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| John Clark Smith |
4 Rivalries
Wherein we learn
how the name ‘Machiavelli’ comes in handy,
Carina’s attitude toward Hután,
the rivalry of Selma and Gillian,
the origin of the counter blood,
Selma’s deadly game,
the fate of Rohan
Some might
claim—but not Aristotle, Hután would point out—[1]
the numerous
dangers to Hután on the island were
unlucky or “bad”
luck; yet that was a limited view.
Who could
prophesy or arrogate exhaustive knowledge
of the way things
work? Good and bad luck were thus unstable
and always caused
incidentally, though each had a cause
and didn’t arise
without purpose. Some day Hután
knew he would
perceive his presence here as incidental
to a grander
causal event occurring because he was here,
inspiring him to
revisit the tape of George from which
he noticed
immediately an unusual event
at the place of
the blood sample, a mystery that grew
more intriguing
when he returned to that same location
on the counter
and discovered fresh blood spots oozing out
from the marble
beside another crack where the blood
of Mustfarris
originated and streamed out evenly,
both cracks
allowing only a tiny amount of blood
to stream but
both cracks draining to a similar exit
in the marble,
raising the question: From where did they come?
He followed the
tube around the room until it ended
or began at a
wall and went through the wall near to which
was a door—not
the door from which he entered or which Wink
was guarding—a
door, he thought, that might lead to another
space into which
the counter passed or stopped, these clues all
quickly forming
several directions in Hután’s mind,
particularly due
to the absence of Pitworthy:
First, the
invitation could be a ruse. Pitworthy had
never invited
him, someone was manipulating
him because he
was a significant Remnant person,
someone like
Selma Whitmani—the Remnant’s nemesis
and brain behind
Hydra’s determined quest for The Schedule
and the abduction
of Víhaan—may first have extorted
or captured
Pitworthy or done something to flex muscles
with a threat or
trap, perhaps as a bargaining approach
for Víhaan who,
as far as Hután knew, was under Hydra’s
control. If this
was true, then Selma had also been here
and left the
three poisons—the green liquid, the counter slime,
and gas—as
threats she must have assumed Hután would detect.
Or Second, a
similar series might point to the mark
of Dvorak,
especially one of Dvorak’s two
key brains and
eyes, Leonard Frig and Gillian Zorotas.
Gillian, the
original buyer of The Schedule,
had assumed that
Rohan, Víhaan’s friend and business partner,
was the
inventor—one critical action of Rohan
was to keep
Víhaan’s identity secret long enough
for Víhaan to
alert Hután, because if she had known
Víhaan was the
key mind, Gillian would have kidnapped him
and all would
have changed—but when Rohan tried to mitigate
his mistake and
take back The Schedule, the gas filled his lungs
and killed him
soon after in San Sebastian. Once again,
can we ask if
this accident was bad luck for Dvorak
and Gillian? Or
was it not a result of extreme
paranoia
that someone might steal The Schedule and take
something that
was never their own from the start? Hután would
say they were
ignorant of the words of Epictetus,
“When you seek
earnestly that which is not your own, you lose
that which is
your own;”[2]
and what they lost was Víhaan’s respect
and trust,
because the death of Rohan not only surpassed
feelings of anger
and sorrow, regardless of motive,
and hammered a
wedge of hurt of Vihaan toward Dvorak,
it showed how
nervous Dvorak was about The Schedule,
so nervous that
they protected it with deadly gas
and transported
it through Prince Andres, whom they were certain
would be an
unexpected courier, a clever plan
if Rohan had died
sooner—again Dvorak taking
what was not
their own—and hadn’t seen Prince Andres talking
with Gillian when
he sold the Schedule, and then texted
that information
to Víhaan before he threw his phone
into the fountain
and repeated the information
to Hután,
allowing Carina to steal the Schedule,
an event that
clearly infuriated Gillian
and made her more
determined to reacquire it, since she
mistakenly
assumed Hydra somehow was the real group
behind the
theft—an assumption and lie Carina fed
to Andres—and because
Selma, Gillian’s rival, worked
for Dvorak once
and left not because of Dvorak
but because she
hated Gillian. Yet when Gillian
discovered the
Schedule’s gifts, and Rohan foolishly bragged,
if you don’t want it, there are the others
and the others
were Hydra, the Remnant, and nation-states—
groups about
which Rohan knew nothing but had overheard
mentioned by
Víhaan—Gillian knew she had to have it.
