Part I: The Interview

As the afternoon sun loomed over the great City of Hatlynshire, Carter Carrington found himself terrified. He counted his steps as he walked alone through a long, wide hallway. He was anxious to the point where he could feel a drop of sweat running down the side of his face, a feeling that was further amplified by his surroundings. For even the sunshine that came through the windows did little to improve the dreariness of Saint Annalise’s House for Foundling Children. With every step he took, the ancient floorboards beneath his feet creaked as though they were about to snap. The dull and weathered blue walls on either side of him were covered with paintings of clouds and angels. And while they were intended to appear majestic, Carter had always found them unnerving at best and frightening at worst. Their eternal gaze pierced his soul and their swords and spears felt as though they were pointed directly at him.

He placed his right hand on one of the walls, running his finger along the narrow cracks. The faint sound of singing children echoed softly through the walls, filling the air with a constant haunting melody. Despite the weak sound, Carter could recognize the song, for its tune had been seared into his memory for as long as he could recall. His impulses beckoned him to sing along, and since he was anxious beyond measure, he found himself quietly reciting the first verse as he walked, knowing that it would calm him.

“So fortunate are we.
To live so merrily.
O kin of saints be we.
Heirs to Hatlyn’s great city.”

After a few dozen more steps, he reached the end of the hallway, where he was greeted by a guard, who was almost half a foot taller than him, dressed in a grey uniform with a spiked pith helmet. He stood next to a seven-foot-tall double door with a bronze plague engraved with the words ‘ADMINISTRATIVE WING’.

Carter gulped as he anxiously inched closer to the man. Once he got a few steps closer, the man gazed directly at him, his constant, unwavering intensity made him feel as though the entire house had been placed on his shoulders. His demeanor and attire were incredibly intimidating, though what worried Carter the most was the sword he kept sheathed on his belt. “You lost, boy?” he asked in a bored yet intrigued voice, to which Carter shook his head. “This hallway is for House staff only. If you’re here to see someone, I suggest you look in one of the other doors, if not, then leave immediately.” he instructed in a much harsh tone whilst frowning down at Carter.

“Um…no, sir.” Carter gulped. “I not here to see a Minder… I-I’ve been summoned.” he explained in the simplest way he could. His left hand shook slightly as he kept eyeing the sword. The guard narrowed his eyes at him, examining his appearance like he was some badly disguised spy. Carter kept his eyes pointed at the floor beneath him.

“May I see your summons then?” the guard then asked, his voice now slightly less aggressive. Carter stopped his hand from shivering before hastily reaching into one of the pockets of his tattered waistcoat, where he then pulled out a stiff, rectangular piece of paper with a message printed on it. He presented the paper to the guard, who swiped the paper out of his hands and read it quietly. Carter watched as the man’s eyes moved from line to line.

“I see, seventeen, are you?” he asked in an almost sympathetic tone before handing the paper back to Carter. “Yes, sir,” he answered nervously. Though despite his honest answer, the guard seemed rather unconvinced, though Carter did not blame him for his assumptions, for it was true that he was rather short for someone his age. The guard, seemingly realizing that he could not prove his assumptions, placed his hand on one of the doorknobs. “You may proceed.”

He then slowly opened one of the doors and stepped aside slightly so Carter could go through. In response, he gave the man a nod as a show of his gratitude, though he continued to keep his head low and avoid looking the man directly in the eye. Before he entered the wing, he glanced back at the corridor behind him, hoping he’d see something, perhaps maybe a shadow or a distant outline of somebody watching him as he descended the pit of no return. Unfortunately, he saw nothing, though that did not upset him too much. He had already said his goodbyes and farewells, and that was enough, he now had to look forward, for, despite his inner fears, now was his chance to be free. So, he then turned forward once again and advanced through the door. The soldier stared down at him as he walked inside and swiftly shut the door behind him the moment his entire body had all crossed over.

