Arcana 99: Stage One

Deciding who to rob was the crux of any successful theft. Need a piece of art? Rob a museum or collector. Need a blender? Target some middle-class home. Knowing what they would and would not have is just as important as knowing who they are. You can't steal cookware from a man with no kitchen nor shampoo from a diner.

Regarding the 'who' of the equation, it wasn't just who they were in society, their wealth, friends, and schedule. It was also who they were personally. Their wants and needs determined what items they would have. More importantly, what items they couldn't live without.

To perform a perfect burglary, weeks need to be spent stalking your target. You need to know what they have, what they want, and when they want it. You don't need to know everything about them. Only enough to know what you need to know to successfully rob them. Such as when they are going to the store for something (preferably something you want. Their money should cover it.). This is often the best time to do it. They're away from home and convincing them to spend their money on you is easier when they've already mentally parted with it.

Advertising is much the same. Except, you would never advertise at somebody's empty home. At its core, advertising was stalking and theft. Find someone who may want what you sell. Watch them until they decide to buy it from a competitor. Then offer yours as the cheaper/superior/more patriotic/cooler version of the product. You get the money, and, unlike theft, failure doesn't land you in prison.

This was the most important lesson Karin Bernays had ever learned about advertising. A lesson that granted her the job with the Grenfell-Maxwell Marathon as their head of advertising despite her lack of a y-chromosome. Her incredibly successful campaign granted her worldwide fame and dozens of identical letters from companies whose last correspondence had been "You wouldn't be a good fit for our team". One letter reluctantly had enough zeroes to warrant a response. Karin's life was going as well as any post-war woman's could be until two nights ago.

The morning after her encounter with Grenfell and Maxwell, they handed her a strange necklace and a reminder to say nothing of what happened the previous night. They'd spent most of that day telling her everything she was no longer allowed to do. She'd forgotten most of it and ignored the rest. All Karin bothered to remember was "Say nothing, do not take off the necklace, and break these rules and we kill you." Overall, a fairly unimpressive threat. She'd heard worse from colleagues. That day was easy, practically training for her change in position from head of advertising to prisoner. All she had to do that day was cover for Grenfell when he grew bored of interview questions. And by cover, she merely had to give whatever non-answer made the interviewer shut up. A task Karin took to quite easily. Frankly, she preferred it to her old job. It even came with a raise.

That was, until the day after. Unsatisfied with yesterday's answers, reporters from the previous day mingled with those finally arriving at Flores and were refusing to leave until they were granted a few lines for their publication. A situation Grenfell was absent for, and Maxwell ordained to her before retreating to his office.

Yesterday Grenfell stuck by me the entire time. This must be a play to see how well their threat worked. Karin surmised. Had she spoken about what happened, there was no doubt in her mind. The necklace wasn't a bomb, so it wouldn't do anything to her. Maxwell was keeping her alive to kill the story, killing her in public would give even worse optics than. . . whatever the hell happened coming out. No, the real threat was that all Maxwell had to do was claim she was hysterical after the stress of a big man's job got to her and everyone here would accept it. She could even omit their strange abilities and it would end the same way.

"Ms. Bernays, does the marathon have any official statement regarding the blatantly false victory awarded to Sheri Parfit?"

Honestly, what they can do isn't very important. I can grasp teleportation; I've read enough pulp to understand it. It's nothing more than moving very, very fast, and sometimes through objects.

"Well, after bringing your doubts to our attention yesterday, we tasked a team with investigating the claim. Mr. Grenfell and Mr. Maxwell both vouch for accepting her victory until the investigation is complete."

I have no clue how they did it either, but again, it isn't relevant at this stage. Besides, I really don't want to shatter what's left of my concept of reality. Plus, they're adamant about Sheri not cheating. That means they likely are using the same methods. . . if she actually teleported that is.

"And what about the claims of a horse sprinting at one hundred miles per hour?" Another microphone asked, immediately after the last one receeded.

The limits of it aren't important right now either. Knowing he could teleport into you and make you explode is helpful, but knowing he finds it disgusting and would never do it even more.

"That one we cannot verify until the contestants arrive here. As of right now, we only have the announcer's proclamation. And the Grenfell-Maxwell Marathon took great care to vet all of our official radio announcers, so I'm inclined to believe him. No matter how fantastical it may seem. Twenty years ago, splitting an atom was considered impossible. One hundred years ago, the existence of the atom was considered impossible. We don't know everything in our world."

Yeah, we sure fucking don't.

A third microphone brushed her nose, "I have a question! How did Mr. Grenfell and Mr. Maxwell obtain the vast wealth they spent on this race? And how do they expect to recoup the losses from the stage prizes?"

The thing I need to focus on now is learning who they are. Knowing your audience is key. You need to know what buttons need to be pushed to get them to buy what you want them to. Or, do what you want in this case. Or, don't kill you, but that feels a bit over-specific.

"That would be a question for them, I have no comment on that."

To do that, I would need. . .

"Why did you break your contract with the Coca-Cola Company to remain with the marathon?"

