Chesterfield

“You shouldn’t compare yourself to others. There’s a reason they sent you, and that reason is that you’re competent, just as much as Guilderbrand would be.”

That was the voice of his therapist. Chesterfield shook his head to clear it slightly. He didn’t like listening to his therapist, even when they were actually in the same room. And voices today would only further distractions – furthering issues – furthering danger.

“Further and further down the rabbit hole, eh, Chesterfield, ole boy? Come on, give us a smile, why don’t you?”

His brother’s voice was a rarer occurrence, but given the amount of stress Chesterfield was under, he shouldn’t have been surprised. At least it was Rorrick, he consoled himself.

A sound behind him tore his gaze away from the unobservable outdoors. “Mr. Chesterfield,” a soft, feminine voice said, cajoling him. A hint of a European accent haunted her voice. Try as she might, Jessica Blackstone could not escape her origins. “How honored we are by your visit.”

Behind the tall woman came her entourage. Two assistants flicked their attention from the tablets in their hands, dutifully ignoring Chesterfield. A heavy security guard stood a few feet back. Chesterfield could see a second just outside the door. He expected more – perhaps someone to feed Jessica grapes as she pondered his demise.

“Beware of pretty faces that you find… A pretty face can hide an evil mind…”

Johnny Rivers was a surprise, Chesterfield considered. He tilted his head slightly back, studying Jessica’s face, just as she studied his. Yes, he supposed, some would call her angled features beautiful. But her mind… Yes, that was the dangerously attractive piece.

“Ah, Chesterfield,” Jessica said, breaking the moment and moving to the office lounge. It was overshadowed by the massive oak that grew up through the floor, hanging branches just beyond the loose circle. Chesterfield followed her movements without following. “Come,” she urged, motioning to an armchair across from her as she gracefully reclined onto a loveseat, reaching out and touching one of the nearest leaves. A smile played on her lips, but Chesterfield didn’t think it would last.

This is where the server should enter with the platter of grapes, Chesterfield knew. But he also knew Jessica would not stand for that. He walked stiffly toward the armchair, wishing that it was Guilderbrand in his place. He paused as his hand touched the black leather, listening to the room. The branches of the tree creaked, swaying to an artificial breeze.

“You can’t keep me in suspense anymore,” Jessica said. “Sit down and tell me what this is about, Chesterfield.” Her tone was light and teasing. Chesterfield heard the danger clearly.

“There’s been a threat issued,” Chesterfield said, clearing his throat and sitting down, his back straight and uncomfortable. He looked across at Jessica. Even as she leaned back, she seemed to loom over him. Chesterfield hated being short, but he hated it even more when he was in confrontational situations.

“Ah, but being short is a super-power! Or is that being afraid? It doesn’t matter. You’re both!”

Ah, the mocker. Chesterfield hated when this voice appeared – more common than his brother, but also stress induced. It was his own voice, a twisted twin that he called ‘Festerchild.’

“What kind of threat?” Jessica asked, drowning out Festerchild’s spiraling rant. “Who is chasing me now?”

Chesterfield considered how to respond, his eyes darting to the place the wall met the ceiling. “One from the Agency,” he said. “Out of good faith, they’ve sent me.”

Jessica laughed, a sparkling crescendo that twisted with a perilous edge. “You and I both know that you are not a sign of good faith, Chesterfield. You’re one step away from the threat becoming action.”

“The Agency has appreciated our working relationship over these long years,” Chesterfield said. “And we want it to continue. Don’t push our hand, Jessica.”

“Don’t act like you’re my friend,” Jessica snapped, sitting upright. Chesterfield took a breath, refusing to feel cowed.

“We are friends, Jessica,” Chesterfield said carefully. “We’re just reminding you of the expectations of the situation.”

“The situation?” Jessica laughed. “A contract set forward by you. A list of do’s and don’t’s that I am confined within without willing consent. A piece of paper and trickery! That’s what your situation – your friendship – is based on!”

Chesterfield’s heart burned. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “That is all I’ve been tasked to say, Jessica. We are laying out this threat – this warning – in hopes that we can once again work together.”

Jessica threw out her hands, scornfully turning her head away. “Well, then, messenger boy,” she said. “Thank you for the threat. I’m sure you can find your way out, seeing as we’re such good friends.”

She pushed herself out of her chair, her heels clicking as she stormed toward the door. Chesterfield listened to them echo across the room, his face averted and eyes closed. In just a few seconds, it was punctuated by the crash of the door being slammed after the entire retinue.

