“Severian?” Adam asks.

“My name is Travis,” he says trying to continue his past charade.

“Whatever your old name or identity was, forget about it, Severian. You are now Severian the last descendant of House Aster. Once famous for its magicians and scholars, your house now lies in ruins due to idiots becoming family heads and squandering the wealth of their estate and inadvertently crushing the talent of their progeny,” Sir Morgan says looking sharply at Adam.

Looking back at him, Adam says, “Yes, Sir Morgan. And you are my benefactor taking a large financial risk that I will be able to raise my standing and revive the family through the knowledge held by the Church of Gnosis.”

Sir Morgan nods his head with a smile.

He is satisfied.

“Yes, and that is the extent of the relationship that the rest of the world shall know, boy,” he says.

He then opens a drawer in his desk and takes out a small blue leather book. He opens it up, writes on it, and tears out the page.

“Take this to a bank teller downstairs. You will receive fifty gold which you can use to buy a large room plus some necessities. Remember your mission. If you skip out of town or delay in accomplishing your mission, you will wish that those fanatics sacrificed you,” he says.

“Yes,” Adam says, “I will not fail.”

“Good,” Sir Morgan says.

“Meet me here again once you pass their examination. I will give you further instructions then,” he continues.

Adam nods.

“You are dismissed, boy,” Sir Morgan says.

Adam then rises from the chair and shakes Sir Morgan’s hands.

He then walks over to the door.

“Wait,” Sir Morgan says.

“What is it now?” Adam thinks.

“Never mind,” Sir Morgan says waving his hand at him.

Adam looks at Sir Morgan weirdly.

“As long as you act like a normal person, I believe the Church will not suspect anything,” Sir Morgan says.

Adam still staring at Sir Morgan decides to leave the room and deposit the check.

The door opens and then closes.

Looking at the door, Sir Morgan, once smiling, now has a frown.

Meanwhile, in a dimly lit room, there are two masked people sitting across from each other on couches. They are both wearing black cloaks with a purple and red insignia that looks like a capital ‘A’ stacked on top of a capital ‘X.’

One of them is reading a newspaper called The Merchant’s Gazette and on it are the following headlines:

“Revolutionaries strike the Kingdom of Avengione!”

“Heretic Slain! – Newton hanged on the Gallows!”

“The Hero of the Hour – Captain Jackson!”

The person holding the paper says in a disgusted voice, “Crazy revolutionaries. Kings are kings by virtue of their blood and bloodline. Don’t you agree with me, Mrs. Twenty?”

The masked person responds, “I think it is a worthy goal that they are trying to achieve, Mr. Twenty-One.”

Mr. Twenty-One says, “Lazy anarchist.”

Mrs. Twenty says, “I didn’t give you the Gazette so that you can rant about your political opinions.”

“Look here,” she says pointing at the bottom headline.

“Okay fine, woman,” Mr. Twenty-One responds.

He starts reading the piece about Captain Jackson, rolling his eyes at Mrs. Twenty.

“Tch,” he says.

“It looks like Mr. Thirty got himself killed by a mere guard squadron. How unreliable,” he continues.

“Think about it, Mr. Traditionalist, think about it hard,” Mrs. Twenty says.

“About what Miss Anarchist?” he replies.

“Would a guard squadron be capable of killing you or me?” she says sarcastically.

“No,” Mr. Twenty-One says.

“Exactly,” Mrs. Twenty says.

“I think this was a trap, a set-up,” she continues.

“Do you know who, Mrs. Twenty?” Mr. Twenty-One asks.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think its those Gnostics,” Mrs. Twenty responds.

“The Gnostics,” Mr. Twenty-One says looking up.

“Any reason why them?” he continues.

“Just a hunch,” Mrs. Twenty replies.

“Really?” Mr. Twenty-One responds.

“Aren’t they recruiting new acolytes right now near where that crazy guy died? Is that the reason?” Mr. Twenty-One continues.

“Yes, they are, but that’s not the reason. Like I said, it’s a hunch,” Mrs. Twenty says.

“How should we move then?” Mr. Twenty-One asks.

“Don’t worry. I already have a plan. In fact, all of the pieces have been set,” Mrs. Twenty says.

“They won’t know what hit them,” she continues.

