The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter I: Scenery of Salvation

Prerequisites:
Committee report


"'Tis a foreboding sky tonite, my dear Brother", the first cloaked figure remarked.
"Quite so. The City has long since crossed over from damp hope to quiet despair - and to this no signs of halt have appeared. We are merely Watchers", the second character deadpannedly echoed back.
In silent agreement and without a nod of acknowledgement the two figures continued the promenade down the reeking and dimly lit streets of Lower Quarters. These parts of town have for as long as people can remember been inhabited by the outcasts, the junkies, and those of extreme faith. In other words: a social cauldron with just the right ingredients for the cooking of misery, the very sort of cuisine these quarters are famous for.

* * *

Because night already has fallen, the streets are virtually empty. The dull people leave, whilst the more interesting and nocturnally active fellows prepare to seize the streets. This is their part of town, and their hour of the day. To combat the darkness, sporadic lanterns are being lit haphazardly along the sides of the streets, barely illuminating anything, as the dealers and whores prepare to make their living.
"We see this so clearly every day", he once again remarked, as if to instigate conversation. "This is what we are, mere consumers of mind-altering substances and the warmth of female bosom. Slaves to our brains".
"Yes, and will continue lest the world ends tomorrow. Perspective is so rare."
"I know, and as champions of reason, when we quit and submit, we, or rather, our cause dies."
"Perspective, so to speak. Know the things that make you tick. Relaxed control. We've been through this before. The principle-"
"Guard heart from stone, yes", the first figure closed the conversation.
Once again silence. Not the quote-unquote awkward kind, just plain cozy, clean sentience.

* * *

The two figures took a right on Central St. and continued the stroll down the connected Craft St. (colloquially referred to as Scoundrel Alley, because of the prevalence of certain kinds of street dealers). Sitting alone on the gutter was a young woman in a dirty and ripped knee length dress, decorated in black lace. She wore a hat and a small parasol was lying next to her. There was definitely something Victorian about her style. She was not older than twenty years old, but her face bore witness to timeless toil.
"James", the first figure exclaimed in a soft voice. "I think I recognise that girl from somewhere".
The girl's catatonic stare was not broken by the two characters approaching her. It was as if she had fled someplace. Perhaps herself was the only safe place for the time being.
"I can't quite put my finger on it, J.P.", Mr. Libel responded.
It grew abundantly clear that seeing her there was so out of context that to clearly correlate her face with memories of past experience was a task too unprepared to undertake in an instant. They stared at the girl for the duration of a subjective eternity. Suddenly, it struck Mr. Reed: She was the girl from the boarding school that he and James had attended some ten years back in time. A decade had passed, yet he could once again undress her naive eyes and see that not much had changed on the inside. Naked, simplistic, and still beautiful. And wasted, it seemed.

* * *

"Amanda?", John Paul tried to establish contact, hardly penetrating the sound of her heavy breathing. She had clearly done some running.
Of the few vivid recollections that John could make, what stood out most clearly about her past was that she had been orphaned at an early age, later to be placed under the ward of one of The City's finest nobility. What on Earth could have happened to her?
"The men... the men... they're... cmomning", she panted pertubatedly.
"Cmomning?", James wondered.
"Who, Amanda? Whom is it that you say are coming?", John said in a sympathetic voice.
"The-ey", she pointed to the end of the street.
Three distinct figures were approaching from the south. Dressed in black and without uttering a sentence they unflinchingly walked closer.
It did not take a long time for James to put two and two together.
"Don't tell me they're selling you as a gosurori prostitute?", he made no effort to hide his exasperation.
She started sobbing. The men were now just ten feet away. James looked over to John for confirmation. A nod of agreement was all that was needed.

* * *

"I see you gents have taken quite a shine to Sweet Princess. Tell you what, you can have her the entire evening for 200", the hugest of the three proposed.
A couple of seconds passed.
"How about", James said, "we take care of her, and you simply turn around and walk away. No charge"
The man altered his smug expression to that of an uneasy one. Turned to his fellows, and bursted out in laughter.
"I see you haven't realised the predicament that you've put yourself in", he replied after regaining his self-control.
"Don't bring a knife to an intellectual gunfight", J.P. warned.
The fat one signalled to his men and they started to approach the duo from each side, as he himself advanced from the front. James fingered the blackjack that he had kept hidden in his belt all along. Without further warning, he released the blackjack and made a fierce attack, knocking one of the goons unconscious. The second goon, barely comprehending what was taking place, was soon knocked out by one of John Paul's swift elbows to the back of the neck. The man collapsed like a house of cards. The leader of the pack froze in his footsteps.
"Please! You don't understand! I was sent by them!", the despicable man exclaimed.
James took two fast steps forward and swung the back of the blackjack into the man's diaphragm. The man fell to his knees, gasping for air.

* * *

John Paul lifted the man by his collar, slapped him in the face repeatedly, and screamed:
"Who sent you? Answer me or there will be hell to pay!"
"Th-they"
"Who are they!?"
"I don't know! I don't know. Please, don't hurt me! There was this man, see. Told me to take the girl, and then to find you and..."
"Find us and WHAT?", John roared.
"Teach you a lesson"
John gave another greeting to the man's gut. The man once again struggled for air.
"I promise. I never saw the man's face. He was dressed in all black", the pitiful man tried to save his skin.
John threw the man to the ground, gave him a kick to the pelvis and screamed:
"Tell them that we will never cave in and abandon the enlightenment! Now get your sorry fucking ass out of my sight"
The man ran like there was no tomorrow. Soon he was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

John returned to the gutter where James had started checking up on Amanda.
"Please, take me away from here", she whispered.
They helped her up on her trembling legs.
"Don't worry. We'll take good care of you", James assured her.
With one arm around the mens necks for support she staggered down the street.
"Thank you", she said in a soft voice.
As they slowly walked down the street, the lonely shadows played with the parasol left behind.