Chapter One: A Moment of Weakness

A Chapter by Capris

Diary Entry:

I never meant to hurt anyone. No matter what you take from this. No matter what you may come to believe. You must trust in these few words. I ever meant to hurt anyone.

Chapter One: A Moment of Weakness

My name is Bishop Eloise. Bishop is the name my mother gave me not some religious title. I’ve had to explain that more times than I care to admit, and I’ve been laughed at because of it more times than I can remember. It doesn’t matter to me. It is who I am, nothing more, nothing less. I’ve always found those who assign special significance to such thing extremely annoying. “Who am I really?” “What does it all mean?” “What am I meant to be doing with my life?”

In truth none of it matters. The only things that matter are facts.

My name is Bishop Eloise.

I am 17 years, 6 months, and three days old.

I live in Delm, Capital city of the Lorin Empire. Tressterly Boulevard, on the outskirts of the West End to be specific.

The date is the 47^th day of the year of our Lord 1163.

These are the thing that matter. Things that cannot be changed, no matter how hard we wish, no matter how hard we work. These are the facts. Believing anything else for even a moment is just wasting your time.

Pulling my long black coat around me, I huddled down against the cold wind of early spring. There’s another fact, by the way. Spring in the capital is always far far too cold.

The worn uneven cobble stone sifted slightly under foot. The warm smell of food over a fire filled the air sweat and tangy and gamey all at once. A stew meant to warm the bones and coat the tongue. The faint fog of bitter pipe smoke as a rocking chair squeaked over and over again. The rattle of leaves and the scent of green from the one tree that sat in in the courtyard one cluttered street away. The moon cast long shadows from tall stands and piles of boxes, covering over the litter of filthy odds and ends that sent the perfume of three day old trash and food cart cast offs wafting lazily though the air.

I pressed closer to the shadows eyes alert for any movement. These streets could kill you if you aren’t careful. I know that more than anyone. I’d lived on them, alone huddled in shadowed alcoves for almost half of my life. I’d made it out, barely. It’s something I’m not afraid to admit being proud of. Still I remember the danger. I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I don’t want to ever forget.

It’s important not to ever forget a fact.

Movement down the next dark alley caught my eye. In a fraction of a second I froze as unmoving as the rough brick wall beside me. I made my eyes stand wide open waiting for them to adjust to the slightly darker surroundings.

A fat man paced nervously back and forth across the alley’s width. He didn’t belong.

Not in the slightest.

His clothes were too fine, even from twenty feet away I could tell that. Besides no one who belonged this far from the main areas of the city made quite so much noise when they were sober. Then the fat man turned and I had to fight to catch my breath.

David Tames.

David . . . Tames.

My fist clenched white knuckled, my breathing shortened, my neck stiffened. All because of David Tames.

I felt the hate take hold of me all over again. I heard in my mind this Fat Stupid Parasite of a man saying again those words he’d said to my father all of those years ago in the comfortable jewelry shop they’d built together. Words that to this day echoed in my bones.

“Come now Benjamin. It’s not personal, just business.” Just Business. My father’s blood sliding across the floor and pooling underneath me in the space beneath my father’s desk where I’d been hiding.

The look in his eyes when he came days later and took everything I had before he cast me away onto the streets.

The nights spent hungry and alone as the woman wearing my mother’s pearls passed by laughing.

Before I knew what I was doing the knife I kept for protection was in my hand and I was walking quietly and slowly towards him. I knew what I was doing. I knew what I was going to do.

I just didn’t care.

He stood there alone and unsuspecting. I was half way to him before he noticed me. His head snapped up, hairy lip quivering in surprise. Eyes wide like a startled rabbit.

“Whose there?” he cried out at my general direction. I kept moving forward steadily but I moved the blade out of sight.

“Whose there?! I’m warning you. I’m armed!” He panicked fumbling a pretty decorative revolver out of his waistcoat. He leveled the gun hand shaking so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t dropped it yet. But even a blind man could have one lucky shot.

I kept moving forward.

“Mr. Tames, is that you?” I didn’t smile. I couldn’t force myself to do it. Not in front of him. Not now.

“Bishop? Little Bishop, is that you?” He took a step forward and lowered the gun. His face lit up in recognition. “I haven’t seen you in years. How have you been my boy?”

I didn’t answer him as I kept my eyes on the gun. Uselessly fancy thing with silver filigree wrapped all around the barrel. Disgusting waste.

Tames caught me looking and fidgeted about, trying to put it away. My hand tightened on my knife. It had come from a trash heap. Its wooden handle was cracked and its blade had once been dulled completely. It felt warm.

“Don’t worry about this thing, my boy. It’s just a little bit of protection. This part of the city is terribly dangerous at night,” he said.

Not only at night. I thought.

“What are you doing out here this late. You should go home where it’s safe,” he insisted getting some of his composer back and taking a deep breath.

For a second I wavered. He looked so concerned and kind that I began to wonder if the monster that had haunted my dreams all these years had been just a figment of my imagination.

Then he pulled a pocket watch from inside of his coat.

Even in the dark, the letters EE stood out like a beacon on its’ shining brass surface. Edward Eloise, my father. He’d been wearing that watch on the day he died. I can still see him flipping it open as he showed me his work.

Before I could think or decide the knife was in his chest.

He didn’t react at first. He just stared at me confused and slowly his eyes fell to the blade. I felt the anger well up in me for the first time in years because everything was his fault. Fear and the dark and the pain were what he gave to me. It was well past time I gave them back.

This too was a fact.

I ripped the blade free and put it in again. He fell to his knees as the dark stain spread across his shirt. He didn’t scream or struggle. Too shocked, I think. He fell to the ground and I let him go. As the life left his eyes, as he twitched and shook, I looked at him and spoke.

“Come now David. It’s not personal, just business.”

I picked up my father’s watch, turned and left the mess behind. It was late and I had a long walk home.