Page 3

“Strong! That’s a terrible thing to say! You should apologize,” a third voice joined the conversation for the first time.

All eyes turned to Riddle, drooping slightly in her chair. Even the normally deadpan Willow looked anxious to know if their plan had worked. Strong looked like he might explode. “Well?”

Slowly smiling, Riddle stood up, stretched as if she’d just had a nap in a slightly uncomfortable position, and yawned. Walking over to the bulletin board, she examined one of the old newspaper articles, apparently chosen at random.

“Well?”

Removing the article from the board, she fingered it’s slightly yellowed edges before starting to read aloud. “Millford, England – April 22nd, 1994 – Elizabeth Reynolds, 74, was found hanging from her bed frame in her home at 2 PM yesterday afternoon.

“A suicide note was found on her pillow on her perfectly made bed. According to the police, the contents of the note were of interest. The police have informed the press of only some of the contents of this missive, but what they have released is of a most unusual nature. Mrs. Reynolds wrote that she lived with great guilt because of the actions of her son, that he had done great wrongs, unforgivable evils, and that she could not bear to live any longer with the knowledge of his crimes.

“’Interestingly,’ said police chief Arnold Evensworth, ‘investigation has not been able to establish that Mrs. Reynolds had a son. Mrs. Reynolds’ husband, Richard Reynolds, was a pilot during World War II. His plane was shot down over Germany, and Mrs. Reynolds never remarried. However, she also has no record of mental disturbances, accepting of course her suicide. We can find no explanation for the contents of her note.’”

“I never understood why you insisted we keep that one,” grumbled Strong.

“Alexander Reynolds.”

“What?”

Smiling triumphantly, Riddle reposted the article on the board. “I said, Alexander Reynolds.”

“Riddle, who is Alexander Reynolds?” It was probably the most emotional any of them had ever seen Willow. Apparently, the anticipation was too much, even for her.

Removing another clipping from the board, this one a photograph, Riddle held it forth for their examination. On it, their detested enemy, the foe they had pursued for so long, smiled as if he knew a secret. Riddle smiled in almost exactly the same way. “His name is Alexander Reynolds.

Page 2

“What, have I said something strange?”



“So? Is everything going according to plan?” the broad shouldered man asked, anxiously. He leaned over the desk at which was seated an attractive young woman. She didn’t answer, though. He face was stiff with concentration, eyes closed. Annoyed, the burly man turned away.

“Gently, gently,” a second woman said. “She’ll let us know as soon as she can. You must trust her.”

“The did nothing to assuage the large mans temper. “Willow. Please don’t tell me that you just suggested that I don’t trust Riddle. You are joking, right?”

“I’m not sure, when you pester her so,” Willow said calmly. “Why is it that no amount of training or practice can give you patience? You must calm down, Strong, you must!”

There was a pause as Strong made a visible effort to gather his emotions. “How can you ask me to be patient when at any moment her brain might fry?” His temper was definitely not in check. “Bang! Poof! No more Riddle. Not even you can claim that this doesn’t worry you. The sooner she snaps out of it, the sooner is finished, the sooner we can end this ridiculous bullshit and get on with our lives.”

Willow raised an eyebrow, still perfectly calm. “You go around in red underwear and a mask and throw buses at people. What ridiculous bullshit can you possibly be talking about?”

Seething, Strong turned towards the bulletin board on the far wall, plastered with newspaper articles, maps, handwritten notes, and old pieces of sticky gum. “You KNOW what I mean! That man! That bastard of a man and his overly obnoxious laugh, and his overly convoluted plans, and his overly oiled hair!” He gestured vaguely at the board, the strength of even that small movement causing a breeze that rippled the loosely attached clippings.

“And what of his slippery victories?” asked Willow, an ironic tone in her voice.

Rather than an immediate response, however, this comment produced a pause. “You’re deliberately provoking me, aren’t you, Willow,” Strong said, forcing calm in his voice, as if sounding calm could produce actual calm. “Why?”

Willow smiled in that mysterious way that she was known for. “You won’t become impatient again, will you?”

“Have I ever told you that I hate you sometimes?”

Page 1, and Explanation

Hey all. this is a story I wrote last semester during class that I found while I was going through some papers from then. Thought I'd type it up to preserve it, and maybe write some more. I really did like the way this one started. :)


“Everything is coming together just as we planned,” said the tall man, a note of triumph in his voice. “At this rate, we’ll be ready in mere days! I knew it was a good idea to acquire those additional engineers, they are making all the difference. Don’t you agree, sir?”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. As it lengthened, more and more of the minions in the room turned to stare at the desk on the pedestal on which sat their superior. He stared blankly into space, not at all like his normal range of reactions. There were many reasonable answers to the tall mans query, they knew – a reprimand, a maniacal laugh, a simple agreement an encouragement – yet no answer of any kind for far too long. No one really knew what to make of this silence.

Finally, the tall man cleared his throat. “Don’t you agree, sir?” he asked, less triumphant and more tentative.

“Huh?” the boss shook his head, looking confused. This was not the reassurance that the minions were hoping for. Many shifted, glancing at each other uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, what?”

The tall man, with effort, kept the distress out of his voice. “The plan, sir. It is proceeding very much as planned,” he paused, “isn’t it?”

