Anna Grayson and The Order of Merlin
The Rat

Sidney was sitting at a bar in an unfamiliarsection of town. Although he had lived in the city his entire life, Chicago was far too bigto say he’d seen everything, been everywhere. He didn’t know anybody in thisplace except for his bartender of the last five minutes. He heard somebodybehind him call the burly barman Lightie, obviously a nickname; Sidney didn’t reallycare. He sat alone on his stool, mindlessly stirring the contents in his glass.He stabbed at the ice and watched it bob within the amber fluid, listening toit crackle against the side of the tumbler. It was his first drink in more thantwenty years.

The room was dark andexceedingly gloomy as compared to his normal taste in establishments, but thatdidn’t seem to matter tonight either. The jukebox didn’t commit itself to anyparticular genre, just a random array of pop and the occasional twang ofcountry. Sidneypeeked into the mirror behind the bar and stared at himself looking back. Therewas something unfamiliar and odd in that face he thought he knew so well. Itwasn’t because of the multi-colored bulbs surrounding the mirror that were uglyanytime outside the Christmas holiday –– no. It was… his eyes. They lookeddistant and blank, as if too tired to bring forth the effort necessary tofocus. His eyes looked the way his mind felt, lost and vacant.

His wife had noticed it too andshe did ask what was troubling him, but instead of telling her something heknew would ease her mind, he simply told her he didn’t know. He wasn’t lying.Like his wife, he knew something wasn’t right, but Sidney couldn’t say what it might be and wasalmost too afraid to describe how it made him feel.

His analytical mind wasnormally very sharp, set in the ways of cause and effect. That’s the way it hadalways been. He could depend on his intellect, his ability to set aside thetrivial and focus on the root-cause of things. Many were the times that hisunderlings at work would come into his office in a state of panic to tell himabout some crisis of monumental impact to his firm. And those same employeesnever left of his office without marveling at Sidney’s ability to focus on the true issueand then redirect his team’s efforts toward the proper solution. He was verygood at what he did; the kind of person his employees wanted to emulate.

He fished a chunk of ice fromout of his glass and popped it into his mouth. Although the alcohol wasminimal, it tasted like he had taken a swig straight out of the bottle. It feltlike his throat was on fire and he almost choked.

“Maybe that’ll wake me up,” hewheezed, looking at himself in the mirror again through his watered eyes.

It would have been accurate tosay his feelings of strangeness were frightening enough, but there was more.Two months ago he found ticket stubs in his briefcase from a flight to Boston and then to England. Normally this wouldn’thave seemed strange. After all, men in his position travel for their employersall of the time. The problem was he didn’t remember taking the trip or evengoing to the airport. His wallet also contained restaurant and hotel receiptsfrom places that he couldn’t recall visiting at all. In fact, he couldn’tremember anything about the dates he was to have been abroad.

“Why can’t I remember?” Sidney said, frustratedly,rubbing his forehead. What happened tome?

When he first realized that hewas missing these days from his memory, Sidneywas terrified. He thought he might have suffered a stroke. That’s how hisfather had died, and he was now exactly the same age as his father when he wasstruck down. But as the days slowly passed, there were no more blackouts,nothing to suggest there were continuing problems with his health. He even hadan MRI done by a family doctor he hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years. He didn’ttell his wife, of course. No use worrying her unless it turned out somethingwas definitely wrong.

After reviewing the results, itwas concluded that he was in no immediate danger, no blood-filled shadows inthe film anywhere across his brain. In fact, there were no signs of trouble atall, but neither was there anything to explain his loss of time. His doctorfinally pronounced the problems were probably due to stress, or perhaps a lackof sleep. Nonsense; although the scans and tests were normal, Sidney knew there was definitely somethingwrong. He could feel it, weighing on his brain like a large brick sitting inthe place where his memories should have been, and every time he tried to thinkabout those missing days, the brick seemed to become heavier and much morepainful to carry.

After two frustrating monthstrying to remember, the only thing he could recall was that he was supposed tohave met with a very important client in Chicagoafter his return from England.Eventually, he was even able to summon the idea that it was imperative he speakto this person at the time. But who was it? And why can’t I remember?