Inside, the surroundings stood in stark contrast to the painted walls and depictions of angels that adorned the hallway outside. Carter found himself standing in a room with pale white walls with patterns of rook and branches painted on them, accented dark wooden trim. The only source of light came from a black iron candelabra that hung from the vaulted ceiling. Directly in front of Carter was a table, behind which sat a middle-aged woman in a grey uniform. She sat quietly whilst running her fingers along the keys of a black typewriter, the clicks and clacks of the metal hammers striking the paper echoed through the room in an inconsistent rhythm. On either side of her were a few doors, some guarded by more men in uniforms. Despite the strangely high security and the eerie atmosphere, Carter found the room quit underwhelming. It was nothing like the myths and legends that he and the rest of the children had made up over the years. Alas, the mysterious wing behind the guarded door had failed to meet his expectations, though that didn’t really surprise him, for if he had learned one thing in his seventeen years of existence, it’s that life was always more mundane than myth.

He slowly walked forward and approached the lady with the typewriter. She saw him coming almost immediately and swiftly turned her gaze towards him. She lowered her bronze framed spectacles and examined him as he approached, though the piece of paper in his hands seemed to tell her everything she needed to know. Once Carter reached the foot of her desk, she once again turned her attention towards her typewriter. “Here with a summons, I presume?” she asked with a cold, indifferent tone.

“Yes, madam.” Carter answered timidly.

The woman then typed some more words on her typewriter, leaving Carter feeling awkward as he stood unable to think of what to say next, before finally pushing the typewriter aside, reaching down below her desk and taking out a larger leatherbound book with old, yellowish paper. “Give it here.” She commanded whilst reaching her hand out. Carter swiftly handed over his paper, which the woman then proceeded to read. Once she was finished, she turned to the book, where she then began to flip through the pages and read through them in a focused, almost machinelike manner, it reminded Carter of the emotionlessness that the Minders, the people in charge of overseeing the children, had often shown him.

After a minute of flipping through the book, the woman finally came to a stop. “I see…” she muttered before looking up at Carter with a bored and uncaring expression. “You are C. Carrington, yes? Dormitory Fourteen, registration number twelve thousand four hundred and ninety-seven, registered on the 47^th Day of the year 585 After Field?”

Carter nodded, within those few sentences was everything that Carter knew about himself, and he had memorized all of it extremely thoroughly. The woman then turned the book around and slide it across the desk towards him. She then reached out to her side and grabbed a quill which she had kept submerged in a bottle of ink. She handed the quill over to Carter, who took it cautiously into his hand. “Sign here and we shall have your belongings released shortly.” She uttered while pointing to a blank spot next to his name of one of the pages. Carter gulped, but since he had no other choice, he scribbled his signature on the paper. The woman then pushed the book aside and turned towards one of the guards standing next to one of the other doors. She waved her hand and gestured to the man, who then came over to her desk.

“Take him to the Rook,” she ordered sternly. She then turned to Carter one last time. “On behalf of Saint Annalise’s House, we wish you well in your future endeavors.”

The coldness of her voice made Carter question the genuineness of that statement. However, he didn’t get the chance to think about it too much, for as soon the as woman stopped talking the soldier began to usher him towards one of the doors, specifically one titled ‘AGENCY OFFICES.’ The man opened the door and went inside, with Carter following him closely. Behind the door was a corridor, however this one was shorter, narrower, and windowless. Like the room he had previously been in, the walls of the hallway were painted with rooks and the only sources of light being series of lanterns that hung from the walls. At the very end of the hallway, there was a door with a glass arch about it, and from beyond the glass arch shined sunlight. Carter realized it was an exit, yet instead of taking him out of the building the guard instead turned and opened one of the doors and quickly shoved him inside. The last thing he saw before the guard closed the door behind him was the plaque attached to the door, which had been engraved with the words, ‘Interview Room’.

Once the door was shut and its echo had faded, Carter was left with nothing but an eerie silence. This new room was relatively plain compared to ones he had just walked through. It had a large, wooden table in the center with two chairs on either side. The walls were dark grey and lined with dark wood trim. On the opposite side of the room, there was a lit fireplace with a portrait of man hanging above it whilst a small wooden drawer stood nested in one of the dark corners. Carter, realizing he could do nothing else, walked over and sat on one of the chairs. He then waited, fiddling with his fingers, unsure of what to expect.

