An infinite loophole of wonder. Confusion, anarchy collapsed together above his head.
Under the rubble of logic and the rationalization of lies, Clément became unable to think. Stupefied by the unpredictable reality.
His blank mind jumped across ideas, speculations. Nothing was concrete. Nothing in the line of his recollection could explain what he is seeing? What has he encountered this morning?
On his knees, he lifted his head toward the ceiling. Looking without seeing, watching but not observing. Immersed in praying like-state for a revelation, for divine insight. Since thinking now, in this situation, wasn't an option.
God knew how many times he removed the sheets smothering this corpse? How many times did he stare at the vacant face? Showering it with piercing attention. Gauging out the smallest details for rigorous analysis.
How many times he touched the cold body to get convinced of its extinguished existence.
At each occasion, he bit his lips, calling for a wake-up, denying his own senses.
"I have finished setting up the patient."
Finally, a rope for rescue. Clément stood, pulled up the weight of his struggle, expelling it behind a mirror of efficiency. His firm footsteps conjured an air of absolute control, his voice executed the perfect reflection of professionalism:
"Brief me about the case." He ordered as he examined the comatose patient.
The timid nature of the new assistant concocted her in a saucepan of stuttering and clumsiness.
Clément's sunshine smile only aggravated her state, it turned her mute in one go.
"Where is the man who brought him?" The question changed.
The new assistant presented him this written note then clarified: "He said that he had an urgent matter to attend. He tasked me to relay you this note, and left."
Receiving the note between his fingers, Clément while unfolding it, sobered up at the trivial matter that his little simple, shy, new assistant wasn't actually simple or shy to the extent he thought she was.
One hand ran through his hair. A finger paused dividing his lips and chin in the middle, contemplating: "My lady, can I send you on an urgent errand?" His eyes flickered, faking vagueness. As well as studying her subtle reactions.
"Yes sir, of course." Her devoted tone contrasted the displayed emotions of doubt.
"I have put a list of medicinal ingredients that I lack and need for this case. Can I entrust to you? The mission to fetch them."
In the solitude of his workshop, surrounded by the smell of illness and death, Clément proceeded, performing a complete clinical examination of the comatose man. Noting the amplitude of his breathing, checking the rhythm of his heartbeats, testing the reflexes…
While he was engrossed in this process, gushing all the focus into his work, an imminent existence slipped through the entrance.
However, no contact was established until the final act of the examination.
Clèment arranged the box of his instruments then faced the intruder: "It never ceases to amaze me, the eloquence of your blank messages."
"Well, it never ceases to amaze me, your choice of assistants, I wonder why they all tend to have an ulterior motive."
A sturdy man idled his shoulder on the door frame. His massive body blocked all the incoming light.
Clément tilted his head, eyes closed escorting a curved amused smile. A front, endearing and menacing at the same time: "Spies are such a valuable material, sometimes they are just difficult to handle. The best conduct is to replace them with other spies that serve more powerful individuals."
Isidore, unimpressed, this twisted bullshit ranged beyond his forbearing ability. He could never understand Clément rolling thoughts or wins against his bluffing logic.
His guaranteed fleeing method was always to leap through subjects. "Did you recognize him?"
The doctor swept his gaze over the comatose person. Handful flocks of light embarrassed the white, sickly skin, accentuated the contrast in the black hair. Another full turn and Clément focus landed on the big man. He said, all honest and sincere: "No." Before he could take another breath, he added: "Who is he, anyway?"
Isidore jumped over the question: "Will he survive?" Drifting a few steps in.
"Yes, with proper care, an adequate diet, and enough rest." Unbothered, rather inquisitive, Clément resigned on pursuing a quick answer. However, he took his time absorbing the background state of the Kerit.
The rustiness, the weariness added the prestige of his palatial appearance. Tattered clothes, dirty, wounded face and hands narrating a story of a long journey packed with suffering and obstacles.
Anarchy oozed out his droopy eyes, tainted his mien of mechanical anxiety.
Clément fathomed the futility in pursuing whatever clarification he strove for. Nevertheless, initiating any form of interrogation. He swallowed his breath, suppressing the harsh desire to be enlightened, informed about the affairs outside Babel walls.
Unexpectedly, Isidore looked at him, one meaningful look before he warned: "The Crocotta is here." His words, heavy, bearing the acute vibration of urgency and admonition, transmitted by the dry timbre of someone that had far more to say and far less time to convey.