Sidney stabbed at his ice again. His boss,John Landers, knew something was wrong too. The President of his bank had beenacting very strange toward Sidneylately. Every time he looked, it seemed Mr. Landers was watching him closely.Then his boss did something he had never done in Sidney’s twenty-six years at the firm. Herelieved Sidneyof an important client. Landers said he wanted to take personal control of the Grayson account. He told Sidney that Boris Graysonwas a close, personal friend of his, and that he, Mr. Landers, wanted to insurethe Grayson investments were managed with the utmost care. But if Grayson andLanders were friends, all the more reason the bank’s president should stay awayfrom the account, leaving any hint of impropriety aside. And ever since Sidney had been relievedof the Grayson portfolio, something about that action made him feel fartheraway from understanding the missing pieces of his memory.

His personal journal shouldhave filled in most of the blanks. After all, he carried it with him everywherehe went. Looking through his notes, he found something truly startling. Some ofthe pages were missing. Not a lot, just one here and there, hardlynoticeable to anybody but Sidney himself. And it wasn’t that the pages weretorn from his book… that would have been too obvious. He noticed certain pageswere repeated, almost photocopied, with the same thoughts from previous dates.Even some of his doodles were copied and placed into the missing gaps.

Once he noticed this remarkablebit of disguise, Sidneyset about the task of replaceing out what was missing from the pages of hisjournal. He sat down and went through his notes, page by page, three hundred inall, looking for any references to people, places, and the times they weretogether. He listed out the names, addresses, and appointments, whom he had metand why. He started to build a separate list summarizing everybody within hisjournal. Once again, Sidney’sanalytical brain was in overdrive, looking to replace what was missing.

When he finished going throughthe journal, he compared this summary to his personal files. They were allthere, of course: The Randolph account, the Bradleys of Dallas, the Hutsons inSan Francisco, the Baker investments, the Kesslers, the Morgans, Smid, R.A.Bosley, Cartwright, Marts, the Bernteins –– everybody was there. Everybody,that is, except for one… the Grayson account. There was no mention of itanywhere in his journal. How could it be that I wouldn’t have any notes onsuch an important account? And why can’t I remember anything about it? Whywasn’t it there? Had he somehow forgotten that he, Sidney, was in charge ofthe account? Was his lack of attention the real reason Mr. Landers had movedthis client out from under his responsibility? The situation reminded him ofhis college days when, after staying up night after long night studying, hewould have these terrible dreams about sleeping through his most importantexams. The Grayson account seemed to be Sidney’srecurring nightmare of forgetfulness.

And then yesterday, from out ofthe blue, he was hit with a letter. He meant that literally, because the letterseemed to fall straight out of the sky with only the slightest breeze ofsomething he thought flew by to drop it upon his head.

To Mr. Sidney Heidelbach, The Cobblestone Alleyway near LexingtonMarket, Chicago.

The note, scribbled in a jerkyalmost frantic style of writing, had told him to meet with somebody here inthis tumbled-down bar on an urgent matter involving one of his clients. Thenote didn’t say which client, and Sidney’sfirst thought was to throw the letter away as a prank. But the writer also saidthey were disappointed Sidneyhad not acted after their first meeting in August. What meeting? What wasthis person talking about? Blaming his faulty memory again, Sidney felt aguilt-ridden obligation to be here and to offer what he could of an explanationfor his failings.

So here he sat, staring athimself in the ugly-colored glow of the mirror, waiting for somebody he didn’tknow, and hoping whoever it was could help him replace the missing pieces of thislife. He looked determinedly at his own face again. He was going to take thisdrink, even though he promised himself and his wife two decades ago that hewould never drink again. He wanted the strong smell of it so bad. After all, ananalytical mind in a dull haze would be far better than one with gaps.

“Hello, M…M…Mr. Heidelbach.”

Sidney was startled at his name and lookedaround. A very short, round man was standing there in a dirty cloak and hood.

“Ah… hello. Have… we met? Areyou the one who wrote the letter?”

“Yes,” said the man, nervously.“M…m…my name is Peter. We m…met last summer.” The man circled around to sit onthe stool next to him. He lowered his hood and waved to the bartender.

“F…f…fire whisky, please.”

“Howabout Jimmy Beam?” Lightie growled, slamming a tumbler down on the bar. The mancalling himself Peter jumped slightly in his stool.

