A month later, as flowers began to bloom, dotting green fields with color, and the sky was more often blue than gray, the chaos had subsided in United Arcan. The talk of murders and any other sinister ongoings diminished. The Red Circle went quiet, shutting its mouth as if sworn secrecy. It was like a storm had passed. Superstitions did remain, but not so heavily as time went on. May was a month of renewed calm and it was felt throughout the nation. U.A. had settled into peaceful days once again.
And the world was being thrust into change as Riçais, a country known for burning everything they didn't like, even snow, was going to host, no, demanding to host a world exposition. It would display the fine arts and a new invention of a lucky little man from rundown Lwendolen. Some new way of photography. Some moving pictures and the like. Not important here.
But of course, U.A. was planning to participate because what country wouldn't want the chance to boast about themselves? U.A. was a country that should have stood for "Unapologetically Arrogant", as they were just that. Their humble neighbor, Xemica, also wanted to join, but a man behind the curtains, some important rich bachelor with a mustache and gray, fluffy hair, began to whine.
The all-this-time silent king of Xemica decided he did not want his country on display 'like those monos' and prepared to throw bananas at 'Ar-KHAN mon-KEEZ' across the border in the middle of the night. Thankfully, he was stopped, and only a few "Ar-KHANs" could claim to have seen him.
* * *
"May fifth, 1855. Lookit. So many fives," Will Cooper said, as he read the paper.
Will was twenty-two, but he could pass for seventeen if he felt like it. He was slim, but not thin. He had curly black hair like burnt broccoli and often a cigarette hung out his mouth. He stood in an alley in Lupine reading the newspaper. His eyes filled with admiration.
There was a column on the Red Circle that day. A former Lwendolen man came out with a story about the Red Circle and how it caused so many horrors in his country, unbeknownst to everyone, Mallord Beagle himself.
"'Which I never want to be associated with again,' says here," Will said with a laugh and crumpled up the paper, tossing it over his shoulder.
"Red Circle my dreams." Will took a good suck on the cigarette that wasn't even lit for he had no light with him. "What if I could work with them? Eh? The Red Circle?" He turned to Michael Beagle standing sentinel, waiting for some words to be thrown in his direction.
"But how'd you find 'em?" Michael said, looping his thumbs into his belt loops, copying Will.
A grin slithered across Will's face in slow motion. He saw the hesitation in Michael's eyes to whatever plan was cooking up. To him, the kid was a 'soft butt' and could easily be molded into the kind of henchman he wanted. And the boy was just about ripe. He'd already gotten Michael initiated, showing him the perks of being in not just any gang, but his gang.
"Juss need a gun." Will stared at his cigarette and lifted his head to the bright blue sky. It was lunch hour, and he knew Mallord Beagle went out to get lunch during the week because the wife worked out of home. He also knew the 'old man' had a few guns. Michael told him.
Michael was shifting his weight from one foot to the other—a habit of nerves. Will gave him a smirk and said, "Fetch me yer pop's gun."
It amused him how pale Michael went.
"No, I-I can't do that!" Michael stuttered and crossed his arms. "I thought you had guns from Old Boy—"
"Figgin' hell with Old Boy. Took 'em all back when we parted ways." Will curled his lip, then he smiled. "Ya know, yer a good kid, Mike. A real good kid," He stood next to Michael, "yeah, 'n' you 'n' me go way back. Way back. I would give my life for you, 'n' I know you'd do the same, that right?" He draped his arm over Michael's shoulder, feeling him flinch, relishing the power game.
"Say, ruh-member I told ya 'bout this big project over in Iptaj?" Will grinned as Michael nodded. "Remember I says, I gettin' some good hefty dough from it? Ruh-member that?"
"Yeah?" Michael's voice squeaked.
Will lowered his voice. "I know what I told the boys, but yer special, ya know? I'd been thinkin' 'n' I think real hard 'bout this stuff, ya know? I'd been thinkin' instead of givin' it to those dunce shittin' bastards, I'd give it to a smart kid instead. That'd be you," He thumped Michael's chest with a fist, "We'd split the cash. Just the two of us."
A dog bark startled Michael and he jumped in his shoes. "Y-You'd give it to me?"
"Yeah, yer more worth than 'em dunces. And that means ya get to come with me. I think you're ready. Travel the world was yer dream, wasn't it? Ya wanna come, dontcha? We'd head up on Evrenland first 'n' then fast off to the sand lands."
Will stood back and grinned. He never missed the slight lift of Michael's brows, or the way the kid relaxed his shoulders. Will was good at body language, but only reading it. Much too narcissistic to remember to hide his own.
He rolled his shoulders now, completely at ease and relaxed, knowing he had the floor.