This question snapped Karin out of herself. She was used to corporate non-speak. It was like lying without quite lying, and crafting a lie took so much more effort than bending the truth. But any answer here short of 'I am being forced to stay' would be a lie, "I-uh. .. I'm-I. . .Their, um, o-offer was nice. But, I. . ca-could, er, my work here isn't done yet, I-I mean. I can't leave the job half-finished; we've still got the, uh, o-other stages to promote after all. N-not to mention that, well, I've grown quite attached to the company over the past year working with them. I'm not quite able to let them go just yet."

The reporters, like wolves sensing the injured in the herd, pounced on Karin's fluster. Before the stress and the barrage of questions made her spill everything, Maxwell arrived and ushered inside, telling the reporters the heat had gotten to her. With a moment to calm herself, Karin took note of Maxwell's appearance. He looked the same as he always did, which was a small bit larger than when he appeared two nights ago. As he led her up the creaky stairs, not one did under him, reserving their cries for Karin's step. Once inside the small office, the same room she had seen him in two nights before, Maxwell sat down and shuddered, "Of all the devils I've faced, none have felt half as threatening." He muttered, before looking to Karin, "If you expect thanks for not telling them, you will remain wanting."

Right, my main goal right now should be to get to know him. That should be a good enough foot in the door to point me in the right direction.

"Why did you even leave me alone out there? I could have ran, or told someone." Karin asked, sitting across from him and refusing to make eye contact.

"Because I know you wouldn't be able to flee beyond my reach. And," He stood to make a glass of wine, "Contrary to our prior interactions, I do not wish to cause you strife. Only to keep you from causing me any. You are not a prisoner here Karin; you are collateral."

So, I'm property then. Great start Karin, you're not even a human to these guys.

"So, seeing as we're stuck here until those mics leave, and this place hasn't heard of the television, what do you want to talk about?"

"Nothing. I was going to read a book until Mr. Grenfell returned. You are free to do the same."

Karin pretended to oblige him. She stepped before the bookshelf and studied its contents carefully.

Bookshelves are just as good as journals these days. Every one of these caught your eye for one reason or another. And the more worn, the more they match you. Let's see. . . not in English, not in English, not in English, that one doesn't even have the alphabet, ooh Italian. Too bad I can't read Italian. Seriously? Only four of these books are in English! And I've never even heard of them!

She pulled one particularly worn book from the shelf. It hadn't been pushed all the way in and lacked the covering of dust the other books had. Its cover was dark blue and had neither text nor ornamentation on any of its faces. Karin opened it and was met with indecipherable runes.

"Oh, that one was quite charming." Maxwell said, "It's a collection of Old English poetry. Most of the riddles went over my head, but the verses were excellent. Do be careful though, I'm only borrowing it from the Exeter Cathedral. They told me it was quite valuable."

Karin carefully put it back. She didn't want to accidently destroy something of value, and the tome had served its purpose, "Yeah, I never took Old English in school. Do you like poetry?"

"Quite a bit. Most of those books are poetry, you see. Puzzles and word games have been my preference since my school days, but my age has granted me a new appreciation for lyrical texts."

"Really?" Karin feigned interest, "Do you have a favorite?"

"That is a hard question; I've enjoyed all of them. However, I recently finished Homer's epics and found them quite the experience. I never knew text could sing until I read it in the original language. It made me regret never appreciating the verse of my homeland. I read a few tales, yes, but I never studied the so-called 'artistic' books."

Long historical text, so he's high-brow, though I already knew that.

"It's strange, isn't it? Of all the things you miss from home, it's always the stuff you didn't bother with that hurts the most." Karin mused as she stepped away from the bookshelf.

Take the bait, idiot.

"Yes, I find myself. . ." He stopped and finally looked up from his book. His fierce gaze tore into Karin's eyes, "Ms. Bernays, you aren't looking for a book. Am I to assume then, that the person you wish to read is me?"

Shit. Play it cool Karin, you aren't dead yet.

"You told me to read, and I can't understand any of these ancient texts. What else was I supposed to do? Look at the pictures? If you got me a few issues of Adventurous Comics I won't have to. Hell, give me anything in modern English and I'll stop pestering you." Buy it, buy it. . .

Maxwell chuckled, "Karin, you seem to misunderstand our arrangement. You are not alive because of any perceived sentimentality from working with you. You are not alive because I am kind and merciful. You are not alive because I can not stomach death. You are not alive because I am incapable of covering it up. You are alive because it is more convenient. Because it takes less effort to put a leash on you and tell you to stay silent than it does to dig a grave. The moment keeping you around becomes more trouble than burying you, I will bury you." Sensing she needed a moment to let the threat sink in, he stood and silently coasted to the door.

Karin paid attention to the sounds he made, but there were none. Not even the ruffling of clothes as he stood. When he stopped in the doorway, Karin noted how much he filled it. If hidden questioning wouldn't work, the next best choice was to solve something mundane—the case of Maxwell's vanishing weight. Her best chance for that was Sheri Parfit, the alleged winner of the race's first stage. Either she was a scientific genius who had invented teleportation and thus would find solving such a mystery a trivial task. Or, she was collaborating with Grenfell and Maxwell to cheat the race in which case she had knowledge Karin needed. Knowledge Karin was certain would come easier from Sheri than either Grenfell or Maxwell.

Maxwell turned around in the doorway as if to add some snide remark at Karin's situation, but he was too high-brow for that. Instead, he simply asked, "Could you remind me what books you wanted?"