A possible preface

I realised myself to be the righteous apostle of the record book keeping when I was sitting by the fire and listening to the two bards ranting to the crowd about how right their independent versions were and realised that the version my own father told, was rather entirely different. I trusted my father, because the old time scar was ogling at me from his collarbone​ each time I was addressing him. I was a relative pacifist and let the former both, keep their argument burning up. Very soon I found myself peeking up the porch of the monastery from day to day and eventually the prefect archivist pulled me up and invited me to learn reading and writing. And I’m glad that I wasn’t born a lady or believe me in our kingdom, at our times- it’s rare they’re getting any chance to get out of their “lady” activities like games of croquet, ball dancing, designer gardening and other art, sewing- basically enjoying their lives and do as their wild wishes tell.

Since then into my youth I spent days and nigths reading and rereading the archives and records of this and even number of other churches. When I couldn’t find more, my father didn’t approve of me going away for too far, because I was just 14 back then and didn’t perfect my bow and arrows skills enough to embark on such a journey alone. He didn’t have enough faith driving him to accompany me on my undertaking, I walked into a library. It seemed as if a heaven touched my rusty robes, made me unaware of any sort of unease including them and embraced me with it’s open arms absorbing me into an abysmal depths of historical and fictional texts and smells. That is when I realised that writing and preferably the truth were the two most important things in the world of my perception.

By the time I turned 16 and by the same time- the already Grand Archivist, came down to bless me personally from the Great Church of Uptown, while I was initiating something unbelievably surreal and important with my volunteering to serve in the defence tower operating the turrets of the guards of our kingdom- Pacifia. It was a relatively sought after position within the hierarchy of the armed forces of our then king Le Mustachie III and it was all thanks to Grand Archivist who recommended me over a crust of bread. It was less hectic a service than that of the foot soldiers and less glorified than the cavalry, but meant a lot of travel and sitting which were just perfect for my soulful orientation.

Days started flying by and my duty shuffled me among the towers, towns, crossroads all across the lands… By 22 I read every book in the cities that my towers guarded and started writing down the records of my own and tallying them with those of the old man Grand Archivist to see, whether I kept everything up to date. Archibald Hansen, was his name and he loved to talk of the beastly lady fish like demons at sea. He appreciated my work but over the years of my absence I knew that he grew closer to his other apprentice Le Brix who was a son of an utterly wealthy nobleman who had a speck of devotion on the silver laden suit of his pompousness. He and the mistress managed to pass him that devotion before they met a terrible end by the hands of an unknown woods’ gang who robbed them off everything and their lives. He unfortunately witnessed all that and ran away with the Circus only to be recovered by our Grand Archie almost a decade later. Pretty easily convinced he learnt fast and by the time I ran out of books to read in our kingdom and started my own private archive keeping, he was already doing the same, but devotedly and had no problems with arranging the parchment​ or papyrus to waste. I on the other hand had to struggle through harbors and traders to scavenge the few I could afford.

It was all fine for a while, but pretty soon my fellow guards started utterly despising my erudition and consequently exiled me mentally from their acquaintance. I, very soon, noticed how fat I got reading all those piles of books and munching down our garrison food stocks and pretty much accepted others’ sedition towards this fact. In almost no time I started to get neglected and even sooner I was reassigned my position.

It seemed that they somehow got an approximate idea about my efforts and acknowledged the reference Grand Archie gave for me to the Marshal himself recommending my talents while conditioning Le Brix to follow in his holy steps of Church Archiving. I didn’t mind, rather got self- content from the fact that I might proudly keep records of the king’s army and experience the live action of every step they took. These were another few years before my career within the army abruptly got finished as Dissipati Peribunt, being the Marshal, lost his head to a better gentleman Bon Tu Pati somewhere around the tent I was scribbling in. The same day Le Mustachie the III and his nobility with the help of Prince Meinland the I’s cavalry, managed to crank their heads a wee bit way off their shoulders. The whole family, or what was left of it was brought out in their own bedsheets and sent to a respectful cremation by the edge pf the river. The times were noble and so were our neighbours.
Once again my writing​ prevailed and after reading the glorified records of the truth behind the unfortunate governing turmoil which uprooted the basics of the kingdom the new king himself declared to decide my fate. Archie and Brix didn’t get any sort of such judgement and my papa was parried away from all this unease by the holy angels of death. I’ve never told you about my mother, because from all I heard she wasn’t much of a story to tell about.

