now, Ms. E, did you want to tell our newest member something?"

She sighed. "Yes, sir. Ms. R, the key you asked me about and I mentioned in the telegram had been given to us by your parents." She started pacing around the table. "You see, almost a century and a half ago, one of our former Mr. R's ancestors was Henry Hardinge, the Governor-General of India in 1849 – during the English East India Company's 'Conquest of India'. When the state of Punjab was conquered, the Kohinoor Diamond was gifted to the then Queen Victoria. The diamond was included in the Crown Jewels. Since Hardinge had done her a great service, she had granted him the safekeeping of the jewels. She had given him the key of the locker – the one which I mentioned. After generations of passing it down, it came into the hands of your father. He knew that the safest place for it was the organization, so he gave it to me three years ago. He had told me that if any misfortune was to occur, I was to give it to you. And I will, soon, once you are old enough."

"Old enough? I'm eighteen."

"You will be eighteen at the end of this July." Said Delilah. "And when that happens, trust me, you will have the key."

I wanted it now. The only thing my parents had left me – the family heirloom. But I asked, "Does the Queen know about Dad's death?"

Delilah thought. "Yes, in fact, she does. I had spoken to her personally after your parents' death."

The childish part of me wanted to scream in delighted surprise, You've met the Queen? The Queen? How wonderful! But I refrained. "And she knows me?"

"No, not yet. She will though, once you turn eighteen."

Great! I thought.

"So what do I do until I turn eighteen?" I asked.

"We'll be training you." Said Mr. I. "Our members have been trained very well in every field – how to work with weapons, how to react under certain situations, how to manipulate people with words during debates (a very important skill), how to live in places where there is scarce water, infinitesimal food availability, stale air and little space to live –"

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "What was the last one?"

The man laughed. "I know, it sounds stressful. But you're young, so we'll start small. The vacations are going to start in a while. Let's wait until then. Now, get back to your college. We'll meet on the Sunday after the holidays start. Goodbye."

And I left.

I checked my new tattoo again. The name of the organization was written in calligraphy, but the only thing it did was to make the area of the tattoo bigger, causing more pain for me. The ice pack that Gilliard had given me lessened it, true, but as soon as I removed it, I felt like I was being burnt all over again.

But, the more I thought about it, the more frightened I became. By using the tattoo as a sign of proof and recognition, they had now permanently marked me as one of them – as their property. I was now a part of them, and this was a one-time decision. No going back, no matter how tough things got for me. I had to take up responsibility and avenge Jason and Darrell Roberts. It was my duty as a Minister of Justice, as a Minister Aequitatis.

This Latin was really troubling as well.

"Well," I said to myself. "This is your life, Eve. Just, err – how do people say it nowadays? – go with the flow."