Chesterfield let out the breath he was holding, opening his eyes slowly. “Please prove us wrong, Jessica,” he said, standing.

“Pulling the wool over the eyes of the sheep is impressive. Mom would be proud.”

It was his brother’s voice, but the encouragement was a new development. Rorrick was most commonly the idle commentator. “It’s even more impressive,” Chesterfield said, pushing himself out of the chair, “When you’re shearing the sheep at the same time.”

He walked back to the frosted window, admiring the arch at the top. He traced the glass to the wide brick sill, judging what he was seeing. “No time like the present,” he said, reaching into his jacket’s interior pocket. He withdrew a form-fitting black glove, flexing it as he fitted it to his hand.

It would be a tough balance on the edge of the sill, but Chesterfield could manage. Now, he was content with his height. Any taller and trying to balance would be impossible. Any shorter, and he couldn’t have climbed on it as easily as he did. He held on with tips of his feet, his breath frosting the window further.

Chesterfield put his fingers on the glass, exhaling as he pushed. It took a second, but then he felt it. A ripple – a moment of fluidity. He stopped pushing, not wanting to topple out of the fifth floor. He looked up, along the glass, and watched it bend and flex.

It reminded him of water – it always did – but there was an extra firmness to it. Like the slime that a first grader would make. Or a slushy. There were numerous analogies that Chesterfield had heard over the years.

He waited for a second, expecting a voice to mock him, but there was nothing. With another breath out, Chesterfield slid through the porous material, shivering as he exited the heat of the indoors. Now, he stood on the outer sill, ignoring the drop behind him. He flexed his hand again, studying the wall. They had briefed him on this, of course, but it was one thing to see it in the confines of a safe distance, rather than up close.

High above in the sky, Chesterfield could see a wide-winged bird. Whether it was surveillance or not, he couldn’t be sure. Regardless, he tipped his head toward it, opting to be polite to the Agency. It didn’t do to make enemies.

He closed his eyes, mapping his path before he began the climb. It was two stories – hardly anything for Chesterfield – but he could not be caught. With a sharp exhale of the last breath in his lungs, he opened his eyes and reached for the nearest pillar.

Blackstone House, as it was called in the local community, was a sprawling patchwork of Victorian style towers and classical Greek architecture, rising above the surrounding community like a foreboding watchman. The conglomeration, and size, made Chesterfield wonder how much the builders would have hated the designers. However, it created a beautiful climbing wall of hand and footholds at every turn.

At least, it did if you were Norvall Chesterfield.

“My little spider. I couldn’t seem to get you to stay on the ground.”

His mother’s voice was filled with pride as Chesterfield pulled himself off the ledge and onto the pillar. He could tell it was the standard concrete and rebar, but its exterior was covered with smooth pebbles. A strange design choice, but Chesterfield wasn’t complaining. They gave him just enough traction to worm his way up along the shaft.

The top of the pillar, far beyond his reach, jutted into complex gargoyles that snarled at his ascent. Chesterfield took a mental picture, considering them as his visual attention focused on keeping his balance. He had seen similar designs across the world, where Jessica had been before immigrating.

He passed the sixth story, hearing a glimpse of conversation through the window. Relationship drama – there was a reason Chesterfield was single.

“Oh no, you let the wrong words slip… While kissing persuasive lips…”

Johnny Rivers again? Chesterfield ignored him as he sang the next line of the song. Best not to dwell on gloom, he decided.

The climb had been easier than he expected. The pebbled texture of the pillar was always a risk, but it was successful this time. He reached out with his foot and stepped onto the sill of the next window, flexing his glove as he prepared to open the window.

This was a regular sized window, with glass that looked like it had just been cleaned. It transferred with a light touch – clearer was always easier. There was a reason the GlassPass gloves were only given to specific people. It had been a long road to getting his gloves back, but after three years, Chesterfield had proven he was capable and competent.

“Wheeeeeee!”

Chesterfield couldn’t tell it if was Rorrick or Festerchild, but he knew what the voice was mocking. He tuned it out, sliding into the room and taking his bearings.

The room looked like a discarded office that had turned into a storage closet. Or, possibly an attic that had a temporary office set up in it for a time. A desk, covered in dust and cobwebs, faced a pile of cardboard boxes and plastic totes. A few oddball items wrapped in plastic sheeting were scattered throughout the pile, precariously balancing on each other. Chesterfield ignored the pile for the second, focusing on the desk. An equally dusty leather chair sat behind it, pulled out just far enough that someone could sit comfortable.

