"Hello, Thomas. You're looking well."
Whelp held the gun before him, keeping it steadily aimed at the man sitting on the bed, who showed no signs of concern for his welfare, simply content with his comfortable repose. Virginia said nothing, her attention shifting back and forth between the two men as she hoped for a peaceful resolution to the conflict at hand.
"Are you all right?" Huxley asked her. "That's a wonderful dress."
She smiled in response.
"I have to admit, Huxley," said Whelp, "a part of me expected a sort of confrontation like this. I knew the world wouldn't be rid of you that easily."
"Yes, well, it isn't everyday one is knocked unconscious and left to die in a fire. I've had plenty of time to plan this very moment, Edward. I've been obsessing over the things I would say to you when we finally met again."
"And?" said Whelp, gesturing with his revolver as if to draw further attention to it.
"And, I've realized how pointless it is. You know how I am, Edward. You know how I abhor drama and all that Shakespearean claptrap of speeches and dialogue. I suppose I could say something heroic and naive, if that is what you wish. How's this? I'm here to put an end to your villainy!"
"Not bad. Honestly, I expected more of a flair to it. Though I suppose I could tell you that I'm not the villain, as well."
"Again, technically speaking, you did leave me to die."
"Fair enough," Whelp noted. "So what now? Shall I twirl my mustache for you? Because I daresay it isn't quite long enough to twirl."
"What have we become, Edward? I the hero, and you the villain--can the world really be that simple, that black and white?"
"One aforementioned incident aside, you know as well as I that I'm no villain, no mastermind, at least," said Whelp. "Certainly, you may take your revenge on me, and I fully expect it of you. Though what will that accomplish? I'm but a face, Thomas, and there are others who will take my place when I am gone. I am a hard truth of this world. I am a dealer of human nature. Shall I be killed? Shall I suffer some ironic comeuppance?"
"That isn't for me to decide," said Huxley, taking no satisfaction.
"Then who will?"
"The villagers you took captive, I suppose. I would imagine they've all been freed by now, and they'll soon converge on this home--a lovely place, by they way."
"Ah, then punishment by the will of the mob."
"I wouldn't worry," said Huxley, peering up at the silent Virginia Pear, now trying hard to blend into the silken draperies that hung over the large windows, "they've been taught compassion."
At that Virginia gave a small grin and eased across the room, passing in-between Huxley, Whelp, and the gun in the latter's hand and settling in a vacant spot on the bed. Whelp turned his attention to his own revolver and, realizing it was no longer needed, tucked it away in his trousers before settling into a plush armchair.
"I must say," said Huxley, "you're taking this better than I expected. I had an entire plan worked out, you know. It would've been spectacular."
"I'm sure, but no, Huxley, I've been anticipating this moment, exploring it from all angles until accepting the simple fact that I cannot run away. Not anymore. I'm to be made an example of, I understand. People will look back at me, wagging their fingers and exclaiming: This is what happens when one dabbles in slavery! This is the consequence! I'm to be punished for giving people what they want. This is mankind slapping itself on the wrist, and I'm but an inconsequential man, forced to bear the burdens society has placed upon itself."
There came a pounding at the door, and the small frame of Terrance Westmoreland appeared at the window, peering within. From outside, those inside the room could hear yelling and laughing, the sounds of scuffling on the streets and the disorganization of a confused mob.
"That'll be them now," said Huxley.
"Do you hear them?" asked Whelp. "They'll tear me apart."
"I suppose I could answer the door, then."
Huxley stood from the bed and slowly crossed the room as the violent pounding on the door and outer walls continued. He pulled back the heavy wooden door, and Akan and Westmoreland burst into the room, followed by a steady stream of the men of the village. Though once they saw their enemy, a broken man hunched over in a chair, they paused, their violent intentions now seemingly meaningless. They'd come expecting a fight and found anything but.
"Tell me, Ms. Pear," said Huxley, in front of the gathering audience, "what would you do?"
"I would go home," said Virginia. "I would start rebuilding our village once again."
Huxley turned to the crowd, standing between them and Whelp, still sitting in his plush chair. He looked into the sea of faces, one that stretched beyond the current room and out into the streets, each one shaded by anger, though gradually tempering.
"You heard the lady," he said. "You could have your revenge, satisfy that part of you that's been so consumed by wrath, or you can go home and rebuild your lives. That choice will be left up to you."
Slowly, the crowd began to move away. Those in the room slowly joined the others still outside, and they huddled in the streets, claiming the spaces they occupied for a state of confusion and wanting nothing more than to go home once again. Akan and Westmoreland were the last to leave, surveying the scene around them before taking action where it was needed.
"Come," said Akan, patting the former porter on the shoulder with his enormous hand, "let's procure a boat or two."
They both disappeared from the room.
"Did he just speak?" asked Virginia. "So he isn't a mute? We've much to discuss, Mr. Huxley."
Huxley suddenly felt like hitting something.
"Are you ready to leave?" he asked Whelp, if for no other reason than to shift attention away from his own deceit.
"Where am I going?"
"With us, I assume. If no one else wishes to devise punishment for you, then I'll do it myself. You're to help these people rebuild the village you burned. Fair enough?"
"Reasonable, I suppose."
"Oh, and Edward, may I have my diamonds back, please?"
Whelp grinned and fetched the pouch from his pocket.
"Magnificent things, I must say. Wherever did you find them?" Whelp asked.
Huxley thought on this a moment before replying with a blank expression on his face.
"They're fake, Edward."
"Ah, well. What is life but one disappointment after another, anyway? If we're to leave, then let's be gone. The smell of this city is beginning to repulse me."