“And once we will finally grasp our Lord’s treasure from their vaults,” she says pausing for dramatic effect, “Merchant’s Rest will be no more.”

Adam is alone in the hallway.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Remembering the way the lady led him to Sir Morgan’s office, Adam retraces his steps and makes his way toward the bank’s lobby.

Descending a flight of steps, he sees the lobby and waits in line.

After giving the bank note and receiving his gold from the bank teller, he asks about any good inns that he can stay at for tonight and any good realtors that specialize in selling rooms near the Library run by the Church of Gnosis.

After a thirty-minute conversation filled with pleasantries that annoyed Adam to no end, the bank teller gives Adam a list of realtors with the addresses to their offices and suggests that he visit the Red Moon Inn.

Moving through the morass of small-time aristocrats and nouveau riche bourgeois, he exits the bank.

Turning back, he looks at the Central Union Bank, a building made of bright white stone like chalk. A white cumulus cloud passes by overhead covering the sun casting a shadow over the bank and Adam.

Adam walks up the road to the northern borough of the city following the bank teller’s directions. He still sees some vendors on the street and tries to buy some food from a man selling beef sandwiches with cheese. It costs twenty coppers. It turned out that one silver was worth one hundred coppers. After haggling with the vendor, Adam bought two sandwiches for forty copper and directions to the Red Moon Inn.

He bites into one of the sandwiches while walking. The juices from the beef mix with the bread creating a melody of savory pleasure while the sharp cheese gives the melody an extra pizazz that lightens up the auditorium.

He quickly finishes the two sandwiches and thinks, “That vendor was aiming to sell this food to the middle class. If the middle class can afford food such as this, then the society in Merchant’s Rest is overall prosperous.”

He continues walking up the street passing by vendors selling everything from exotic spices found across the sea in remote islands to homegrown produce and specialties to simple contraptions created by the fusion of sorcery and technology. Large buildings filled with all kinds of wares can be seen on both sides of the street. Unfortunately, he sometimes coughs due to the smoke and smog in the air.

“This city must have a lot of heavy industry,” Adam thinks while coughing.

Soon, he exits the merchant’s quarter and enters the northern borough. In the distance on the top of a hill, he can see the mansions and estates of wealthy merchants and aristocrats and descending the hill following the main road he can see smaller and smaller houses until it finally terminates in various hotels and inns. He also sees guards and people with large brooms sweeping the street – some manually while others in finer clothes walk while the brooms themselves sweep up the dust and soot from the industrial areas of the city.

“The upper and middle classes live in this quarter. If I can hazard a guess, the lower classes will live near the industrial sectors of the city,” Adam thinks.

The sun in now starting to set over the horizon and more and more cumulus clouds can be seen.

“I need to find the inn,” Adam thinks.

He then walks quickly following the direction that the bank teller and vendor gave him. Winding cobblestone roads and busy intersections filled with carriages block his path, but after half an hour, Adam finally arrives at the Red Moon Inn.

It is now night.

A sign with a red crescent moon and a purple woman sitting on it playing a wind instrument can be seen near the inn’s entrance.

The windows radiate a pale, yellow light and the sounds of shouts and laughter can be heard on this otherwise quite road. It is the only building with light still on.

Adam then opens the wooden door.

On the side, Adam sees a group of people wearing uniforms with swords by their side. They are eating and drinking calmly, but they are constantly looking at the other customers.

On the other side, he sees a rowdy bunch of people drinking to their hearts content. They are dressed in all manner of clothing from regular linen and cloth to armor made from the leather of large leviathans. Men and women – all are laughing merrily. He even sees a tall woman dressed in a suit surrounded by a gaggle of women around her. They are merrily drinking wine and exchanging words of love.

But what draws Adam’s eye is at the center of the room. A long wooden table. But this table is not empty. Several people dressed in wizard robes and different styles of cloak congregate around a single large table. They are shouting at each other spouting magical nonsense.

“What are they talking about?” Adam thinks.

He decides to listen in.

A young handsome man with a blue wizard hat says, “According to the opinion of Derrick, since we can see and feel mana, then it follows that mana is a type of material like fire, water, air, and earth. The…”

“Absolute garbage, what kind of argument is that?” a woman with fiery red hair responds.