Third, Mustfarris
or Aaron arrived at the castle first
and they were
injured or someone shed or brought their blood
or they were
injured somewhere else, raising the question next:
How did the blood
initially end up in the counter?
And the immediate
answer, and not so surprising,
was that either
someone without compassion wanted him
to notice or,
upon reflection, perhaps someone had
poisoned the
blood itself, with the bold scheme Hután might brush
his finger
against it, which he hadn’t—and the trickster
suspected perhaps
Hután might also call this cunning—
so Hután analyzed
the blood again, and there George found
a micro-message
in the blood, which once unencrypted
read: ‘thank you
and Carina for accepting my invite,
will exchange
Víhaan for The Schedule, coming soon, Selma;’
a message that
seemed to make too little sense to Hután.
If Hydra had
Víhaan, why would they need The Schedule chip?
Was Víhaan only a
lure or trap? Which left the Fourth way:
Dvorak would be
here, as it always was, both watching
and waiting to
snatch again the Schedule and Víhaan,
perhaps even
Pitworthy if possible, though that scheme
didn’t explain
the message of blood, implying Selma
may indeed have
involved Aaron or Mustfarris, knowing
that Hután alone
had George and could analyze the blood,
hinting toward
the Fifth precarious direction, that both
Hydra and Dvorak
were involved, were here or coming.
All this
information Hután chewed on cautiously as
the Remnant’s
strategic mastermind, leading him to rush
through the door
beside the counter and tube, where he did find
a gagged and
bound human groaning and grimacing, propped up
against the far
end of the counter on the other side
of the wall,
holding a beaker of blood and pouring it
drop by drop
without missing—lest a glistening knife move
straight through
the top of his head—into the tiny mouth
of a funnel
sticking out of two holes in the marble.
Hután released
the knife above the head of Pitworthy,
freed him from
the restraints, caught his body as he collapsed,
and gently placed
him on the floor, his body quivering,
his face red from
anxiety, his nerves shaken, fatigued,
arms numb, neck
limp, sweat covering his arms, chest, and face.
He raged in a
breathless, indignant, impatient tone,
Where were you? I heard someone. Was it you?
I had given up hope, wanted to quit,
and wondered: Why couldn’t you find me? Why?
a fair request from someone struggling with
such tedium
and the pain of hearing a savior in the
other room.
Yet the next question Hután had not anticipated:
And why are you here anyway? Why not
Aaron? Or have you ignored my wishes?
I give millions and I get a brainy
strategist. Ridiculous! Anyway,
she, whoever she was, threatened me, said
one of their goons would torture and kill me
if you didn’t hand over “The Schedule,”
whatever that is or means. And then she
set
up this bizarre torture, not telling
me
whose blood this is and why I’m doing
this,
and then she assures me, ‘Don’t worry,
Hután
will be here; he’ll figure it out.’
You,
not Aaron, you’ll figure it out, you’ll
be
here. And when I heard someone out there,
I
expected she’d be here too, somewhere.
What’s
going on? What kind of a twisted
operation
is this? Are you wanted
by
the police or the feds or some mob?
Hután calmly listened to and stared at a
trembling man
terrified from the ordeal, from his forehead
sweat dripping,
mumbling, how could this happen to me,
how? Hután thinking,
‘How much could I explain without revealing
anything?’