Finally, after a minute or two, the door finally opened, and in walked two men. One was yet another guard, however his uniform was black instead of grey. The other man had a beard and wore a black bowler hat, waistcoat, and coat. Carter stood up from his seat the moment he heard the door open.

“Greetings, Mr. Carrington,” said the bearded man. “You may return to your seat.”

He then walked over and sat on the seat opposite to Carter whilst the guard in the black uniform stood by the door, staring at Carter in a stern and indifferent manner. Carter then returned to his seat. The man then immediately reached his hand out towards him. “I am Mr. Oswell, and I will be your interviewer today.”

Carter reluctantly shook the Mr. Oswell’s hand, though his introduction left him with more questions than answers. In Mr. Oswell’s hand was a leader folder full of paper, about half an inch thick, with the name ‘C. Carrington’ engraved on the front. Carter had heard of these folders, they had one for each child in the House, with each folder being a record of their lives. The Minders of the House had always used the threat of tarnishing the records as a means of keeping the children in line. However, this was the first time Carter had seen his folder in person.

Carter sat silently in his seat, still too nervous and too confused to say anything, whilst Mr. Oswell flipped through the papers inside his folder. Carter tried to determine what the man was feeling by examining his face, yet his expressions were indecipherable. The awkward silence lasted for a few minutes, until he finally placed the folder on the desk and turned his attention to Carter.

“Well, Mr. Carrington, your records are certainly promising.” he complimented enthusiastically. “You have yet to fail any written examination, and your behavioral evaluations seem to be above our standards.”

“Uh…thank you, sir.” Carter replied in a graciously with an awkward smile. Mr. Oswell then looked down at the folder once again and continued talking.

“But you do appear to have some black marks here and there, trouble with your peers, disobedience, incompetence and so on. Though in my opinion these things are unavoidable when it comes to juveniles such as yourself. I have no doubt that, in time, you’ll grow past these undesirable traits.”

Carter nodded attentively. Though in reality, he had no clue as to where any of this was going. His body was tense, and his eyes kept looking back and forth between the guard and Mr. Oswell. Eventually, his lack of words and nervous demeanor caught the Mr. Oswell’s attention, for he then looked up from the folder and stared at Carter directly. “Is there something wrong?”

“N-No, sir. Not at all.” Carter replied, shaking his head. Unfortunately, he had always been a bad liar, and it was apparent from his expression that Mr. Oswell had already deduced that. He sighed, closed the folder, and leaned a little closer to him.

“Come now, Mr. Carrington, you mustn’t be afraid to talk to me.” He said before taking a brief pause and attempting to guess as to what troubled his timid interviewee.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked. At that moment, Carter decided it was best to be honest in this situation, so he shook in head and confirmed Mr. Oswell’s suspicions. This made him lean back on his chair and sigh. “I see, those half-wits outside didn’t tell you about this procedure before handing you over to me, didn’t they?”

Carter nodded, he found Mr. Oswell’s calm and relatively friendly composure comforting. “Of course.” He huffed in frustration. “Well, those ungrateful loafers will certainly be hearing from me once we are done here.”

Seeing Mr. Oswell curse the Administrative Staff so loudly almost made Carter smile. Despite his middle-aged appearance, it was clear that Mr. Oswell was quite adept at speaking to people like him. Yet, despite all the enthusiastic talk, Carter’s mind was still plagued by questions, and so far, he had not received a single answer. And seeing Mr. Oswell chuckle as he berated the Administrative Staff made him feel like he was in the presence of a friend. However, his cautious side reminded him not to be fooled by a person’s outward expressions. He was aware that, to him, Mr. Oswell was a stranger, a complete mystery.

“So then, umm…sir…” he stuttered, taking a risk in order to gain some much-needed clarity. Mr. Oswell immediately stared directly at him with a sternness that Carter found unsettling. “What…am I being interviewed for exactly?”