The man with the blue wizard hat replies to her, “Why is it garbage? If you are oh, so wise do point out the error, Master Melina?”

“Cut out the sass,” Melina says.

She then raises her hand and coughs lightly.

She continues, “It does not follow that because we are able to see and feel mana that mana is a material. For example, consider light.”

“Light’s a type of fire,” a drunken woman in a white wizard hat says.

“No, it’s not!” Melina replies.

“Objection!”

Soon the drunken wizards, mages, and sorcerers start clubbing each other with their staffs.

“Stop!”

They caused such a disturbance that the armed people in uniforms had to intervene.

“Hey! Let go of my hair!”

“Wait!”

“Mr. Whiskers!”

Despite their pleas, they are thrown out of the inn.

“Useless,” Adam thinks.

Realizing that he was wasting his time, Adam passes through the commotion to an old man sitting behind a desk near a flight of stairs in order to buy a room.

After a bit of haggling, Adam buys a room for the night and heads up to sleep leaving behind the sounds of shouts, laughter, and broken wood.

He goes to bed and dreams. His dreams surrounded by darkness before being broken by the light.

I open my eyes. I see white light. No, not merely white light but a white room. A room with no shadow or trace of darkness. I look forward and I see a person chained to the wall with a bag over their face.

I walk forward toward them.

They make muffled noises and grunts from their blocked mouth, and I see that they are wearing a white collared shirt and white dress pants.

Closing in upon them, I say, “Be still.”

I place my hand upon their hand and soon they are sitting still like a statue.

I take off the bag revealing a woman’s face. Her hair black – ravenlike. Opening her eyes, I see that they are blood red.

She looks at me and frowns.

I ask her, “Will you tell me the password to the vault now, Eliza?”

She says nothing and only stares at the ground.

I chuckle and say, “Open.”

“Sesame,” she replies.

Eliza then frowns again and looks up at me.

She asks, “What are you doing to me?”

I say, “An apple a day.”

“Keeps the doctor away,” she says.

She now looks at me with scrunched eyebrows and yells, “What are you doing to me!”

I say, “Me? Nothing. Unfortunately, it’s all you, Eliza.”

“What are you talking about? You did this to me!” she exclaims.

“You have to accept the reality, Eliza. Only after you accept what you did that day will you be able to regain your freedom,” I say.

“They were trying to kill me!” she exclaims.

“Stop with the excuses. No one wanted to kill you. So, why did you have to kill them out of jealousy and the voices in your head? Accept it, Eliza, you have schizophrenia,” I tell her.

“No…No…No!” she says.

“I’m here because you want the code to the secret Vault!” she continues.

I tell her, “What secret vault?”

Inching closer, I say, “I never asked such a question.”

“But, but,” she says.

“No buts, Eliza, that was all in your head. It looks like you need another treatment,” I say.

“No, I don’t - you monster. You terrible monster. I should have killed you in that high school!” she says.

I look at her with downcast eyes and say, “You are being deluded again, Eliza. You were the monster. I am merely human.”

I then say, “Code Nine.”

The sliding doors behind open wide and several people in black, armored hazmat suits holding large metal rods enter the room.

“Restrain her and you,” I say pointing to one of the newer recruits, “Get me her ‘medicine’ now.”

“Yes, Sir!” they respond.

Elevator music starts playing in the background along with subliminal messages such as ‘Open sesame!’, ‘An apple a day, keeps the doctor away.’ and the ‘the code is…’

She starts flailing and screaming. Luckily, the guards hold her down, and soon, the recruit gives me the medicine. It is bright blue filling the glass tube of a syringe.

She looks at me with tears in her eyes.

I approach her.

She tries to break free but to no avail.

I am now closer to her face.

She looks at me with fear.

I then plunge the hypodermic needle into the jade-like skin on her neck and her eyes roll back.

“Everyone here leave,” I say.

Responding to my command, the guards leave.

I now look at Eliza slouched over and put a bag over her face.

I walk toward the opposite end of the room and wait for her awakening.

She wakes up and starts to make muffled noises and grunts.

I walk toward her and say, “Be still.”

I place my hand on her head and then remove the bag.

She looks at me.

I ask her, “Will you tell me the password to the vault now, Eliza?”

“The code is 78789145…” she says with downcast eyes.

I smile the biggest smile in years.