Pitworthy was a patron and patrons were
uninformed,
that was the contract they signed, each of
them recognizing
they are sacrificing to improve the world, a
penance
for what they or their ancestors did to earn
their riches,
though Hután suspected that Pitworthy and
other patrons
must have known the explanations given for
their missions
were a little jejune, since disguising the
secrecy
and operations were part of the deal. So
Hután said,
And
you’re thinking, Why me? But don’t worry.
They
have seen you but they have no idea
you’re
involved in anything, and why should they?
You
don’t know a thing. That’s why you don’t know.
No
one suspects you or your family.
And as he was speaking Hután realized—and
Hután
confessed it should have happened
sooner—that someone’s plan was
working too well, a wily scheme set up for
mockery
and intentionally far more complex than
necessary,
assuming the goal was to lure someone with
The Schedule,
assuming the planner perceived that
Pitworthy, Aaron,
Carina, or Mustfarris didn’t possess the
Schedule,
assuming the culprit needed time, assuming
Hután
would accept the invitation and come. Yet
this tricky
maze required detailed knowledge of the
Remnant, with knowledge
of the members of Remnant, of the group’s
itinerary,
or at least the itinerary of some of its
members,
as if one had the capability of The
Schedule.
Selma wouldn’t have planned the exact scheme
to anyone
who came or was here. Did you see who it was? Hután asked.
Pitworthy replied, as Hután guessed, he only
knew it
was a woman. Very quickly she had grabbed
and dragged him
to the room and propped him at the end of
the black counter.
Pitworthy then began to whimper and scream
out in blame,
I thought I’d never see my family
again. I felt as if she had chained me.
I
would never live in freedom again
‘At least you have a family,’ Hután thought
in some guilt,
‘at least you have someone who depends upon
you and waits
for you, unlike most of those helping you in
the Remnant.’
As for freedom, Hután cynically laughed to
himself
and recalled Aeschylus’ line that no one who
lives is free
except Zeus.[3] He
tried to bury this feeling, nothing’s gained
in thinking about his wife Rita who once
waited for him
but now would wait no more or think about
what could have been.
No time to ponder about the rewards of true
freedom
or whether his life is one of “quiet
desperation.”[4]
For now he needed to create a ‘discontinuous
thought,’ as Udaki called it, a thought
technique that would slow
the process down or see it differently, note
its steps
and bridges so that Hután could understand
it much better
since, beyond the fact that he assumed he
had little time
before the next stage, and as the strategist
of the group,
he couldn’t whine about discomfort or the
fact he had
not anticipated quickly enough this fiasco,
no, not now, now he had to keep his wits and
throw off these
confused feelings, regardless how tense grew
Pitworthy’s whines:
That woman thought I would know, but
what does
she think I know? What is it? She would have
let me die, I’m positive, I felt it.
Since Pitworthy couldn’t know how dangerous
and crucial
The Schedule was, and Pitworthy in his heart
knew
he couldn’t know, Hután would murmur a name
to wake up
and redirect Pitworthy, because he knew the
mention
of this name would baffle and yet gratify
Pitworthy:
Machiavelli. These people follow
Machiavelli, who would recommend
fear and cruelty as tactics useful
for dominance.[5]
This woman was cruel
to you because her company wants our
clients, our products, our information,
and they will do whatever is required
because they presuppose, given free scope,
men will prefer evil. They will do what
works
to get what they want, because it’s a war,
Mister Pitworthy, and you, you’re in their
way, so they use you and anyone else
to get to the next stage because they want
to know what we know. They think I or you
have the document, the list, the secret,
the schedule, whatever; but, no, they had
no wish to let you die. They knew I was
coming, they knew. They just wanted to scare
you and me, that’s all, so no need to fret.