"All ya need to do is git me the gun 'n' a few rounds would be nice. When ya git back, we'll round up the lolly-suckers 'n' find a good joint, see?" He cocked his head and waited until Michael reluctantly nodded.
"You'd really take me?" Michael asked.
Will nodded. "I promise." He paused, watching Michael's face of doubt change to a face of determination.
"Alright," he said at last.
"Good lad," Will held out his hand and they shook on it, "fetch 'em guns for the boys while you're at it," he said.
Michael gave a nod and ran back to his house. Will watched him go with a smile on his face. He was good at controlling people and making them do exactly what he wanted them to do.
Hours later, Will, Michael, and four other boys arrived at a little café in a small town called Heather in Westerfield State. It was still considered broad daylight, but Will thought he should be bold for the Red Circle to notice him. Telling Michael to keep watch outside, he burst into the little café.
"Hands up, this is a heist and we're comin' for ya dough!" Will shouted and set the gun. "I'll shoot ya if ya try to escape. Fork over yer money!" Despite his assertiveness, the people didn't seem to take him seriously. One of the older men near the door moved. Will sighed in annoyance and shot him square in the chest. The woman sitting near the man screamed and ran to his aid, but Will shot her, too.
"Now ya'll take me seriously? Benny, Paul, ya know what's ya have to do!" Then Will went around shooting anyone that even looked non-compliant. When he saw the blood gush out of a leg or the chest or the face, his heart thumped with adrenaline. All these peoples' lives were in the palm of his hand.
"Boys, let 'em have it! Leave no witnesses!" He commanded and the two boys by the door took out guns and began to shoot the people up, not caring if they were missing or hitting. Will ducked out of the way and stood at the door as bullets flew, people screamed and cried, and blood stained the floor. Will Cooper thought he should have been named Chaos Cooper because that was what he brought wherever he went.
Everything was going just as he planned when a shadow in the corner moved and one of the boys fell on top of a table and groaned. Will slowly turned his head. Benny and Paul with the money bags were scrambling over tables, chairs, bodies, and blood.
"Paul!" Benny shouted in a shrill voice, threw the bag down, took out his knife to throw it when his hand was shot.
"Ahh! Cap'n!" he called to Will and Will saw the man at last. He had been wearing a black cloak and suit with his hat covering his eyes. Will couldn't even see the gun, but he heard it and saw his boys fall.
"Who're ya bastard?!" Will shouted and shot at the man but somehow, he couldn't hit him. The man leapt over a table and a chair in one swift motion and shot Benny in the chest.
He was closing in. Too close. Will, gritting his teeth, spitting curses, shot the shadowy stranger over and over. The man ducked, jumped, dodged, and twirled around or used tables and chairs to block the bullets.
He had skills. Will swallowed. In all his twenty-two years of life, Will had yet to meet his match and now in the face of the man, he decided the best option now was to save himself. So, he grabbed the nearest money bag, shot some bullets in the general direction of the man as warning, and made off with the money. He was so focused on getting himself out, that he forgot he left Michael at the door. When he remembered, he suspected the boy would be smart enough to run from that gunslinging monster.
Neither knew then that the monster was none other than Mallord Beagle. And neither realized that Mallord had his initials etched on the guns so he would recognize them if they were stolen. The initials were etched underneath the guns on their bellies—a place that no one would think of looking. Not even Will, despite his boasting smarts.
* * *
The journalists flocked to the scene as police arrived. Ten were pronounced dead on the spot, three were critically injured, and one waitress had lived to tell the tale and knew who the hero was.
Of course, as most news went, how she remembered it was not how it happened. In her memory, Mallord Beagle ditched his cloak in one swift motion and shot two of the boys who noticed him. In quick, calculated movements, he jumped, dodged, and leapt over chairs and tables to shoot the other boys. Only the lead boy got away with some cash.
"He was a hero to us in Heather," she said at last. "Our Heather Hero." And so, the reporters picked up on that name and soon Mallord Beagle came to be known as the Heather Hero. His name was everywhere. What was supposed to be a day out alone to collect his thoughts in his favorite café in Heather, turned out to reveal his existence to U.A. again.
Oh, the struggles of being famous.
But the one who sought fame that day wasn't identified by name because anyone in his gang had to call him "Captain". The only identification given was 'a slim kid with burnt broccoli hair' or just 'Burnt Broccoli Hair'.
For the sketch, many newspapers had a broccoli yelling, 'Hold up, throw me dough!' and people throwing bread at it.
The rest of the news described the heroic deed of Mallord Beagle, the Heather Hero. All the accolades took up so much space that most papers didn't even describe the horrors of all the blood and bullet-ridden bodies strewn across the café like a battlefield carnage. Of course, the dead were mourned, but there was no fear, just awe. Mallord Beagle was still in U.A. to protect the nation.