This veiled significance vaporized into the surrounding air like a stimulating toxin clicked the resolve switch: "I know." Clément emphasized. This answer scored him a display of puzzlement.
"I am waiting for someone to pay me a visit." He added, vaguely elaborating as he swang a metallic key into the big man's hands.
A sidelong glance wiped the comatose person, next, it glossed over the Kerit massive body: " Take him, I have sanctum in the southeast part of the city, things are less unsettled there, have some rest, I will join you later."
Receiving the cold item, Isidore hesitated, hence beaten in making any protest:
"Hurry-up, not just my assistants are spies. I am constantly under surveillance."
Inhaling a handful of inquiries mixed in a pool of reprimands, unable to voice them. The Kerit kept them bottled inside his chest for later accounting.
In a matter of seconds, like unwanted luggage, the unconscious Amarok dangled upside-down from Isidore's shoulder.
Sidelong, odd-colored eyes capped by the mist of heavy calculations, even so, still attached, observing reality, surveying the progressing process.
In Clément's point of view, for an indiscernible reason, noted Isidore's caution in handling this stranger's life, despite the slight ruthlessness in his movements.
White eyelashes lowered, contemplating, eventually deciding. He called: "Wait…"
Startled, the big man made a full turn: "There is something else you need to take with you."
The graveness that reflected on Clèment's face leaked a cryptic communication. His chin pointed to the inner room. Quickly, disappearing within its scope.
Darts of uncertainty launched from Isidore's gaze, landed right on Clèment back while he crouched down revealing layers of covers. Pointing at the underneath corpse, he explained, eyes fully fixated on the dead body visage: "I found him this morning in the road to my workplace."
In complete self-control his focus marginalized, slowly, steadily approached the Kerit, standing next to him.
Parallel to a reflection on a tranquil water-surface, the cadaver that imitated Clément's features, matched the colors of his hair and eyes, mirrored his features resembled a soulless doll. Devoid of life.
"Oh, God…" Aghast, Isidore's words trampled between his teeth, lips, his throat constricted: "You should leave too."
Clément retreated, transcending Isidore's genuine concern.
The bone-eater of his arm flared, expanded like dancing filaments, streamed to reach his shoulder, neck, then his jew, drawing a complex abstract formation of dark veins. He responded: "I will." Tufts of his hair burned black: "But after meeting the patient I am waiting for."
For the rest part of the daytime, the small clinic resumed its activities, ordinary….
The conflicted breeze of the morning had transpired amongst the buzzing of exertion. Patient after patient, the check-up consumed the concept of time.
Invasive, the dusk greeted goodbye the day. This time, it walked a little later as the cycle of the season moved deeper into the spring.
On his desk, Clément, turning pages, writing notes, unified in rhythmic peacefulness of solitude.
He deliberately, decelerated his working pace since he was waiting, precisely, for the arrival of two persons.
The First, Clément is already hearing his panting breath, his quick footsteps, and then his knocks on the outside door.
A wide beam decorated his contour…
"I am sorry Sir…," His new assistant, out of breath. "I couldn't find all ingredients…" She bent down for relief: "I walked upside-down, all the market stores for them, however…" No wonder, She was new, she was eager for his approval, and trust: "There are some that I couldn't find."
Cleaning up his desk, moving his eyes sideways so he could see her on the reflective surface nearby: "Thank you so much, my lady." He retracted his gaze thus he won't be discovered, "Since the nightfall, you need to go home soon."
A second stolen pick at the reflective surface.
"I am really sorry Doctor…"
Her face actually made another kind of expression. A few minutes of silence gone, and she asked about her true objective: "Doctor?"
"Hum…"
"Where's the patient of this morning?"
The desk became spotless, forcing his smile inward, Clément replied: "Dead."
The cold wind of night leaked through the slammed door.
Pleased head cupped and supported by one hand, Clément couldn't help but chuckle.
This young woman isn't spy material. A sigh left his relaxed lips.
Her emotions were all over the place. Furthermore, she was awfully honest.
In any case, his grand honor, the great Viceroy of Babel, certainly, will be informed of this little incident before the next morning.
How unfortunate…
The second visitor reached nearer. Walked quieter than the gentle drizzle, advanced calmer than a spring breeze. His steps held solid and unyielding, denoting an assured superiority.
Clément sneaked behind the door, hand on the knob. His amused smile faded under a new thickened cluster of heed. This soaring level of intimidation, even when he is dealing with dangerous individuals, since his crazy endeavor with the Black Star. He seldom experienced it.