Throwing out the
name of Machiavelli allowed him
to take advantage of their trading company Mannter
Limited, a front where anything goes,
anything is
acceptable. While Pitworthy did like the
adventure
on some level and liked the secrets—though
he imagined
the wrong secrets—he preferred not to die,
so he nodded
and nervously coughed, almost as if Hután
had revealed
everything and the information made him
uneasy,
Pitworthy always sensing Hután’s covert
group may be
about something dangerous that didn’t mesh
in his mind
with his normal life of business and
finance, a life
of Birkenstock sandals, plaid shirts, khaki
pants, black, horn-rimmed
glasses. In fact, Pitworthy believed it best
not to know,
since the end of such knowledge, he recalled
from a prior
conversation with Hután, could become the
twisted fate
of Jacopo, the elder of the Pazzi family,
a respected Templar in fourteen
seventy-eight—only
a few years after Machiavelli himself was
born—
when along came Fortune[6], and what did Fortune do but hang
Pazzi upside down in the piazza, let his
corpse be
exhumed and ripped apart by unleashed
children, the flesh torn,
its bones abused, dragged through the
streets, its skull used as a door
knocker, the remains thrown in pieces into
the river,
and everyone banished with the name Pazzi
from Florence,
even though Jacopo had done nothing except
assent
against his will to a conspiracy that most,
even
the Pope, approved, a plot to end the
absolutism
of the Medici rule and kill the brothers
Lorenzo
and Giuliano de’ Medici. True, he assented
to stop tyranny but he was aloof from the
killing,
though he did try after the attacks to rally
people
to revolt. Unfortunately for Jacopo, he
failed,
the mob wouldn’t listen to someone like him,
one of the
elite, a member of one of the wealthy
families
whom the mob instinctively despised and
wouldn’t rescue
when their children revenged, and history
turned against him.
So
isn’t history saying—in light
of
these events, concerning whether he
deserved
better than such treatment after
a
reasonably honorable life—
that
such involvement may cost you your life
and
perhaps it’s better not to conspire
but
conduct your life without questioning,
unless
you’re ready to make the sacrifice.
Otherwise,
let others fight tyranny,
let
you and your family remain safe,
let
others see the gruesome details around you,
such as the location of both Mustfarris and
Aaron,
both clearly surprised, tranquilized, bound,
gagged, and quickly dragged
to a closet in the room in which Hután was
standing,
and mercifully, Hután the strategist thought of them
once he comprehended the plan and hoped they
would be near,
knowing that the target of this mockery was
himself,
not Mustfarris or Aaron. Hután started the
search
with Pitworthy’s frantic words still blaring
in his ears
and Hután thinking, ‘How is my work any
different
or subtle from what an ancient or
Renaissance soldier
or spy faced?’ Or is it? Hután always began
by thinking
of those ancient, medieval, and Renaissance
world events,
because to him almost every action and idea
in his life had some deep connection to
those times of old
beyond which the patterns of humanity, he
believed,
seemed unable to step, at which point his
mind once again
drifted to his mother’s stories from
classical authors,
such as Tacitus on the exploits of
Germanicus
—one of the few characters Tacitus seemed to
admire—[7]
who in Hután’s
day would have had a more difficult task.
In the ancient
era there were six: Rome, Byzantium,
Babylonia, an
Achaemenid Empire, a Mongol
realm, and an
Arab Empire, but now there’s also Hydra,
Dvorak, and the
Remnant, secret organizations
that many
ordinary citizens didn’t even
know exist, for
ordinary citizens once believed
the nation-states
comprised the world; and when asked—which no one
ever did—what is
the purpose of the Remnant, Hután
would say, to
offset or diminish—he wouldn’t claim that
they could
eliminate—the potential domination
not only by
nation-states but also by Dvorak
and Hydra, since
each of them was just like an ancient Rome
or an Arab
Empire, yet still so different that should
the Remnant
manage one power, still another remained,
and should the
Remnant attack one of the other forces—
which rarely
happened because the Remnant’s mission was peace—
the others would
know about it and plan accordingly.
Even should he
know who concocted this scheme—though all signs
pointed to Hydra
and Dvorak—he must still reckon
with the great
complexity of defusing it quickly,
because knowledge
alone was insufficient for success
and such a
success would be temporary since, unlike
the Germans
conquered by Germanicus, there’s no pretense
of permanence or
even fear of him and the Remnant.