Mr. Oswell closed his eyes and sighed, having come to terms with the utter obliviousness of his interviewee. He then placed both his hands on the table and cleared his throat. “Where shall I begin? Do you know who I am?”

“They called you ‘the Rook’, sir.” Carter answered. Mr. Oswell nodded.

“Ah, so they did tell you something!” he exclaimed. “Indeed. I am the Rook of Renanberg. And I’m here representing the interests of a particular entity of the state.” He stated with practiced efficiency.

“What do you mean, sir?” asked Carter, who was no closer to understanding what was going on. Mr. Oswell sighed; it was as if he were trying to tell Carter a secret whilst withholding as many details as he could.

“Think of me as an enlister, a recruiter. I have been tasked with determining whether you are worthy of working for us.”

Mr. Oswell’s words hit Carter like a brick, for this new revelation was one he had not accounted for in the slightest. He had always known an occupation was a necessity, though he had been reminded many times prior that receiving one wasn’t necessarily an inevitability; however, never he could he have though that he’d be offered one so quickly.

“Me? Recruited? For what purpose?” He rambled, feeling comfortable enough to express himself freely. Despite part of him feeling confused and caught off-guard by the offer, he was relieved at the prospect of a less uncertain future. Though he was wise enough not to elevate his hopes too much since Mr. Oswell had yet to give him any actual details.

“For the purpose of serving our people, Mr. Carrington.” Mr. Oswell answered vaguely. “Mind you, you have not been accepted, for I am yet to make that decision.”

“But…why consider me at all? I’m barely have any experience! I don’t have any qualifications or history. Frankly, I have nothing!”

Mr. Oswell smiled, for it appeared that he was already familiar with such a response. He glanced over at the portrait hanging above the fireplace for a brief moment before staring directly into Carter’s eyes. “Let me ask you something, Mr. Carrington. Are you loyal to your people?”

Even though he was once again taken by surprised by Mr. Oswell’s question, it didn’t take Carter more than a second to respond. “Yes, sir.”

“And are you loyal to this city and to the Crown? The institutions that have housed and fed you all this time? The institutions to which you owe your life?”

“Yes, sir.” Carter answered almost instinctively, without any thought or hesitation. Mr. Oswell nodded proudly and leaned back on his seat whilst pointing his finger up at the ceiling.

“Good. For you see, Mr. Carrington, to us those are your qualifications and your history. You are loyal to us, and you have been with us your entire life!”

Carter paused, thinking about what Mr. Oswell had just said. It was a narrative he had heard before, and one whose truth he could not deny. Yet, despite his near unconditional allegiance, part of him had always held a grudge against these mighty establishments, for they were partly responsible for all his bad memories. But before he could thoroughly examine how much he truly meant his answers. Mr. Oswell continued to talk, unwilling to give up his momentum.

“Now as for experience, which is something you will accumulate over time. The lack of experience and lack of family are somethings all our new recruits have in common.”

The last part of that sentence made Carter look up and raise his eyebrow. “Wait, sir. Do you mean to tell me you interview everyone who passes through this house?”

“Indeed. This house and all the other houses full of people like you. For we know that it is here that we can find those who value opportunity and security.”

He then reached into the file, pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across the desk towards Carter, who gently took it into his arms. The first thing that stood out to him was the title, ‘Contract of Employment’, a set of words that sounded almost completely harmless. He then began to read it, though his reading ability wasn’t the best, and many of the words were foreign to him. Despite those weaknesses, he still managed to understand most of the document’s contents. The contract offered him clarity as to the true nature of Mr. Oswell’s offer; however, the more he read about the details, the more concerned he became. For, as he understood it, the contract in his hands had been designed to enlist a soldier, and, as years of forced civic education had taught him, there was only one state entity that required soldiers.

“So, you work for the Chamber of Law Enforcement, sir? You’ve come to enlist me as one of them?” he asked as he placed the contract on the desk.