The introduction of this doubt sent a murmur of shock through the minions. Perhaps this was some as-yet-unseen expression of their masters’ dissatisfaction. Several minions, horror on teir faces, edged nervously towards the only exit from the room.

“I’m afraid I’m not following you, good sir,” th boss smiled warmly at the tall man. “Perhaps we should start this dialogue over again. With an introduction, perhaps?” the boss thrust out his hand enthusiastically. “My name is Alexander Reynolds. And you are?”

This was definitely not among the responses that the minions had anticipated. The color drained from the tall man’s face. He stared at the bosses hand as if he was being offered a chance to place his hand in a beasts’ many-toothed mouth. As if he could imagine the powerful jaws sinking into his flesh, he drew his arms in around himself.

Alexander Reynolds looked crestfallen at this overt rejection. He withdrew his hand, examining it in the hopes that he might be able to discern why it had elicited such an extreme response. “Well then,” he looked around the room as if he were seeing it for the first time. “What’s all this then? Very strange kind of place, isn’t it?”

More minions looked nervously towards the door. The fact that Mr. Reynolds was correct, that it really was a strange place, did little to ease their minds. Lights on banks of expensive-looking electronic equipment flickered silently, but all eyes were on the desk on the raised dais.

Page 4

Well, as I said in the previous posting, that was a story that I wrote last semester. I had a lot of trouble deciding at the time where the story should go from there, and had several starts at the next section, none of which I liked much. So I thought I'd try again, since it's a concept I liked a great deal. So here goes, another attempt at writing the next page. :)



After a few moments of consideration, the tall man found his stride again. "That will be all for tonight," he gave a dismissive glance at the minions. For a moment, none of them moved, and then one by one the filed out the door, a soft buzz of conversation encompassing them despite the masters usually strict enforcement of silence in the computer room.

Alexander Reynolds watched the scene in mild confusion, but thought better of requesting an explanation before everyone had left. The tall man watched them all leave, his face expressionless, his posture perfect, his shock of moments before already forgotten, or at least controlled.

When the last minion had left the room, the tall man walked to each of the exits from the room in turn, locking each one. "Excuse me," asked Mr. Reynolds when he realized what was being done. "Does that mean I'm a prisoner here?" But the tall man didn't answer. When he had finished, he approached the dais on which Alexander sat, and stepped up onto it, taking a seat beside him.

"What's going on, sir?" he asked.

"Oh, well, I was actually hoping you could tell me," Alexander smiled faintly. "Cause I must say, I don't have a clue."

The tall man nodded to himself, thinking. Nothing like this had happened in all the years that he had followed his master. Never had his master seemed so confused, never had he lost face infront of his minions like this, and never, ever, not even once in almost 30 years of service, had his master said his name. It was one of the rules he had always stuck too most stringently - no names. The tall man had never before heard his masters name, and the tall man had not said his name to his master since they first met. Wondering what it could all mean, he nodded again.

"What," he said slowly, "is the last thing you remember, sir?"

"What an excellant question!" Mr. Reynolds exclaimed. "Let me think..." There was a long, long pause before he spoke again. "I'm not really sure," he sounded very confused. "Until I started thinking about it, it hadn't even occured to me really, but now that you've asked, and I try to think about it, I find nothing. It's most disconcerting." Yet he didn't sound disconcerted. Confused, certainly, but he almost sounded fascinated by his lack of memory. "So, then, you seem to know me. What can you tell me about me?" His eagerness was almost as upsetting to the tall man as the entire situation. His master was not an easily excitable man, and when he was excited, he never acted in this almost bubbly fashion, but instead tended towards the slightly maniacal.

"I'm not sure where to begin," the tall man said. There was a long, long pause. Alexander Reynolds was still smiling at him eagerly, awaiting his explanation, and it occurred to the tall man that this man, so unlike his master, might not be pleased with the explanation that was available. "I am called Butler," he began, "and I first met you when you were a student in college." So hard to explain what happened so long ago, he thought to himself. "That was about 30 years ago now. We were both attending Oxford University. I was studying history, and you were studying engineering. The year was 1974. Even then, you were calling yourself Mastermind. Today is the very first time that I have ever heard your name. You told me a great deal about the things you planned to do, your goals for the future, and I decided to enter your service."

"Mr. Butler, why did I call myself Mastermind?" asked Reynolds.

Butler laughed incredulously. "Just Butler, sir. It is not my name, just as Mastermind was not your name. You..." he paused, trying to think how to explain, "...you always said 'no names,' a long time ago you told me that names were meaningless, they told you nothing about a person, they were deceptive and misleading. You felt that, just as in medieval times, a leader of men was called 'lord' and a serf was called 'serf,' the titles that were given to people meant a great deal more than their names. I remember explaining to you that the only reason that lords were lords was that they were born with the right name, but you countered, pointing out that great men could rise to the name of lord no matter their original standing by their actions. In the same way, you had plans to rise to the name of Mastermind, and you didn't wish in anyway to have those plans associated with your old name, and so you would never use that name again. Ever since then, the entire time I have known you, you have addressed those who serve you by their positions, and insisted that none use there name. Hence, I am Butler, for I am your manservant. Those who left the room earlier are collectively known as minions, and individually by their own given task. All accepted this willingly as the price of serving you, and I can't think of anyone who has violated it in all these years."

"I sound like a very strange person," said Mr. Reynolds, truly amazed.