In the space of a thought, Impartial and I came to a place that looked like a busy office building. Women and men in mostly long gray coats stood or sat by desks covered in piles of loose paper. I mean, there was paper everywhere . . . even tacked over corkboards covering the walls.
I’d have to say everything in that big room . . . just the feel overall, and the way people were talking . . . gave the place a real sort of . . . urgency. Like, I couldn’t imagine any decision being made there slowly, if that makes sense.
Anyway, I saw I was near the largest desk, which was basically its own fortress made from smaller, regular desks set in one of the corners.
Without thinking, I started reading a page up on the closest corkboard. It said:
May the king, great and amazing Jean Bur Spicules, live forever. May he long be praised. May the subjects of his kingdom, both man and beast alike, dwell with him in eternal riches, etc.
In the case of the animal soul, we have reached another impasse. The great king assures us that immortality…
“Do you recognize the words?” asked Impartial by my shoulder.
I paused. “No,” I replied, hoping my guide would explain.
“The Detective writes his case notes in the secret language used always by those whose work opposes their benefactors’ will. Though his findings stay masked in the tongue of The Kingdom, The Detective’s true search is for a way to prove The King is not divine.”
I pictured the faceless burlap husk flopping along on its stand in the rolling wagon.
“So, all these are…?” I motioned to the thousands upon thousands of pages almost spilling from every desk and fastened uneven in layers to boards across the room.
“Cases,” confirmed Impartial.
My eyes were drawn to another case, which read:
We have now determined the murderer’s method for kidnaping and killing each victim, all celebrities. Praise the king for enabling us to make an uncommon prediction about when and where the next abduction would occur, on…
“So, he doesn’t really believe the . . . king . . . enabled him, right?” I asked.
I stared at the paper, hoping to hide anything close to treason on my face. Honestly, I still wasn’t sure what Impartial even thought of the king, or if Impartial had any opinions really. Its voice gave almost nothing away, like I said.
“No,” Impartial answered. “Yet in truth The Detective has never solved a single case.”
My eyes took in the room again. I might as well have been standing inside an endless book. “None of the cases get solved?” I asked, astounded. “What kind of detective could…?”
“The cases are all solved,” corrected Impartial. “They solve themselves. The Detective knows The King will one day lose His throne. Watch as The Detective now approaches. Notice also his companion, THE COP.”
A very, very skinny man stormed into the room looking like he might be about to throw a tantrum. He was biting his nails and wouldn’t really look anyone in the eye. To me, his face seemed way too lined and red to match his little kid body. He was dressed in gray like everyone else. But his nervous, unsure energy felt totally out of place . . . even in that fast-paced office or agency.
Next strolled in someone way larger and rougher-looking. I’ll say it like this: You’d never have to be told that second guy was THE COP. If anyone could ever be called “THE COP” it would definitely be him.
“We have it!” The Detective exclaimed softly.
“Yeah, how?” grunted THE COP, his voice a string of raspy explosions happening in a row.
“It turns out we were way off, of course!” The Detective jittered. “So, I’m taking a walk outside the Royal palace, right? Just rolling cases over in my head. Then I look up, and there’s this cart right next to me. I swear it wasn’t there a minute ago. And sitting on the cart is a pretend person. I see it’s made from pieces of things you might find around the house: a stool, some broomsticks, and a heavy-looking ball for a head. But the thing is, I mean, it’s also an exact replica of the king! So, there’s no one else around, right . . . and I jump in to investigate, and… Anyhow, the thing’s in the lab now. But something tells me they won’t be able to figure out where it came from. So awesome . . . since that’s what we’re…! But it gets even better! There was this note tacked to it. Here…” The Detective twitched his hand inside his coat and yanked out a crumpled piece of lined, yellow paper.
I slowly slid to read over THE COP’s massive shoulder.
The note was just a single line that read:
Hello. I’m Figalo. I’m here to save the world. Enjoy. –Figs
Now, when I saw the name Figalo scrawled there on that little scrap, I had the same familiar feeling as when I first saw Impartial take shape right next to me out of the air.
Figs…
The name seemed to resonate somehow, sort of like when sounds in the real world can reinterpret themselves into your dreams just when you’re about to wake up.
Of course I had no idea why everyone, even Impartial, seemed to see the king as an actual person . . . or why The Detective said the king and Figalo were identical when it sounded like they weren’t even made from the same materials.
And, I mean, how could the objects The Detective described form an exact replica of a person?
For some reason, at that moment, I half expected to be whisked away to some other, even more bizarre reality. I don’t think anything would have surprised me.
I wanted to ask Impartial about . . . well, all of it.
The Detective spoke again, almost whispering now to THE COP, “‘Here to save the world,’ right? And the king has to be the ‘only savior’?! I mean, that’s fundamental to the king’s own law. Of course, it all goes back to that one case . . . there it is . . . where the prediction talks about ‘many false kings,’ and how ‘even now false kings exist in the world,’ right?”
The COP’s expression, if there was one, never changed.
“I’m saying this could be what we’ve been looking for all along,” The Detective went on, “something to show everyone that Jean Bur Spicules is really one of those false kings predicted. Yeah, I know, it’s going to be almost impossible to get the public to buy it now. And we’ll need to be ready to expose every one of his—” The Detective jerked to glance around in all directions. “But for the trial,” he breathed, “I think this finally gives us enough to start to build our case! And that’s all we need . . . just to get the hearing. Everything else is already…”
I don't know anything 