Carter’s question amused Mr. Oswell so much that he almost burst into laughter. He chuckled loudly as he took a shiny chrome-plated fountain pen out of his coat. “Law Enforcement? You mean like the two-bit guards that run around this house day and night? No, no. I represent an institution with far more authority, far better pay and whose operations are conducted in near absolute secrecy.”

“A…secret institution?” Carter muttered, tilting his head to the side, unable to fully wrap his head around what he was hearing. “I don’t think I quite follow.”

Mr. Oswell sighed once again, realizing that he couldn’t withhold the details any longer. He glanced over at the guard who had accompanied him to the room, the man was still standing firmly next to the entrance. He gave the man a nod, to which the guard immediately returned with his own nod before turning around, opening the door, walking outside, and closing the door behind him. Watching all this made Carter clench his fists as he was once again filled with a sense of anxiety.

“I know it all sounds a little far-fetched.” Said Mr. Oswell whilst staring at the burning fireplace. “But there are things in this world that neither you nor the common masses of this city are aware of.”

Carter paused, thinking about how he should respond. In the end, despite a part of him being afraid of what he might learn, he decided to inquire further. “Like what, sir?”

Mr. Oswell turned to Carter and stared at him directly in the eyes, the cold seriousness of his gaze was so immense that it almost made him shudder. “Mr. Carrington, we are at war.”

Carter’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped, once again Mr. Oswell’s answers had caught him completely off guard. His hands began to shiver as his mind began to vividly imagine what he thought ‘war’ meant, and all the images he visualized utterly terrified him. “War?” he asked, his body on the brink of trembling. “H-how? Why? W…”

“That is not your concern yet. Our conflict is one that is fought in the dark, in the shadows where no man dares look. The mere knowledge of its existence is strictly confidential.”

“Then why did you tell me, sir?” Carter asked near instantaneously, thinking that he had spotted a contradiction in Mr. Oswell’s story.

Mr. Oswell chuckled and smiled confidently. “Call it a calculated risk.”

He then turned to the painting and pointed his finger at it, which made Carter look at it as well. “Like for any war, Mr. Carrington, we need soldiers. Warriors willing to give their lives for their people. Angels that descend from the skies and bring salvation to the masses!”

Despite the awe-inducing manner in which Mr. Oswell spoke, Carter did not feel any more convinced. He just kept staring at the painting quietly, noticing an increasing number of oddities the longer he looked. The painting was of a man wearing black clothes and a silver breastplate with a shining sword in one hand, heavily reminiscent of the old portraits that he had seen littered around the house. However, this man had his face covered by a mask, in his other hand was a flag painted with the symbol of a golden sun with an open eye at its center. The flag was particularly strange, for it was certainly not the flag of Hatlynshire. But before he could ask more questions Mr. Oswell directed his attention back to the contract as he slowly pushed the pen towards him.

“Join us, Mr. Carrington. Do it for the city to which you owe your life, but more importantly, do it for you people. You do love your love your people, do you not?”

“I do, sir.” Carter blurred out instantly. But despite that, he had many objections when it came to the contract. He didn’t want to be soldier, frankly, he thought he lacked many qualities that a soldier would usually require. Add to that the fact he had a life that he had meticulously envisioned throughout the many years he had spent inside St Annalise’s House, a dream he had promised himself that he would never compromise. However, part of him felt that Mr. Oswell was right, he was indebted to the city whether he liked it or not. And given his current circumstances, who was he to reject an offer that would protect him from having to face the uncertainty of the outside world? The more he thought, the more conflicted he became. He was scared and Mr. Oswell could see it.

“What if I refuse?” he asked after gulping and taking a deep breath. Mr. Oswell raised both his eyebrows, for in appeared that, for once, it was Carter who had caught him off guard. Unfortunately, Mr. Oswell’s expression began to darken, though his smile did not fade entirely.

“Simple.” He said, imitating the friendly voice he had used earlier despite his changed attitude. “You and I share a drink, I bid you farewell, my subordinate outside has your belongings returned to you alongside some money and book of local boarding houses as per regulation before finally throwing you out onto the street.”