By the stories of papa she was an untimely smart lady from a humble family of a laundryman. She was courted briefly, but vigorously by him when he served with his life for her then employee- Count Un Fukwitablu and his nobility. It was around that time that my father experienced first hand the story those bards were lamenting about. In short the house fell poisoned and all of the commoners were dismissed of their posts. Following a series of useless months, old man got himself a ring and got her under the blessings of the cross. They miscarried my elder brother, but papa got a hire and was able to afford a healer and a roof over their head on outskirts of the capital. In a couple of years of relatively dull, but as per his words- turbulently romantic married existence they tried again. This time with even more care and support from local healers and two midwives my father unknowingly enjoyed her company for healthy nine months. He held her trembling hand when I saw them both for the first time together and cried knowing this will be the last, because an angel told me before they pulled me out. “The labor was tough…” was what they said while trying to explain the obvious.

I was tossed to our pious neighbour aunt Martha whom I’ve never met thereafter, but I’ve heard that she was in conveniently lactating at that time and didn’t mind another suckling offspring at her spare voluptuous tit. The last part was emphasised by papa every time he gratefully mentioned her and honestly, I thought the word explained something about volume till I came of age. Ever since, I always wondered, if there was something going on back then during my infant days. Papa subdued to grief a couple of years later and almost sold me to a Chinese trader once while he was dead drunk. Coming to senses he took an oath to upbring me right and did so in the house of the God. That’s pretty much how my future got secured.

Talking of future security- his noble highness Meinland decided to make my fate a court decision and scheduled a sitting a month into the new kingdom. They all sat down enjoying our land’s pears and some Chinaman’s dumblinks or whatever they called their whitened meatballs which I always reminded me of a bunch of scrota of some foreign beast and by the end of their meal decided to exile me to the last tower of their land. Now for those following this record- Pacifia became a taxable state of the kingdom of Nobilis and thus lost it’s boundaries and identity to the new king. I ended up at a God forgotten tower amidst the barren land with a waterfront at three sides and a strange, even more God forsaken road coming from the kingdom and headed towards the neighbouring kingdom of Rexnovis. Relations with this kingdom were so pacific that border security was taken for granted and neither of the states cared to check upon the welfare of the other even for periods as long as half a dozen years.

With a personal request from his Highness, I got carts of archives and writings coming and going over the next few years and I really enjoyed that as I rewrote all of them unto brand new leaflets. My life couldn’t be any better, but as always each garrison assigned to my tower always came back with a word of despise to king Meinland. All I did was just reading​ the texts without any harm to others, but it seemed that matured footsoldiers were mpre comfortable with utter displays of extraversion which wasn’t the case with me. This annoyed them terribly to an extent they started fearing me on pretext of sorcery.

I wasn’t a huge fan of liquor, but one of those days, glum about my situation with tower watchmen I walked into the nearest town, which happened to be on the ground of Rexnovis, but as I said- nobody even did as much as bat an eye on a foreigner. Seeing my morbid expression they even took our gleans as a payment. I got so drunk that the tavern returned whole 3 gleans and wished me to come to senses real fast and get some help or something like that before I tasted the ground of their stables, which unlike my expectations didn’t taste of horse excrement. That, most likely, wasn’t because they were being sincerely cleaned out, but because this town, just like my tower was- deserted. I don’t remember much of that day, just some guy running by my side- maybe even some scout, while I was making it to the tower and trying to explain that there was something wrong with his kingdom or mine, I don’t clearly remember, but I dismissed that as a dream and gulped down on it in the morning. The hangover hung over me for hours giving me a melodious torture of some eerie song they were singing at the tavern table across the border. The crew looked at me and I understood that they “just had enough of it all”.

After this nuisance on my part, garisson unease outgrew to an extent that Meinland rode his horse himself to cope with the situation. He arrived one early morning and I got to know about that as soon as the garisson got into a random melodious commotion and scattered trumpeteering building a unison along the way of it’s own harmony. In no time I was summoned from my room and he publicly proclaimed me to be further exiled to Rexnovis. While I stood halfpresent and bedazzled he dismissed his guards and held my shoulder saying- “You’re a great archivist Fatuus, but your conduct, howsoever rational it is to you and me, is creating a lame public’s unease… I want you to disappear for some time and thence I’m personally giving you a task to fulfill…”