Finley: Jurgen de’Fleet

Finley ignored him. His eyes were fixed on the man now walking out of the Guildmaster’s door. He was short and plump. He wore a pinstriped suit, a top hat, and carried a cane, though Finley doubted he required that assistance. The man, presumably the Prime Minister, also sported a thick mustache affixed to two rosy cheeks. He stopped behind the Guildmaster’s chair, rocked back on his heels, and stretched himself skywards. “Thank you, thank you, my good Sir, the Guildmaster,” he bowed in the direction of Alfred, turned, and once again bowed—this time to the audience. Bringing himself erect, he said, “I am Jurgen de’Fleet, the Prime Minister of this great land. I am a man of humble beginnings who rose to the most prominent of positions, present company excluded. I arrived at where I am today by my own quick wittedness and solid constitution,” de’Fleet spoke with a crisp enunciation. “Yet, I am dumfounded, befuddled, you might say. I haven’t a clue why I stand in the Tower at midday in search of an answer to premature darkness. Ladies and gentlemen, in a word, I’m at a loss.” A low murmur rolled over the chamber. De’Fleet rapped his cane on the round table and continued, “I am no bumbling idiot, but I know when I’ve been outmatched.” He said this with utter confidence. “I therefore, without further adieu, announce that I believe it in the best interest of Elaea if I step down as Prime Minister and we once again install the office of Monarch, a supreme ruler, who can lead us through these dismal days.” The masses jumped to their feet in chaos. Screams filled the council chambers. De’Fleet again banged his cane on the round table, but to no avail—those present would calm down when they chose. Amidst the uproar, shouting, throwing of paper, and jumping, Finley’s gaze fell upon his Uncle whose eyes were firmly fastened on Finley. They said not a word, they were too far apart, but Finley had the distinct feeling that his Uncle was trying to tell him something. A premonition, a portent, Finley, still sitting, felt his Uncle’s eyes saying, “Be wary Finley, be wary.”


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