If we are to believe in free will and the choosing of our own actions, then we must also choose what those actions are to stand for. Do we wish to fight for the side of good or for the side of evil? Making the decision to go down one path or the other is made infinitely complex by the uncertainty of each option. If good and evil are merely constructs then how can you choose to become something that does not truly exist? Perhaps it is because we see the light in others, so we strive to become like them. Or perhaps all that we can see is the darkness in those around us, and so we determine to take another path. Perhaps evil is simply a question, and good is the answer.
ERIS, Part 2
Lucky Smells Lumbermill was in a state of disarray. Frank surveyed the scene around him but struggled to take in many of the details. Medical professionals of dubious credentials were gathered around a large machine to one side, whilst medical professionals of even more uncertain credentials cajoled a man who had been badly injured. He stood for a short while, listening to sounds of their talking, before exiting the room.
He had received the call in the early evening, and it had taken him most of the night to get to Paltryville. He had been too late though. They were gone, escaped from his grasp once more, like tendrils of smoke through his fingers.
He found Jacques in Sir's office. The door was half open, and Frank drummed his fingers lightly on the wooden door. Jacques turned sharply and yanked the door open, and Frank could see the wariness in his eyes.
'Frank' said Jacques solemnly. 'I'm glad you made it. We don't have much time.'
'What happened here?'
'There's been a murder.' Jacques turned away from the door, and resumed rummaging through the desk. 'And Olaf was responsible.' Jacques was pulling papers randomly out of drawers, lightly sighing in frustration with each resultant effort.
'I'd understood that there had been an accident' said Frank. 'Not murder.'
'Perhaps, but that's as maybe. Things are beginning to spiral out of our control Frank, and I need to know if I can rely on you.'
'Of course. But you need to be straight with me Jacques. What's been going on here?'
'Drat!' Jacques slammed the last of the drawers shut. 'I thought I might find something, anything, that could prove that Sir is working for the other side.' He leaned back against the edge of the desk with a gih. 'But there's nothing here. He's an incompetent fool, but it seems he's nothing more.' He sighed. 'Olaf and Orwell. Together they tried to capture the Baudelaire's, and it didn't end well. He won't stop, not at anything, not until he gets what he wants.'
'The fortune?'
Jacques shook his head. 'Revenge.'
Frank felt his insides clench momentarily. 'He still hasn't forgiven -'
'Who could?' Jacques moved past frank to the open door. 'Come, we shouldn't talk here. We don't know who could be watching.'
It was a warm and pleasant morning, but the streets of Paltryville had been rarely described as warm and never as pleasant. Frank could see the the large eye-shaped optometrists glaring at him as he and Jacques talked.
'The police have been called, of course.' said Jacques. 'And I believe that Detective Smithjones will soon be here. He has it in for me, you know.'
'Well in fairness you're not a real detective. I could see why that might irritate him.'
'Does that matter? I've done more good than he or his wretched department ever has. The whole lot of them are in the High Court's pocket I tell you. Ever since the Royal Gardens scandal it's just been getting worse and worse.'
'How is your research going.'
Jacques sighed again, and reached into the pocket of his jacket. 'We found this.' He took out a small glass phial which was filled with Black Ink.
This was the last thing Frank had expected 'How did you-?'
'Don't ask.' said Jacques. 'But Kit is carrying out some vital research as we speak. I think that soon our question will be answered.'
Frank looked at the strange liquid, almost temporarily entranced by its depths. It made him feel uncomfortable the longer he stared it, as if it didn't belong, or he didn't belong.
'Why am I here?' Frank asked. 'You seem to have things under control at the very least. What do you want from me?'
Jacques shook his head. 'We're losing control of everything Frank, and we don't have much time. I need you to do a favour for me?'
'Such as?'
'I need you to use your influence at the Punctilio to ensure that a certain article is published. Everyone needs to know the truth about the murder at lucky smells lumbermill, otherwise Olaf and his associates will never be stopped.'
'But it wasn't murder.' Frank reminded him. 'It was an accident.'
'That doesn't matter. Olaf must be stopped, at any cost.'
'I won't lie for you.'
'I'm not asking you to lie for me, I'm telling you. This is your chance to make up for what you did. If it hadn't been for your...indiscretion in the past then that fateful night at the opera would have ended very differently. You owe us, Frank.'
He had no choice, now as he had then. All Frank had every wanted to do was the right thing, but he knew that this wasn't right. 'I will do this thing for you, just this once.'
Jacques smiled, and placed a hand on his shoulder 'Thank you. Though I cannot promise it will be all I ask of you. Things are moving fast, and I need to know the truth of this Frank. Is the last safe place still safe?'
The question struck a sour note in him. No place was ever truly safe, perhaps now more than ever. He had tried all his life to bring a close to this never-ending battle, but with every generation the schism would worsen, and even the safest of places could become fraught with danger and misfortune. All he could do was hope.
'Yes' said Frank. 'I hope so.'