“Thank you. That w…w…will befine.”

Sidney frowned. He couldn’t remember anythingabout the man. “My apologies, mister… um…”

“Peter, p…p…please…”

“Peter…” Sidney repeated slowly, rechecking hismemory. “I’m very sorry, Peter, but… I’m afraid I don’t recall our firstmeeting at all. I’ve been… um… a little out of sorts lately.” The man sittingnext to him looked skeptical.

“Yes… well, I wouldn’t knowabout that, but that’s w…w…why I’ve come here.”

Sidney stared at the stranger. The man wassweating profusely from his balding head. His beady, black eyes avoided anylong lasting contact, and this alone told Sidneythe man was somebody that shouldn’t be trusted. His accent was British, butthere was something in the stranger’s manner that concerned him; somethingSidney saw many times in men entering his office just before they knew theywere about to be terminated. It was fear.

“Are you all right?” Sidney asked him, tryingto be polite. The man ignored the question.

“The first time we m…m…met, Igave you some important information that my mast… ah… the man I serve… knewwould be of interest to you. You must understand, the m…m…man I serve is verypowerful, and does not share his wealth, gold or otherwise, with just anyone. Heis upset that you have not yet p…p…put this information to good use.”

“I… have no idea what you’retalking about,” Sidneyreplied honestly. “Listen… you should know that… I’ve been a little ill lately.There are many things that I seem to have forgotten during the time youmentioned. If you gave me something important…” Sidney hesitated, hanging his head in obviousbewilderment, “I… just don’t remember anything about it.”

Peter seemed even more anxiousthan before. “Oh… my m…m…master will be very angry,” he shuddered, in asqueaky-little voice. Sidneylooked at the man and watched him drink his whisky down in three shaking gulps.

“Another?” barked Lightie.Peter nodded before looking back to Sidneyagain.

“Three months ago, I told youabout … ah… what was it you called it? An acc…cc…acc…”

“An account?”

“Yes — yes. An account, yes.”

“Was it a personal account or abusiness account?”

“B…b…business. The account wasattached to a very powerful family in our world. The person in charge ofthis account represents many families in our world.”

Our world? Sidneythought. What was he talking about?

“M…m…my m…m…master wants… no…he DEMANDS… that the interaction between our two worlds remain separate. He ismost unrelenting about this. We should not be in contact with yourkind.”

Sidney frowned, but his business savvy wasalready kicking into high gear. Loss of memory or not, he was still a strongadvocate for his company’s capabilities.

“I… can understand that in someparts of the world, there exists cultural differences that must be preserved. Ican assure you, my firm is most respectful of these differences.”

“Our dealings with you will besevered!” Peter insisted.

Sidney was taken aback. “You mean… you wishto have the account closed?”

“Yes — yes. Close it. Removeit. Stop it!” The stranger reached out just short of grabbing Sidney.

“But, if the account is aslarge as you say it is, and if this person in charge of the account representsmany, I don’t know that we would just close our business with them without cause.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “But wetalked about this last summer. Don’t you remember?” he said in a panickedvoice. “That is exactly what my m…m…master gave to you, a cause to c…c…closethe account. He gave you vital information about some of the assets beingdelivered to your firm. These assets were illegally acquired. My m…m…mastergave me the information to give to you. Ohhh… he is going to be very angry withus…” Peter said. He raised his drink and the glass rattled violently in histrembling hand as he swallowed it down.

Sidney had seen men like this before. Infact, he had hired an army of private investigators over the years to help hiscompany track down the accuracy of information given to them by men such asthis. His investigators had a name for people like Peter; they would havecalled him a fink, a snitch, a rat.

Sidney could see the man was distraught; hetried to reach out. “If you’re telling me an account we manage is doingsomething illegal on behalf of others, then… of course, that cannot be ignored.Maybe if you told me the name of the account, I could check into it again. Butyou have to understand; I can’t just take your word on it. I must have a reasonto investigate one of our clients.”

“BUT MY MASTER GAVE YOU THOSEREASONS,” Peter insisted, almost yelling before jerking around to insure hehadn’t drawn anybody’s attention. “The owner of this account is a very evilman,” he said, rocking back and forth nervously. “He has stolen the riches hegives to you from many in our world! My master says he has killed many! He mustbe stopped!”