Mr. Oswell’s smile slowly turned into a frown and his tone became increasingly aggressive as he spoke, which made Carter think that he had unknowingly angered him. He stood up from his chair and looked down at Carter.

“Listen to me very carefully, boy. The world is not particularly kind to foundlings like yourself. You may find this contract unappealing but rest assured, it is the most advantageous agreement you will ever get to sign.”

He then took the pen into his hand and slammed it onto the desk. “So, what it will it be? Will you serve your people and earn a tidy sum doing it, or will you leave this room as the same man you were when entered?”

Carter thought about it, he hadn’t begun to consider the money, which was something he had none of.  He started to doubt himself, what if Mr. Oswell was right? What if this was indeed the best opportunity he will ever receive? What if this were the only way could feasibly go to where he dreamed of going? The precarity of his situation weighed heavy on his mind. Part of him was even questioning whether he was in danger at that very moment, given everything that Mr. Oswell had told him. He glanced over at the door, knowing the guard was still likely waiting outside, and given the windowless and isolated nature of the room he was in, no one would hear him. He could tell Mr. Oswell was getting increasingly impatient the more he waited, so he slowly reached out and grabbed the fountain pen whilst Mr. Oswell watched intently. Carter’s hand shivered as his moved the tip of the pen closer to the blank line at the bottom of the contract, his nerves on the verge of igniting as his mind fell deeper and deeper into an endless pit of doubts, reassurances, questions, and worries. Finally, he gulped, took a deep breath, accepted the circumstances which prevailed over him. As Mr. Oswell’s piercing gaze loomed over his, he tightened his grip on the pen and, with great reluctance, signed the contract.

“I accept your offer, sir.”

A smile returned to Mr. Oswell’s face. He nodded and swiped the contract off the desk and placed it back in the file. “You made the right decision, Mr. Carrington. Congratulations.”

He then placed the file on the desk before turning to the drawer in the corner. He then opened the topmost level of the drawer and reached into it with both hands before pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He placed the bottle on the table and slid the glass towards Carter before reaching into the drawer again taking out another glass.

“Now we drink, both to your new future and to the continued prosperity of Hatlynshire!”

He then sat back down and gleefully poured the wine into both their glasses. “I suppose this the first time you’ve been offered a drink as well.”

“I suppose yes, sir.” Carter nodded half-heartedly, the decision he had just made weighing heavily on his mind.

“Now that’s enough with the ‘sir’. Now that you’re one of us, you may call me Oswell. I consider it an honor to be the first one to give you taste of adulthood! Now, drink up!” he urged with get enthusiasm. Carter stared down at the alcohol shifting around inside his glass. He found its odor near unbearable and its color unappealing. Yet, with Oswell’s stare latched onto him like a hook, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. They both raised their glasses; Carter closed his eyes and placed the glass on his lips before taking a swift gulp. Almost immediately afterwards, he felt the overwhelming urge to hurl as he discovered that his thoroughly disliked the taste of whiskey. Thankfully, his unwillingness to embarrass himself was stronger than his disgust, and he managed to swallow all the alcohol without spilling a drop. He placed the glass on the desk, let out a gasp and coughed. Only after that did he notice that Mr. Oswell hadn’t even touched his drink.

“Are you not drinking?” he asked, but Oswell didn’t say anything, instead staying still whilst looking at Carter with a light grin. Just as Carter was beginning to realize something was wrong, he was struck by a sudden feeling of drowsiness. His vision suddenly began to blur, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Sir...I mean… Oswell. I…feel…” he mumbled as his body became numb and his mind began to panic. Oswell responded by calmly placing his finger on his lips and shushing at him. He then moved Carter’s glass towards him as Carter began to move in arms erratically, unable to fully control them. Finally, Carter began to lose consciousness as his head fell onto the table. Darkness soon overcame him, and the last thing he heard before falling into a deep slumber was Oswell’s voice. 

“Welcome to the Order of Man, Mr. Carrington.”

 

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