Whelp held the gun before him, keeping it steadily aimed at the man sitting on the bed, who showed no signs of concern for his welfare, simply content with his comfortable repose. Virginia said nothing, her attention shifting back and forth between the two men as she hoped for a peaceful resolution to the conflict at hand.
"Are you all right?" Huxley asked her. "That's a wonderful dress."
She smiled in response.
"I have to admit, Huxley," said Whelp, "a part of me expected a sort of confrontation like this. I knew the world wouldn't be rid of you that easily."
"Yes, well, it isn't everyday one is knocked unconscious and left to die in a fire. I've had plenty of time to plan this very moment, Edward. I've been obsessing over the things I would say to you when we finally met again."
"And?" said Whelp, gesturing with his revolver as if to draw further attention to it.
"And, I've realized how pointless it is. You know how I am, Edward. You know how I abhor drama and all that Shakespearean claptrap of speeches and dialogue. I suppose I could say something heroic and naive, if that is what you wish. How's this? I'm here to put an end to your villainy!"
"Not bad. Honestly, I expected more of a flair to it. Though I suppose I could tell you that I'm not the villain, as well."
"Again, technically speaking, you did leave me to die."
"Fair enough," Whelp noted. "So what now? Shall I twirl my mustache for you? Because I daresay it isn't quite long enough to twirl."
"What have we become, Edward? I the hero, and you the villain--can the world really be that simple, that black and white?"
"One aforementioned incident aside, you know as well as I that I'm no villain, no mastermind, at least," said Whelp. "Certainly, you may take your revenge on me, and I fully expect it of you. Though what will that accomplish? I'm but a face, Thomas, and there are others who will take my place when I am gone. I am a hard truth of this world. I am a dealer of human nature. Shall I be killed? Shall I suffer some ironic comeuppance?"
"That isn't for me to decide," said Huxley, taking no satisfaction.
"Then who will?"
"The villagers you took captive, I suppose. I would imagine they've all been freed by now, and they'll soon converge on this home--a lovely place, by they way."
"Ah, then punishment by the will of the mob."
"I wouldn't worry," said Huxley, peering up at the silent Virginia Pear, now trying hard to blend into the silken draperies that hung over the large windows, "they've been taught compassion."
At that Virginia gave a small grin and eased across the room, passing in-between Huxley, Whelp, and the gun in the latter's hand and settling in a vacant spot on the bed. Whelp turned his attention to his own revolver and, realizing it was no longer needed, tucked it away in his trousers before settling into a plush armchair.
"I must say," said Huxley, "you're taking this better than I expected. I had an entire plan worked out, you know. It would've been spectacular."
"I'm sure, but no, Huxley, I've been anticipating this moment, exploring it from all angles until accepting the simple fact that I cannot run away. Not anymore. I'm to be made an example of, I understand. People will look back at me, wagging their fingers and exclaiming: This is what happens when one dabbles in slavery! This is the consequence! I'm to be punished for giving people what they want. This is mankind slapping itself on the wrist, and I'm but an inconsequential man, forced to bear the burdens society has placed upon itself."
There came a pounding at the door, and the small frame of Terrance Westmoreland appeared at the window, peering within. From outside, those inside the room could hear yelling and laughing, the sounds of scuffling on the streets and the disorganization of a confused mob.
"That'll be them now," said Huxley.
"Do you hear them?" asked Whelp. "They'll tear me apart."
"I suppose I could answer the door, then."
Huxley stood from the bed and slowly crossed the room as the violent pounding on the door and outer walls continued. He pulled back the heavy wooden door, and Akan and Westmoreland burst into the room, followed by a steady stream of the men of the village. Though once they saw their enemy, a broken man hunched over in a chair, they paused, their violent intentions now seemingly meaningless. They'd come expecting a fight and found anything but.
"Tell me, Ms. Pear," said Huxley, in front of the gathering audience, "what would you do?"
"I would go home," said Virginia. "I would start rebuilding our village once again."
Huxley turned to the crowd, standing between them and Whelp, still sitting in his plush chair. He looked into the sea of faces, one that stretched beyond the current room and out into the streets, each one shaded by anger, though gradually tempering.
"You heard the lady," he said. "You could have your revenge, satisfy that part of you that's been so consumed by wrath, or you can go home and rebuild your lives. That choice will be left up to you."
Slowly, the crowd began to move away. Those in the room slowly joined the others still outside, and they huddled in the streets, claiming the spaces they occupied for a state of confusion and wanting nothing more than to go home once again. Akan and Westmoreland were the last to leave, surveying the scene around them before taking action where it was needed.
"Come," said Akan, patting the former porter on the shoulder with his enormous hand, "let's procure a boat or two."
They both disappeared from the room.
"Did he just speak?" asked Virginia. "So he isn't a mute? We've much to discuss, Mr. Huxley."
Huxley suddenly felt like hitting something.
"Are you ready to leave?" he asked Whelp, if for no other reason than to shift attention away from his own deceit.
"Where am I going?"
"With us, I assume. If no one else wishes to devise punishment for you, then I'll do it myself. You're to help these people rebuild the village you burned. Fair enough?"
"Reasonable, I suppose."
"Oh, and Edward, may I have my diamonds back, please?"
Whelp grinned and fetched the pouch from his pocket.
"Magnificent things, I must say. Wherever did you find them?" Whelp asked.
Huxley thought on this a moment before replying with a blank expression on his face.
"They're fake, Edward."
"Ah, well. What is life but one disappointment after another, anyway? If we're to leave, then let's be gone. The smell of this city is beginning to repulse me."
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