| |
Two matches left; the only remnants of life beyond a cage of darkness. Therefore, the paper packet remained safe inside Keane’s breast pocket while Matteo devoured what few scraps the guards had brought for their lunch.
Or was it dinner?
Breakfast?
It had become impossible to differentiate between the mealtimes as they sat side by side within the darkness. A single cup of water was to be shared between them; however, as Matteo prepared to begin his story, Keane pushed it away from himself and nearer to the young man.
“You have not heard of me, then?” It was an unusual question, for indeed Keane had been acquainted with many people; yet, the majority introduced themselves with vigour, rather than expecting him to already be aware of their existence.
“No, but, as you have admitted, you seem to know a great deal about me. Through the newspapers perhaps? Or was it my work with the improvements necessary to psychoanalysis?”
“Both, actually. I was educated on your essays from the age of ten. Perhaps even younger.” A dry chuckle crackled through the cell’s dust and mould.
“Those early works were rubbish, hardly enough substantial information to base a child’s curriculum.”
“Nevertheless...” Matteo dragged a hand along the damp floor before rubbing his palms together. “There was a quotation my mother often recited from Humanity’s Crisis. Do you remember it?” Another, if slightly harsher scoff scratched the walls.
“I do my best to forget it.”
“You stated, ‘I have never known an unimportant life, nor a human being who was born without natural rights. These are never revoked by a state of birth or belief, but the folly and stupidity of the general populace.’” The young man’s sigh wracked his entire body. “She rather liked those lines?”
“Your mother?”
“She was the one to convince me to work in London. I’m afraid I had a bit of trouble with the government practices where I first lived.”
“We all do at some point in our lives.” Keane gracefully allowed. “Especially in youth. I admit I was quite the rebel in my earlier years.”
“But she told me these stories about this one man in particular. Many stories. He became a myth in my mind. When I grew older, I thought he was fiction. When I began working for the British government; however, I learned he was real. A living legend.”
“You will soon find more. There are hundreds within a single nation.”
“No, he was not a legend in his own mind. Far from it. While everyone else was moving the nation’s strategies for their own gain, he was working for the improvement of humanity.” Keane shifted his back against the wall; wincing as the vertebra of his neck popped and cracked into place.
“While this is indeed a heartwarming story, I fail to see its significance to our...” Another aching bone jolted into place just as the memory slipped into his head. “You were the one who stole the files.”
“What files?” Keane’s brow furrowed slightly before being raised all the higher.
“Come now, Sir. Anything regarding multiple governments deserves dedicated research, and I happened to have a considerable amount of excess time in prison.”
“Surely they wouldn’t leak information to a—”
“Prisoner? Of course not. However, I happened to know a kind-hearted Sergeant.”
“Kind-hearted, or a traitor?” The fire so lacking in the frozen cell burned through Keane’s veins as heartily as a strong dose of whiskey. His voice—dry and crumbling from misuse—shot through the younger man as a bullet.
“The only traitors in this world are those who agree with everything and stand up for nothing.”
“And those who jump between nations; taking from one to give to another? Aren’t they evil in some way?”
“Was Robin Hood ever a traitor in the eyes of those he saved?” In admittance, this really was not an answer at all; yet, Matteo heaved an enormous sigh and slid down the wall a little further.
“My mother was right about you. In sevenfold. Yes, I took the files, but I didn’t steal them.” Keane’s brow arched curiously.
“And the difference is?”
“Surely you know? To steal from the honest is a sin, but to steal from a thief is a wrong made right.”
“A right is not made by two wrongs.”
“And yet two negatives do indeed make a positive.” There was a familiar amusement in the young man’s voice Keane could not immediately place; however, it was enough to make the wheels in his mind turn all the more.
“What was it you did for the government? Mathematics?” A brief movement trembled in the darkness, either a nod or wince. Neither were a certainty.
“There was a little...field work...to which I was assigned on multiple occasions, but I had previously studied both science and various maths at university. Seems I had a knack for it.” Keane made to stand, if just to take even the slightest bit of weight off of his aching neck; however, a vice clamped about his arm nailed him against the floor. ”The film. The photographs. Are they safe?” The elder of the two—a man who had prided himself upon the human mind—could not quite comprehend the underlying force behind Matteo’s grip; therefore, he had nothing left but blatant honesty.
“Yes.”
“You are certain?”
“Quite.” The calloused fingers instantly slipped from his throbbing bicep.
“Good. That is good.”