Drystan was walking through a crowded market, the smells of fresh baked goods meeting those of the succulent meats roasting over open air pits, the many yells of vendors trying to entice people from the streaming crowd rang through the air.

  He stopped at a vendor selling meat on a stick, he marvelled at the innovation.

  ‘Our brand new device offers the ability to eat a meal on the go, for the fast moving man in these modern times’ the seller slung his pitch ‘A true step into the future of mobile edible convenience’

  ‘It’s amazing what they come up with these days’ Said Drystan.

  He wandered a bit further on thoughtfully taking big mouthfuls of the meat.

  How amazing, he thought, it looks like beef, smells like pork and tastes like chicken. I’ll have to drop by on the way back and ask him what it actually is.

  Finishing his meal he sat on a bench and as so was his inclination he watched the hustle and bustle of the city, the great city of Andover.

  He had been born in this city to the lower branch of a noble house, his low aristocratic place enabled him the anonymity to travel the city unguarded and un-harassed. His lineage however allowed him to enjoy the fruits of his forefathers in that his pockets whilst not overflowing with coin never failed to jingle.

  He sat there for a while watching families, couples, singles, lords, ladies, peasants and beggars all milling around their busy lives. Drystan by his very nature was a people watcher, the fact that everyone seemed in a rush and that what they were doing was always the most important thing to them. He had been raised by his mother on her own after an accident on a hunting trip removed his father from their lives. Drystan was never one for hunting especially after this incident and at the insistence on his mother’s behest, really what’s the likelihood of him being shot four times in the back as well.

  He had grown up somewhat estranged from his family as he and his mother became very reclusive, he was home schooled which offered him more of an opportunity to follow his passions, reading, painting and philosophy.

  It was during the exploration of the latter that he came into contact with his cousin, well cousin in a very broad term, at some point along the suspiciously leafless branch of their family tree there was a divergence of an uncle or aunt that engaged in a dalliance with a merchant traders son or daughter.

  However it worked out the point was he came across his cousin in the library of Andover the greatest collection of the written word and guarded and presided over by the Andovan Magicians Guild.

  They were both looking up the collected works of Oddfellow Goodspeed, a philosopher of great intellect and insight into people but very little in the way of fortune. The man had against all odds travelled all over the land consigning his musing and observations to paper.

  The Library contained the greatest collection given the fact that anything written and worthy of note therefore contained power and power cannot be left to the common man according to the latest guild master.

  Drystan and his cousin Damon had often remarked around the free access of information and the limitations of the working classes.

  ‘What would a fish monger do if he was given any sort of power? Make people want fish, reduce the tax on the trade of fish or something fish related’ His cousin Damon had said ‘better it be in the hands of people truly capable of wielding it’.

  ‘Does that mean that people who only want money shouldn’t have power either?’ Drystan replied

  ‘Hahaha that’s ridiculous, no one else could afford it’ chortled Damon

  Drystan and Damon, Earl Damon Whipsnade the third to everyone else, had struck up a somewhat friendship in this regard, Damon with his very aristocratic views regarding social standing and power structures and Drystan with his years of viewing the struggles of the everyday man a very base understanding but lack of interest in political matters.

  Drystan had his own fun with his cousin when he would go on rants regarding how the rabble should be grateful to live within the same city walls as the nobility.

  ‘What do they even contribute to the city? They go about their meaningless existence living in houses that my family built that they pay a pittance for, doing nothing but eating food that comes from my family’s farms. Without my family there would be nothing here!’ declared Damon

  ‘I suppose, but without the people, who would work in your fields?’ ‘Without the food they grow, how would you eat?‘ asked Drystan.

  ‘It’s my families fields and my families food that’s grown!’

  ‘So you consider yourself a farmers?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, we just pay people to work the land’

  ‘and where do the farmers live?’

  ‘Well there’s the houses my family built of course’

  ‘So do you consider yourself a builder’

  ‘Well no, we’d pay for people to do that’

  ‘Ahh that makes sense’

  ‘And don’t you forget it, dear cousin’ Damon said

  ‘what about their families?’