Strange, Chesterfield considered, that the window would be so clean, but the rest of the room would be in such disarray. He approached the desk, pulling out a pair of glasses and studying the scene through them. Distinct lines of light spiraled around the dust and webs, confirming his suspicions.

“Oh, Jessica,” Chesterfield murmured, stepping into the light and putting his glasses down. With a resigned sigh, he turned and sat into the chair.

An explosion of dust blew into the air, nearly obscuring his vision. As he blinked to clear his eyes, he saw the room had changed. The boxes were gone, replaced with shelves and worktables. Both were filled with tubes, vials and books. The desk was pristine, as was the chair he was sitting in. He pushed himself out, coughing at the dust still in his mouth.

“Who are you?” a pitched voice asked.

Chesterfield spun to find a tall man – though he thought most people were tall – in a long white coat walking toward him, a tablet in his hand. “A dust screen?” Chesterfield said in answer. “I thought Miss Blackstone would be more together than that.”

“Oh, I am,” Jessica’s voice said behind him.

Chesterfield smiled, still facing the man in the coat, but the gesture was directed at the woman behind him. He turned again to find Jessica leaning back in the leather chair, her legs crossed. “We got the signal as soon as you used that glove on the window,” she said, motioning to his hand, still clad in black. She gave a half-smile, reveling in her victory. “You should answer Dr. Hollis, Chesterfield. Who are you? And to follow up, what are you doing here?”

“Well, you gave half the answer,” Chesterfield said, turning away and studying the contents of a nearby shelf. “Oh, this is a fun book,” he said, touching the spine of one. “Do you think it has a lot of pictures?” he asked over his shoulder, “I don’t really like books without pictures.”

“Chesterfield, Chesterfield, Chesterfield,” Jessica said. He could see she was standing up, that same smile playing along her lips.

“I’m not Bloody Mary,” he said, reading the spine of the next book. “There’s no magic in repeating my name.” He looked over his shoulder. “But I am glad you know it.”

“Secret Agent Man… Secret Agent Man…”

Johnny Rivers just would not give up. Chesterfield was a fan of persistence as much as the next person, but this was getting ridiculous.

“But you’ve never told me your name, Chesterfield,” Jessica said, drawing closer. “Not your real one.”

“They’ve given you a number… And take away your name!”

“Shut up, Johnny,” Chesterfield fumed under his breath. Louder, he said, “Chesterfield is what I go by now.”

“Secret Agent Man…”

Jessica was coming closer, and Chesterfield could see her hands were eager to throttle him. “Whatever your name is, this is no longer a warning visit,” she said. “It’s a home invasion. And that means-“

“It means you’ve already lost the Agency’s trust,” Chesterfield said. “I had hoped that this room was storage, and nothing else. But you’ve established a secondary and a dust screen, among others protections, I’m sure, without proper authorization. Without notifying the Agency, it only leads us to believe that you are acting against them in some way, shape or form. We will gladly hear an appeal, but for now, Jessica Blackstone, you will be under investigation for whatever you’re doing here.”

“It’s only for me and my estate,” Jessica seethed. “What I do in my own home is no business of the Agency. Even you have to agree with that, Chesterfield. That’s the entire reason we came. For freedom. For our own agency. Not to be controlled by another state.”

“We have to keep things in order,” Chesterfield said. “It’s the only way to ensure the Anti-Ma-“

“A fairy tale,” Jessica scoffed. “An urban legend to keep hands and feet tied. You won’t scare me with your bogeyman, Chesterfield. Keep your monsters under the bed and let me lie in peace.”

She was nearly on him, but stopped short of grabbing his neck. “We were friends once, Chesterfield. Why did that have to change?”

Chesterfield was silent. He didn’t want to fight, especially not Jessica. He knew what she had endured to make it across the ocean. But at the end of the day, he would bloody the mouth if it meant saving a life. The Agency was a necessary entity, just as his role was integral to its success.

Jessica pulled away, sighing. “I don’t want to have to. But you did trespass, Chesterfield. So I am well within my rights, even when it comes to the Agency.”

Chesterfield saw the shadows of her security behind as she turned away. He knew threats were no good now – Jessica had clearly made up her mind. Punishment, perhaps death, awaited him if he didn’t escape.

“Come on, Chesterfield.”