Sidney looked skeptical. It wasn’t whatPeter was saying that bothered him, but rather, the panicked way in which hewas saying it. Sidneywas an expert is reading people accurately. It was a necessary quality for aman in his position working for a major investment firm. The understanding ofinformation, be it real or not, was in reality what set good investmentcompanies apart from their competition. Sidneywas very good at getting to a person’s hidden motives, and one thing was surein this case; this man Peter, whoever he was, was lying to him. But this manwas also frightened beyond measure. The panicked fear he was now displayingsurely wasn’t an act. He was physically shaking and his eyes were almost wildin anxious distress. At this point, Sidneyknew the man would say almost anything to convince him to act, but who was hereally afraid of? Was it this yet unnamed account or the person Peter liked tocall his master?

“Maybe if you told me the nameof the account, I could do a little checking. I won’t promise you anything, butI’m willing to… ah… take a closer look.”

“Yes — yes — you must act! Mymaster will be most upset if you fail.”

“The account, then?”

Peter looked around them againand then leaned in to whisper. “Grayson,”he said timidly. Sidneyjerked back, almost falling off his stool in surprise.

“What did you say? Grayson?Are… are you sure about that?”

“Yes — yes, absolutely sure.You must sever all ties with this man and the people he represents. He is evil.

Lying again.

“He must not be allowed tobring our worlds together. My master won’t stand for it. Your world isinferior, dirty, worthless,” Peter spat.

Sidney scowled. Their obvious societaldifferences aside, he could see this man was more apt to be labeled a culturalracist than an ambassador of vital information. He got the impression that ifPeter and his so called master had their way, Sidney’s world might be terminated in somekind of cultural genocide.

“So… your um… master is part ofthis world Grayson represents?”

“Grayson DOES NOT represent mymaster!” Peter yelped, stricken to the point of almost passing out. “My masterwould kill Grayson if given the opportunity. Grayson must be stopped — he mustbe stopped! My master insists that you act!”

“Easy –– Peter, easy. I saidI’d check into it, I promise.” And this time Sidney meant what he was saying. He didn’tcare that the man sitting next to him was lying or afraid of something hedidn’t quite understand. All that mattered to Sidney now was getting back to his office andsomehow gaining access to the Grayson account once more. The missing pages fromhis journal were references to Grayson, he was sure of it. His boss, Mr.Landers, removed the Grayson account from him without cause or reason. And now,he was convinced the days missing in his mind were connected to Grayson aswell. He now knew, beyond any doubt, that the important client he was to havemet in Chicagowas none other than Grayson himself. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him atthe moment, but Sidneyknew one thing for sure: If he was going to get the missing pieces of his mindback, those answers somehow resided in his company’s business dealings withGrayson.

“You promise… this time youwill act?” Peter asked him anxiously.

Sidney looked at the man, almost bothered bythe fact he was still sitting next to him. “Yes, Peter… I will try and confirmwhat it is you’ve told me. How can I contact you again?”

“I will contact you. Mym…m…master needs my constant care. He only gave me permission to be away forone hour to meet with you. I must return to him now.”

“So… he’s in Chicago, then?”

“No… my master is…” hehesitated, “… abroad,” he finished, evasively. Peter reached out to shake Sidney’s hand, seeking tobond him to the promises just made. Sidneycould see the man’s right index finger was missing.

“Goodbye, Mr. Heidelbach. Iwill be in c…c…contact with you again… probably in the summer. Please, I begyou; stop your dealings with Grayson. My m…m…master will not tolerate your inactionagain.”

The man raised the hood of hisdirty cloak and then turned to leave, but before he reached the door, Sidney called out to himagain.

“You never told me your lastname?” But the man calling himself Peter didn’t stop to reply. He moved outside,quickly looked around, and then disappeared into the night.

Sidney sat back down at the bar and shovedhis drink away. He didn’t want it anymore. Looking at himself in the mirroronce again, the person looking back seemed more familiar this time, moredetermined. Peter, or whoever he was, had given him a clue, something to helphim regain a part of what had been taken away from him. Anger was raging insideSidney’s heart.Somebody stole a piece of his mind and he wanted it back. How dare somebody do thisto him?

“It’s time we met again, Mister… Grayson.”