* * *
Spitting obscenities, Will kicked a stone so hard it made a dent in the alley wall. He was wrathy. His Royal Seething Wrathiness vowed to kill Mallord Beagle one day because the chance of the Red Circle noticing Will was ruined. It could take a month or more for things to calm down to do it again. Police would be on the lookout.
High-strung and seething, Will stalked off to the park to get someone to give him a light. Maybe he could mess their day up a bit while he as at it. If he was feeling grumpy, no one deserved to be happy.
Trees lined the park path, and old folk talking in quiet voices occupied a few benches. Will found the pond with the ducks and cursed himself for not thinking of buying any bread. Something about feeding the ducks and watching them fight over the little bits of pathetic crumbs made him feel better about himself. He didn't have to fight over anything like the ducks did.
"Know where's at, ducks?" he muttered under his breath.
Will sat at the edge of the pond and closed his eyes. He didn't have much of a life to begin with, but he sure got one after killing a classmate when he was twelve. It was an inexplainable thrill for him, making him feel powerful. He soon found himself in slave trade, soon snatching other people's virgin slaves to sell to the Florence. His loyalty to the ship brought his own responsibilities. Hired to sell wishes and sacrifice slaves. The money was sweet. He would never go back to his old life again.
"Goodbye," he muttered and opened his eyes. He nearly leapt into the air to see someone sitting near him. Usually, he would notice when people were near.
"Would you like a light for that?"
Will blinked and realized he still had a cigarette in his mouth. The man lit a match.
"Thanks," Will said and lit his cigarette. Then he took a deep breath and breathed out a puff of smoke.
"Much better." He eyed the man dressed in a rich man's clothes taking a bag out and feeding the ducks.
"You know why I feed the ducks?"
Will puffed the cigarette. "Humor me."
Not in the mood for small talk, his tone came out sharp, but the man didn't seem fazed. With a calm air, he continued to feed the ducks.
"I don't reckon if it's funny," the man said with a smirk, "But see, look at them fighting over a single crumb as if their lives depend on it."
Will watched the ducks splash in the pond, flapping their wings and beaks, trying to get that one little crumb that floated among them. The most aggressive one came on top, snatching it away before the others had another chance. Sunset glows slowly turned the pond scarlet, reminiscent of blood.
The man scoffed. "Pathetic lives. Makes me realize that my life is not pathetic like their's." The man turned to smile. "Follow my philosophy?"
"Follow." Will nodded. He had been thinking the exact same thing which most people wouldn't agree with him on.
"Who are ya anyway?" Will smirked when the man went back to feeding the ducks. "Most people think ducks're just livin'."
"Richard." The man tipped his hat.
"Will." Will tipped an imaginary one and got a chuckle from Richard. For some reason, Will felt at ease with Richard. For some reason, he felt like they were two men who understood each other on a deeper level, and he liked that.
* * * * *
Richard could see in Will's eyes the trust blooming from within. He had followed, studied, and watched Will's every move the past few weeks. Will was connected to Michael who was connected to Mallord. Then there was Anastasia. Richard had seen it all. Puzzle pieces of people fitting together where he wanted them to. It was a fun game, U.A. He was glad he'd come.
"So, Richard, reckon people ain't ducks, but some are?"
"Precisely," he said. Now that he had Will captured in his trusting façade, he could get into the grit. He sidled closer.
He spoke in a low voice. "So, I've got this duck. A beautiful, pure, Roktion duck. She's escaped, but I know she's going back to her mother. She lays eggs that grant wishes, or I heard, but only after her sacrifice."
"Not following."
"Her mother's name's Florence."
Richard watched Will scrunch his brows as he pieced the puzzle together. Narrowing his eyes at the ducks, he took a couple puffs. Just as anticipated, Will guessed quick.
"So, where's this duck?" Will smirked after a moment.
"Connie House. Red scarf. Noon. June the tenth. You won't be disappointed." Richard threw the rest of the crumbs to the ducks.
"Wait, who are ya, really?" Will asked.
Richard stared into those eager eyes that guessed who he was. Will so desperately idolized him. The feeling gave Richard a similar shudder of adrenaline as when he drank the blood of his victims. He chuckled and let his Lwennen accent fly in his hushed voice.
"Why, Will, I'm flattered."
He leaned toward the stunned Will, so close, their noses could have touched. Will's cheeks turned pink. Richard smirked and whispered, "Say, if all goes well, I'll consider you, lad."
He left Will gaping in shock at those words. Richard would have loved to bring him under his wing right there and then, but he needed Will to be separate from him for this vision to come together. So, with a much heavy heart, Richard left with the sunset on his back.