The voice came right as the first punch took his jaw. He had no time to react, no way to retaliate. It was Rorrick. His brother. Encouraging him to fight back.

“This is not the end.”

His mother, comforting. Reassuring.

A second punch landed in his stomach and Chesterfield stumbled backwards. He knew what he had to do, but first, he had to clear the way.

“Really? You think you can get away? Just lay down and accept it. The world will be better for it.”

Why was it Festerchild’s voice that cleared his head and catch the next blow? “Shut up,” Chesterfield grunted, twisting the man’s arm sharply and taking a step back. He caught his breath as he did so, registering the second guard moving in to attack. He was inhumanly fast – whether by nature or augmentation, Chesterfield didn’t know. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, turning halfway and reaching the nearby shelving unit.

His gloved hand touched a thick glass vial. While looking at the books, Chesterfield had scanned the contents along the way. Scientists’ lairs always had incendiary chemicals.

Chesterfield pressed as he threw the glass forward, right in the path of the running man. A flash of light sprang into the air, followed immediately by a thunderous boom. Chesterfield fought not to be overwhelmed, running into the light and catching the guard with a sharp uppercut. Then he turned and planted a boot in the side of the first guard, knocking him into the shelving wall.

He turned toward Jessica, who was snarling, charging him with reckless abandon. “I’m sorry, Jessica,” he said, lifting a second bottle. He paused before throwing it at her, then changed directions, tossing it into the line of bottles on the wall. The entire wall erupted in a brilliant roar of blue flame as Chesterfield dove the opposite direction, sliding over the top of the nearby desk.

 As quickly as it grew, the fire receded, laying light to the wall. Jessica caught his eye from where she was sprawled onto the floor. “Curse you, Chesterfield,” she said, staring to push herself to her feet.

“Goodbye, Miss Blackstone,” he said, then sat down in the chair.

As he emerged once again in the dusty attic, he leapt from the chair, spinning it so that it would face the wall when someone emerged through it. The window was still clear from his entrance, and Chesterfield didn’t wait. He unspooled the line from around his waist, securing it on the frame as he fell out the window.

He reversed his trek back down, sliding furiously down the pebbled columns, trying not to fall too fast. For a moment, he felt himself in freefall, but he slowed the descent with a lunge for the nearby windowsill. As he hung there, feet planted on the hard brick, he realized it was the same window he had climbed out. “Fitting,” he muttered.

“Swinging from the Riviera one day…”

It was Johnny Rivers again. He kept skipping across the song, though. You’d expect the singer to know the order of the lyrics.  

Chesterfield continued his mad descent. Just before he reached the ground, he felt the line go loose, and he turned to a safe-fall position. There was no good way to land, really. But, as he had found out the hard way, some ways were much worse than others.

The fall didn’t last long. It would leave a bruise, but Chesterfield had walked away from further. He pushed himself to his feet, cursing under his breath. He stumbled toward the street, where the car was parked.

Behind him, the door burst open, the guards running down the stairs and raising guns. Chesterfield scrambled as he reached for the door handle. The car was running – the driver had been prepared for this kind of departure. A shot rang into the air, the bullet punching a hole in the metal next to him. The second took him in the shoulder, just as he pulled the door open.

Jessica Blackstone was on the stairs now, her hands on her hips and a face turning to a bitter frown. “Go ahead, Chesterfield! Bring your Agency. Bring your monster from under the bed. You’ll see how a Blackstone fights!”

Chesterfield threw himself into the seat as the car pulled away from the curb. His driver looked at him through the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. “I assume we’ll need medical assistance, Mr. Chesterfield?”

The short man cursed as he pulled off his suit jacket, bundling it to press in the gunshot wound in his shoulder. He sat up, looking his driver in the eyes. “You know what?” he asked, then answered before the driver could. “They should have sent Guilderbrand.”

The driver laughed. “You’re okay, then,” he said.

“Secret Agent Man… Secret Agent Man…”

“Shut up, Johnny,” Chesterfield muttered.

“What was that?” the driver asked, looking up again.

“Nothing,” Chesterfield said, forcing himself to relax and clear his mind. “Absolutely nothing.”

---

Lyrics are pulled from “Secret Agent Man” by Johnny Rivers.

I’m sure you’re wondering what’s going on. Aren’t we all? Keep reading, dear friend, and you’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, if you’re looking for more in this world, check out Adventures in Fantasy, the archive where all these stories are housed. There aren’t many answers, but there are some clues. Keep an eye out. You might be the first one to piece it together.