  ‘Well obviously they would want to bring their families, but again children and wives do nothing but suckle at the teat of our resources ‘Damon spat ‘That’s why I have avoided such inconveniences’

  ‘Well I suppose they could learn to do the fathers jobs’

  Drystan and Damon spent hours this way, passing the hours Drystan marvelling at the difference in the opinions of his cousin with his air of superiority.

  Once his mother had passed away from a particularly bad illness that was deemed untreatable, Damon began to visit Drystan at his home estate which was but a hovel in comparison to his own. Drystan welcomed the conversations more and more with his estranged cousin as the late nights became more lively, ales and beers brought much discussion and revelry the rooms had not known for an age.

  It was during one of these nights that Damon had told him about his secret club,

  ‘Well not a club, a sort of society, a… whas its name, brotherhood, for learned men such as you and myshelf…, myshelf…, myshe.., you and me’

  ‘Magic, it wasn’t fair that the common rabble had access to it at all.’ ‘Power’ he said ‘Should be in the hands of those not afraid to use it’ raising his arms palms down wriggling his fingers in a mock wizardly gesture.

  Drystan at first didn’t like the idea of this secret club and went along to ensure Damon didn’t get in trouble, upon meeting the ‘brothers’ it quickly became apparent that he was in charge of the sacred duties which mainly involved doing the jobs that no one else wanted to do and seemed to keep him busy.

  After a few weeks it became very clear that it was just a group of angry men that wanted more than the world than had been allotted them.

  The whole situation was funny to Drystan who whilst sat in the corner, thought that a group of men that had time to play dress up and meet in the evenings with elaborate names and cloaks thought the world owed them more when there were people currently in bed with exhaustion from working in fields or mills.

  It was for all intents and purposes just a group of guys that gathered for a moan and that was just fine. When Damon had mentioned his interest in the occult during a meeting, the interest and look of hunger on the assembly made Drystan shudder. His objections were met with dismissal and ire, Damon had reassured him when he had brought it up to him.

  Stolen story; please report.

  ‘You’re worried about nothing dear cousin’ he had said ‘It’s all just bluster and daydreaming out loud’

  The meetings had gotten fewer since then and his visits from his cousin had idled, the latest meeting was the strangest, he’d been left out of the meeting hall altogether and was put in charge of watching a door that only the brothers would come knock on.

  It had been a few days since and his cousin had sent word that he would like to visit him at his home this evening. Drystan had bounded with excitement, maybe his cousin had seen the club for what it was and they could enjoy their evenings of debate and laughter. He’d set off into the city to buy a crate of ales, some small snacks to keep their hunger from interrupting the evening and a fine bottle of local brandy produced by the Oakenheart family, another noble house within the city.

  As he sat on the bench musing on all that had happened when a woman sat her two children down next to him. Her dress patched in a few areas; hair tied up but frayed out from an obviously busy day. The boy was wearing clothes a mix of either a size too big or too small. The mother was busy adjusting some cardboard at the bottom of the little girl’s shoe.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir, fine day for it’ said the little boy

  ‘That it is little gent, you looking after your mum today?’ Drystan said

  ‘I am sir, my mum said that if we come now the prices might have gone down’ he said with the innocence of childhood.

  ‘Timothy!, please sir, I do beg your pardon’ The mother said shakily

  ‘Don’t worry, they bring out the tastiest food at the end of the day’ he said with a wink and a smile at the children.

  ‘Is that true mother?’ Asked the small boy.

  ‘As the man says’ responded the mother busy fussing with the daughters hair.

  ‘I do beg your pardon, I must be on my way little master, little maam and my good lady’ Said Drystan standing up, he bowed to the woman and then to her children in turn.

  ‘Now you make sure that you see your mother and sister eat and you all get home safely’ he said and made his way back into the crowd with a smile on his face.

  ‘He was a nice gent wasn’t he Mum’ said the boy.

  ‘He was a nice gentleman’ his mother corrected.

  She took a tissue dabbed her tongue and cleaned their faces in a manner that mothers regardless of species naturally do.