In his mind whirred the pieces of the puzzle. The slave revolution he so wanted to start, Anastasia's search for her husband, a telegram to Mallord, Will's admiration for Richard, and so many others. With the edges of the picture complete, all he had to do now was to wait.
Until the time was ripe, he would be Charles Reuben Rushford and go on a bit of a vacation. In his absence, the Red Circle should lie low for a while, he decided. Let the country think it was healing before the revolution shattered its bones.
"So," Charcoal whispered in his ear, "when will we go?"
"Soon."
Charcoal smirked. "Where are we going?"
"Tikkerland came up with chocolate bars. I heard they are the food for the soul."
"Well, we should try them." Charcoal turned his shadowy head to the setting sun. "I am hungry already."
* * *
Michael hid his fear that night after Will invited him to kidnap a slave for sacrifice.
"I'll think about it," Michael said.
"No thinkin'. You're comin'. Ends the end, the deals' done. The Red Circle might recruit me for this. And I need a boy I can trust and that's you. And we'll go to Iptaj, see the pyr'mids like you've always wanted. I'll see ya tomorrow, we'll talk more. Come join us in the séance, again, Mike." Will patted him on the back and left the alley, leaving Michael alone.
Michael wanted to cry. He had gotten himself into such a mess. Not only had he stolen his father's guns, but he'd stolen money, and stood back to watch Will kidnap Roktions slaves, even those declared free. Now, the Red Circle was supposedly playing a hand Roktion-napping.
Too close to home was the Red Circle for Michael. It was one of the last few cases his father worked on before retirement. But now the notorious blood circle was back on bodies, and Michael had a lead.
"But what do I do?" He whispered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. If he went against Will, he would be killed. If he went against his father, more Roktions would die. With a heavy sigh, he went off to wander about the night because he didn't want to go home yet.
In the beginning, he thought Will was quite something, being so slim, but yet somehow, he was tough. Michael wanted to be a tough kid, too. With Will, he got back at his bullies. Associated with 'Captain' meant anyone who wronged Michael would face the wrath of Will.
Now he wasn't sure what he wanted, except go to Iptaj to see the pyramids. Was that a good reason to let Roktion die?
"What would Papa do?" he whispered out loud. Michael knew his father's detective days, going headfirst into danger to save the lives of many. His father was brave. Michael was not. He couldn't even face his own father.
* * *
Back in Penwood State, deep in Peskakeep Forest, Frank Barns found out about Richard's planned vacation, and swore more than a sailor. The members of the Red Circle were expected to be available for the slave revolution when the boss returned.
"Fik!" Frank was not happy, and the pay wasn't enough. Richard was irresponsible, thinking only of himself. "Fik about your damned revolution. I'll show you a revolution."
In the days following, Frank would go from room to room, talking to the other members, slowly but surely planning a coup. Soon, he would have a large following hidden from Calvin's eyes. It was a wonder the Red Circle didn't fallout there and then. No one was happy to take a vacation while the boss took one, too.
"I need the rush," a young Arcan man said. "Can't get off without."
"Aye, crazed bastard," came a long, Koltsman drawl, over-enunciating vowels. "Keep those thoughts behind closed doors, mate, and I mean doors, I mean your mouth, fiend. We kill for the beauty of it. The art."
"Shut it boys," a middle-aged Lwennen woman hissed, "My scar itches when I'm not killing fikkers." She scratched the jagged scar stretching from her eye to her lip. "Only opium gives satisfies it and that luxury's not here."
"I am only for money here. Money need. Rich become want," came the cold cutting tone of a Deuskaz lady assassin.
"But...and..." Frank tried to control the crowd. He was trying to find one cause they could all fight for, but it had been a mistake. Out of nowhere, a boomerang whipped over their heads, silencing everyone. The only Azethian middle-aged woman in the group snatched it from the air and climbed on a tree.
"What we here for?" she called. "Vengeance on society's what. He promised us, but what, what eh? We've been wronged in what many ways 'nother, right? What we doin' sittin' ducks like, eh?"
At her words, one such secret gathering ended with nods of all heads. In the thickets of the forest, far from the hideout and in the dead of the night, all came to agreement that Richard's time was over. Vengeance would be served.
"What 'bout the slave-volution?" Frank asked as the members moved to leave. With a sigh, they soon decided to go through with that because, after all, it was Richard who brought them all together.
"Owe it to him, at least," the Azethian woman said. "I didn't think he'd give this birdie a chance."
"Birdie?" Frank raised a brow.
She clicked her tongue. "Told you a bunch! My name was Catherine Berd, once upon a times. Called me birdie. You'd be dead in my era if you were born then. Stupid dunce."
Frank didn't get the connection. In fact, he never would. Poor dunce.