Its war was so
old, it had been happening, the Remnant
believed, at
least since the dawn of history, and happened
whether or not it
took place with some visible weapons,
a visible enemy,
nations, and diplomacy.
The awareness of
the unending battle had over
time slowly wiped
from his mind the mindless glory of war—
that great bloody
triumph he innocently imagined
when he signed on
to the Remnant and fantasized himself
as a covert
operative in a wall-sized painting
by someone with
an epic sweeping vision of conflict
and majesty, like
Turner—and replaced it with a Bosch
painting of the
saints having no escape from myriad
temptations,
exploitations, deceit, and brutality,
and the
omnipresent evil teeth constantly biting
at the heels of
the good in a house of perversity
and depravity,
the blood dripping off the ripped canvas;
and replacing the
Renaissance perfect polyphony
of Palestrina,
the keyless symmetry of Webern,
the anarchic
dissonance of “Psalm 90” of Ives,
and the silent
anxiety of John Cage’s “4’33”
with the
repetitions of Glass and the complexity
of Carter,
painting and sound with no meaning or purpose.
These were the
dark moments, when he would often beg to know
if “one exception
would have marred too much the pitiless
perfection of the
divine, eternal plan;”[8]
but the dark
moments can bow
down to light, as they did when he opened
the closet and
Aaron’s big eyes woke him from reflection,
though, with his
usual sarcasm and combination
of candor and
petulance that ached for a confrontation
of sorts, Aaron
said in a fake tone of adulation,
with no effect
from the terror he had experienced,
locked and tied
up in the prison of a tiny closet,
Oh my! Look who saves us. I’m
so darn thrilled.
I can’t believe that I’ll be
oh so close
to the great philosopher man
Hután…
—his associates used the sobriquet
“philosopher”
because he frequently tended to quote
philosophers,
…and just in time too, a few minutes more,
we might have been dead. But who would have
cared
as long as great thinker Hután is safe,
worshipped for wondrous exploits of danger.
If a statue of you was near her now,
Carina would smear her blood on it,
to which Hután
smiled and offered a sympathetic look,
to which Aaron
had no retort, since his words and tone hid
his true feelings
of awe for Hután, if for no other
reason—and there
were several other more important
reasons—than he
saw Aaron as a man, not a film star.
Even in the
darkness with Mustfarris, when their backs were
tied to each
other, their arms touched, and their mouths were covered,
he would have
poked fun at Hután if he could have spoken,
just as
Mustfarris whispered Flaubert’s ironic comment,
“il ne faut pas toucher aux idoles:
la dorure en reste aux mains…[9]
for Mustfarris
knew he and everyone in the Remnant
admired Hután,
but he knew Hután’s imperfections too.
Aaron’s sardonic
comment Hután quickly put aside,
for nothing Aaron
could say now would upset him or change
the sense of joy
in seeing them both alive and unharmed,
so glad that he
hugged each of them gently while Pitworthy
smiled as wide as
a human could smile when he saw Aaron
Lee, his favorite
of the Remnant, and thrust forth his hand;
but when Aaron
grabbed his hand, Pitworthy wouldn’t let go
Oh my god, it’s Aaron Lee! So happy
to see you! And you’ve been in the closet?
until Aaron
pulled away from these few effulgent words.
Pitworthy
verified, his smile always fixed on Aaron,
what was becoming
quite clear: He had never asked Hután
to his castle and
had never asked for this gathering.
Several facts
Hután knew: Hydra would exchange Víhaan
for the Schedule,
Dvorak had set up the three poisons,
Selma created the
torture chamber for Pitworthy
and tied up Aaron
and Mustfarris in the closet,
and The Schedule
was now, in his view, behind all of it.
But before he
could turn his attention to what Hydra
and Dvorak would
do next, Aaron had his own questions.
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