Many miles away, a man sat lounging on a luxurious armchair, his sturdy hands holding a delicate white teacup. Sipping the tea appreciatively, his body suddenly grew stiff momentarily then relaxed, as the silhouette of a well-built bearded man advanced stealthily towards him.
"Good evening, Rook, or is it night already?"
"Night, I think," replied Rook, glancing at a rustic grandfather clock behind him. "But how did you know that it was me?"
"Your footsteps. A man of your stature has longer strides when they walk, leading to longer intervals between each footstep. None of my servants have such long legs, so I knew it was you."
"Well," replied Rook amusingly, as he tossed his thick brown overcoat aside, "I see you are still sharper than ever after all these years. Yet, even after telling me to stop visiting for several years, you suddenly ask me to drop in whenever I can. The situation must be bad, or are you finally starting to feel lonely?"
Blight chuckled, placed his teacup gently on the table, and pulled himself up from the armchair. He turned around and faced Rook for the first time in their conversation, and the light shone on him, revealing his features clearly.
He was lean and lanky, though not as tall as Rook, with a warm cotton sweater wrapping him against the bitter cold. His brown, messy hair was brushed to the sides casually, exposing a pair of penetrating eyes which lingered above a slightly crooked nose. Two grey slippers scraped along the crimson carpet, as Blight made his way around the room. Selecting another cup from a row of neatly arranged porcelain sets, he set the cup down on the table, poured aromatic tea into it, and sat back down. Motioning for Rook to do the same, he said, "Have a seat, and, I will tell you why I have requested for you." Rook did what he was told, and so Blight began:
"Ten years ago, we started this long-term plan. I put you in charge of managing my high-risk affairs in my place. Then only years ago, I suddenly called you in to tell you to take a break from these activities."
Rook gave a stiff nod, as he recounted this in his mind.
"It was absolutely necessary; the police were unusually sharp, and any further advancements might have ended up with us facing serious consequences. No, it would be better for you to lie down for a while and be cleared of suspicion. But now I had a problem: how could I keep orchestrating crimes in your absence to convince the Constabulary of your innocence? The answer was simple for me to think of but not so easy to carry out. Luckily, due to my vast network and connections, I was able to get my hands on an easy pawn: Mr Winslow Towns, a greedy, gullible young man, whom I gained control over after an anonymous letter with rather compromising details about his past dealings. Since then, he has been a highly efficient piece on my board with me overseeing his every move."
"So then… The Wensworth boiler explosion was you as well?"
Blight's lips curled into a satisfied smile. "I see the story has already made it into the evening newspaper. Young Winslow had the sense to move himself and Wensworth to a safe room; I will need them both alive for the next stage in my plan."
"You still haven't told me the reason for my visit," remarked Rook, slightly impatient.
"Patience, Rook, patience. Without waiting, plans will never succeed; besides, I was about to tell you."
Blight closed his eyes, and Rook waited, somewhat
annoyed that he had just been scolded.
"I want to reinstate you as my representative in the underworld."
A dull buzzing sensation filled the silent room. Rook recovered rapidly, then grinned and asked, "All right, when do I begin?"
"Quite soon, but there are a few things which I should tell you now. Firstly, instead of meeting together every week, we should write letters to each other; this will reduce the possibility of the police suspecting us again."
"Letters?" repeated Rook slowly. "Won't that confirm their suspicions if they manage to get a hold on one?"
"Not unless we replace the words with everyday speech. For example, if I write 'business is well', it will directly translate into 'stay down; make no moves for now'. Is that easy to understand?"
"Right. That way it'll just look like we are writing to each other."
"Exactly. Now secondly, please do not use my real name; that would only draw unwanted attention to me which could prove to be a major problem."
"Don't worry," said Rook in a relaxed tone, "I've never told a soul about your true identity."
"Now thirdly, after Wensworth's company falls," continued Blight monotonously, "There will be no competition in the coal market for me; everyone will come to me for coal and electricity. Winslow won't be needed in the future. Try to dispose of him in a non-traceable way, and most importantly, do not draw attention when you do so. And those, Rook, are the only few points I have to tell you. Feel free to ask me any questions that you have concerning these matters."
Rook thought for a moment then said, "No, I don't think I have any questions."
"Good. You were always excellent at understanding and adapting to my plans; I hope that stays the same after your break, now then, drink your tea before it gets cold." He pointed to the teacup, which was no longer steaming.
The two of them sat in an eerie silence, sipping their tea quietly, until an old butler announced from behind the door, "Dinner is ready, sir."
Blight rose from his armchair and opened the door. "Thank you, Greaves,' he said silkily, 'Might I ask you to tell the cook to prepare the meal for two?" He gestured at Rook, who had also gotten up, leaving his empty cup on the table.
"Of course, sir." replied Greaves, bowing slightly.
As the aged butler tottered away, Blight stepped and turned his head around over his shoulder. "Do stay for dinner; I think we're having steak and gravy tonight."
Following Blight's lead, they walked through the slithering corridor that led up to the dining hall. Entering the hall, echoes ricocheted around, with the butler being the main source of noise. Very soon, the table was laid with food, as Rook looked around the hall, remembering every little detail from his previous visits years ago. Bright shots of light flooded from the roof; the elegant chandelier glimmering like an array of stars. Framed paintings adorned the richly decorated walls, each one depicting famous battle scenes or brave knights leading a victorious army. The golden plates in front of him laid expectantly on a rectangular carved dining table overlaid with a vivid purple cloth. While the maids and the butler returned to their other housekeeping chores, both of the men tucked in their chairs and began to eat. The soft clattering of the forks mingled in with the occasional thunk of the gravy jug, as Rook pondered on a conversation topic suitable for the current situation. Finally, he made an attempt to engage Blight in a lighthearted conversation, after the bowls and plates were cleared away, and red vintage wine was brought out and poured into crystalline glasses by Blight's steady hands.
"I wonder, what is the final result of all of these projects going to be?"
Blight settled down his glass of wine and replied in a dignified tone, "All will be revealed in good time, my good man, for now, just enjoy the food."
A long drought of speech followed this question with Rook struggling to find another catalyst for conversation. Eventually, he gave up on all hope to engage Blight in a decent talk, got up and said, "Thank you for your hospitality, I'll be getting back now."
He stood up and strode across the dining hall to the exit.
"Don't forget those three points."
Grabbing his top hat and looking back at Blight over his shoulder, he replied curtly, "I won't. Goodnight."
And he left the mansion, trodding along the gravel path to a horse-drawn cab waiting patiently outside the iron gates of Blight's property.
As Blight looked at the fading shadow of the cab, he sighed and closed the curtains. With his hands behind his back, he marched on back to the living room, and opened the door back to where he had been sitting for hours during the day.
Lying on the table with the tea cups now gone and placed back in the glass cupboard was a copy of the evening newspaper.
Blight chuckled and muttered, "Rook's parting gift."
He flipped through the pages and stopped at a page titled 'Factory in Flames'. On the top corner was a blurry photograph depicting a giant building engulfed by flames.
"This sure brings back a lot of memories…"
A sudden vivid flash burst into his mind. A giant building crashed to the ground; its windows shattered by the onslaught of burning flames. People were crying inside, but he didn't care; they kept on burning until the remains of the house collapsed into a heap on the floor, a mere shadow of its former grandeur.