Thursday, November 03, 2005

Chapter Three - Tekamthi: A Local Legend

Balthazar spent the few days of anticipation deep in search for his elusive subject, at least the one he had been told could help him find the other. There was a man, rumored to know everything there was to know about the subway system in Traverse. Balthazar found himself increasingly dependent on such things, rumors. This man was known as William Tekamthi. If he had a nickname, Balthazar, naturally, did not care to find out.

From what he had gathered, though, Tekamthi was something of a local legend. Born in the early twentieth century and seemingly impervious to the ravages of age, he knew not just the inner workings of the subway system but the city itself. He was supposed to have helped design most of the developments to come around in the last hundred years, all without crediting himself professionally or financially. His interest in Traverse was not known, but that he had it was beyond a doubt. Tekamthi fought numerous attempts at splintering various districts into their own communities, supposedly because he insisted their spirits, if lost, would irrevocably wound the entire population and doom it into eventual nonexistence. If he had an obvious interest, it was longevity, perhaps for its own sake and perhaps for some greater purpose. He was known as the social architect.

But his whereabouts were themselves unknown. Balthazar found the man all-around intriguing, but he had only one thing in mind as he tracked him down, and that was Tekamthi's knowledge of the subway system in Traverse.

"Tekamthi," he said, "William Tekamthi." Balthazar stood before Amelia Delphi, the underground census clerk, watched as her eyes scanned the PDA she held loosely in her hand. He was in an office in an ordinary building filled with ordinary people doing ordinary things. Delphi did ordinary things as well. She'd just found a way to integrate her true interests with those she needed to maintain as cover, at Humbert Savings Bank. Balthazar, of course, envied her.

"Oh, of course!" Delphi shouted, before containing herself again. "The Dread Poet. He hasn't gone by William Tekamthi in years. I don't know where you heard that name. A bit obscure, really. You should tell me about it some time. I can find the Dread Poet for you well enough, sure!"

"Nickname," Balthazar said.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," he said. "Never mind. So you can help me find him."

"After a fashion," Delphi said. "He doesn't exactly take visitors. Same with every other celebrity. I don't think he's done any TV appearances, either. But the tabloids have their fun. Last week they were saying he's shed his skin, and had a creepy graphic and everything. Pretty gross, right?"

"Indeed," Balthazar said. "You can find that sort of thing on just about anyone, I guess."

"Anyone of note, sure," Delphi said, still fiddling with her handheld device. "It's just crazy. From what I hear, if you did manage to get an audience, you'd find him to be remarkably personable. They also say you could easily find him, if you were the right type of person. But if you were, you wouldn't be looking for him. He's a real charity buff."

"So I'd gather," Balthazar said. "It seems to be his life's mission, on some level or another."

"Almost every level would be accurate," Delphi said. "Okay, here it is. Here's another contact for you. I promise he will be easier to locate. Someone by the name of Ratbeard. I don't have another alias."

Balthazar betrayed himself.

"You know him, then," Delphi said.

"Unfortunately," Balthazar said.

"Why is that?"

"Until recently, it wouldn't have been," he said. "But these days, it is most certainly so. It would have been far better for you to have found a different name in your database."

"Well, he's also listed as Magoo," Delphi said, "but I'm fairly certain that would not have helped. Ratbeard is far more common, and Magoo, I'm guessing, is not his real name, either."

"I appreciate your efforts, as always," Balthazar said.

"You're looking considerably more grim than usual," Delphi noted. "You're not having domestic issues, are you?"

"Ashlee is not a problem," Balthazar said. "She never has been. God forbid the day. No, I have...other issues, but none that need concern you."

"I'm always available," the cute blonde of the young age said, and if Balthazar were any other man, he would have thoughts of temptation at this moment, would have given those words different meaning.

"Thanks for the offer," he said. "As always."

As if he needed another reason to visit Ratbeard, whose real name he knew well enough. Ratbeard offered a psychiatrical service on the side. He had always insisted on practicing it, saying it would do Balthazar good, but Balthazar politely refused each time. It would be amusing to grant him this wish for this final visit that was proving more fortuitous all the time. Let the analysis happen, find out where and how he could locate Tekamthi, and then watch as Ratbeard opened the package, a final gift between benighted friends.

Balthazar got an update on his account before leaving Humbert Savings, and read with pleasure that the latest deposits had placed him back into the bracket he had recently fallen out of. There was a comfort in seven digits. He might even be able to put money into savings again, which was always nice, the illusion of security. He knew well enough that his security was itself ensured, but that his savings in themselves were not it. He was no longer dependent on Boy Benjamin, after all. He had his own wits, and he could fall on them without concern. That was why he did not fear the future, or his plans, which Ratbeard was helping to facilitate in more ways than he could have ever appreciated. If Ratbeard had ever appreciated their friendship, he would not have needed to bear this burden. Ratbeard appreciated no one but himself, his supposed indispensable worth.

Well, that worth was less than he'd imagined. Balthazar was not much different, in some ways. He appreciated himself above all others, and knew of his indispensable worth, but he didn't make that worth dependent on the gratification of others. He had others work for him. Ratbeard worked for others, and never understood that, but at least he wasn't alone. Boy Benjamin depended on Balthazar more than he knew, but not as much he would learn to appreciate, in time.

Balthazar was feeling a little vengeful these days. He was resentful, too, but not enough to blind himself to the worth of all that he resented. He knew it was a petty thing for him to linger on, but he was ready to start investing in his own interests, and he would start by cleaning house on his old demons. That was what Boy Benjamin thought he was doing with that package, making an example of Ratbeard in the face of his enemies, his competitors, not really caring if a war broke out over it and revealing himself to Traverse. He wasn't worried. He should be. You made yourself vulnerable, exposing yourself. It had to be a thing to be understood, Balthazar knew. He would make sure Boy Benjamin did.

If he helped William Tekamthi reclaim his protective bubble by eliminating Ratbeard, so be it. It was a price he was already willing to pay, and it was a paltry one at that.

Balthazar accomplished this with a few days still to wait, until the package arrived and he made his visit to his old friend. He spent the remaining time concentrated on his wife Ashlee, to whom he was otherwise entirely devoted. It was strange, having so many commitments, so many conflicting allegiances. But they somehow co-existed, contradictory as they were. Each of them was necessary in their own way, so it worked, and Balthazar did not have a problem with it. He had a level head. He didn't know how anyone else could manage it, but then, it probably explained the misery in the world, and the misery it caused, and created. He was not a violent man, but he was forced to be. He never enjoyed it, but it had to be done. He could rationalize it, live with it, and let it go when the time came and he was finally able to. If there was a price to pay, he would be willing to pay it, but he was confident he could work it out by other means. He didn't believe in eternal damnation.

He wanted to go on vacation, someplace remote but not ordinary, or trendy. Ashlee would enjoy it, not to satisfy him, but because she had the same interests as her husband. he had made sure of it, and was forever grateful that he'd been able to. Ashlee meant the world to him, and in the end, was the only thing that really meant anything to him. Balthazar made another mental note, to begin investigating that, too. Life was a constant spin of investigation. Sometimes it went by the name curiosity.

Among his other commitments were an interview for the Tracks on his day job, at a bar called Tin Can which had suddenly become all the rage, thanks to the growing cult of local pool shark Marty Jennings. Balthazar had originally gotten the job because he'd learned Colinaude had once worked there. Another in a long line of false leads, because no one there seemed to know anything about the man, except some punk with a red cap, who had enough of his own problems to deal with as it was. Balthazar chose not to listen to his ravings.

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