  As she lifted her daughter off the bench and held her hand out to her son, he hopped off the fence with a jingle. He put his hand into his pocket where upon he pulled out several coins, his jaw dropped in amazement and his eyes ran to the crowd searching out their generous benefactor, but he had disappeared into the crowd.

  Drystan continued into the crowd, making his way to meet his dear cousin at the library, he made his way up the steps leading to the magnificent building that looked like a spire that was sent to pierce the sky. It needed to be like this as words indeed have power and such a collection of power needed to be vented and rather than it leaking out into the surrounding area it was pushed out vertically and forced upwards into the sky. This was a lot safer as the only issue they had had since was a particularly rainy day when the rain gained a sort of semi sapience and tiny cries were heard plummeting to the ground.

  Drystan made his way past security consisting of robed individuals with long growing beards, he nodded as he passed, he wandered up seven sets of stairs making his way at an amble and set himself down in a comfortable chair with a swivelling shelf on which to set his book.

  A smaller robed person brought out a book, lay it on the shelf, opened it to a bookmarked page and left silently. Dristan pulled the shelf over and continued to read from the book, The further adventures of Oddfellow Goodspeed.

  The suns faded over the horizon and the attendants came out floating out a light crystal over the top of his chair, he yawned and slid the personal shelf out of his way and stood to leave, the light floated above him and one of the robed figures appeared to retrieve the book.

  As he descended the stairs he noticed that the lights for each floor differed, from the floating crystals for the upper floor, down to the bottom, candles in the middle of desks, four people to a table, craning their necks for a better light and scrawling onto parchments.

  ‘Ah students’ he said to himself, thinking back to when he held an idea of being a scholar or even just a learned man. Unfortunately, he lacked the critical thinking or whatever it was, he had given up an concentrated on what he enjoyed, reading about adventurers, great leaders.

  As he made his way outside down to the street a call of ‘Dear cousin’ rang out.

  Damon was making his way over a bottle of fine liquor nestled safely in his hand.

  A few hours and many drinks later, Damon was lying down on a well upholstered chez longue head resting upon the single arm, his own arm dangling to his side, hand cupping a crystal glass which he swung as he talked.

  Drystan sat in a high backed arm chair, holding his glass in both his hands looking down into the amber transparent liquid.

  ‘The problem with a republic, you see is its inability to act efficiently if there’s a problem we need to have a meeting to decide when we are going to have a meeting to discuss the issue.’ Said Damon

  ‘Sometimes you need someone who see’s a nail and know it needs a hammer without a discussion’

  ‘I suppose so cousin, but sometimes the issue can be a bit more complicated than that’ replied Drystan.

  ‘Ah thats just talk for people without the guts to just act and be damned with the consequences’ He swung his glass ‘ Men like us, dear cousin, men of action’

  ‘I guess you could say that’ agreed Drystan

  ‘You know, we could do with someone of your decisive thinking on the council’ smiled Damon

  ‘Me?, on the council?’ Drystan almost dropped his glass.

  ‘Cousin, between us we are the most fit to rule this city and between you and me’ a swift look around, Damon sat up and leaned over ‘I have been approached by a number of parties with a vested interested in the future of our fair city and the governing of its subjects’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Queried Drystan

  ‘I mean, You, me and a few others taking control, making the choices that others won’t, making the hard decisions, hammering the nails and … errr’ Damon stopped thoughtfully

  ‘Helping the people?’ offered Drystan

  ‘Oh yes, we will be helping people, the right people, the ones deserving of help’ sneered Damon

  ‘What about the current council, wont they take issue with this?’ said Drystan

  ‘They are opening a spot in the near future, Master Reacher is stepping down to retire to the countryside to spend time away with his family.’ smiled Damon

  ‘Do you think we should get him a clock or a cake or something?’ Drystan said.

  ‘Haha, very good cousin, perhaps an hourglass might suit better, let them see the sands of their time slipping through their fingers’ Damon held up his glass and allowed his drink to drip onto his hand his eyes watching the drops fall to the puddle in his palm.

  ‘So, we could help?’ said Drystan unsure.

  ‘My dear cousin, you can do whatever you want’ Damon slurped the puddle and held up his glass ‘To us, dear cousin, to us and our city’