4

During her walk home from the subway, Copper made great progress recovering from her “delusion” of the Man with White Teeth. It must have been a delusion. It had seemed so real. But it must have been a delusion. Say something enough times, it becomes true. But delusional episodes disturbed Copper a little.

Copper’s daydreaming came in three distinct categories. Category One daydreaming was intentional. She would be waiting, riding a bus, or sitting at home, and she would cast around for interesting looking people to populate her stories. Themes were usually adventurous or whimsical. Plot wasn’t a major concern. Character and tone was more important than a consistent story line in a Category One dream. A Category Two daydream differed very little from a Category One dream. The only difference was that a Category Two daydream came unbidden. they crept upon Copper when she was least expecting them to happen. They could interrupt a date with prospective boyfriend, they could tune Copper out of any conversation at any time. Some people thought it was like a seizure. Dr. Field thought a Category Two daydream was a petit mal seizure. But Copper knew better. People who experienced seizures lost time completely, she had read somewhere. Copper was aware that she was dreaming, that her attention span had somehow given out and that her mind had begun to wander. She played out little scenarios between the characters she projected on the people around her. Her brain was very active. It was not seizing.

A Category Three daydream was her favourite kind. It was not intentional, and it was not short or populated by people watching. Characters just came to her during a Cat 3. Outlandish characters, full and rounded. They had histories and lives, backgrounds and subtexts which it seemed she needed to discover rather than invent. These totally imaginary people that came to her during a Cat 3 completely took over her attention for hours. They told her stories.

The Man with the White Teeth was not a Cat 3, she was sure. There was something ineffable about him. Something hard to put one’s finger on. He had been... real. Real in a sense that Copper had never experienced before. He was not like a character, No, the best word to describe the phenomenon that was the Man with the White Teeth... Well the first word that popped into Copper’s head was “harbinger.” She was not sure where she had heard that word before. But she decided that, from now on, she would refer to the Man with White Teeth as the Harbinger. Fewer syllables anyway.

At first, thinking that delusions probably were a serious issue, Copper resolved to go back on her meds. Perhaps the Harbinger was an escalation of the chronic depression that Dr. Field had been talking about. He had suggested the possibility of a few other unmentionable psychological conditions that could manifest themselves in delusions. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should have been taking all those pills after all.

But by the time she got to her apartment and had put the kettle on, Copper’s mind had already moved past worrying about the Harbinger or Dr. Field. Instead, she was allowing her mind to wander. She steeped her tea, sat on her couch and stared out of her window. The faded paint on her walls bothered her a little. She had a Cat 1 about a burglar breaking in and redecorating for her. He broke in in the dark while she was not home. He brought a tightly packed bag full of tools. He measured, performed amazing feats of carpentry and interior design, packed his things, left a flower in a tasteful vase on the table and was gone just as Copper entered the apartment. Copper delighted in the changes the burglar had left behind. The new paint was fantastic.

But when the tea was finished, the walls were still the same drab off-white they had been when Copper had moved in four years ago. A second cup of tea, and Copper sat down just as she sensed a Cat 3 coming on. She managed to cover herself with a blanket, her heat was not working properly. She sighed in anticipation and hoped this one would be pleasant. Maybe romantic.

Copper smiled. She became warm, imagined the sun on her face, and with a surprised delight, smelled cinnamon. A man sat with her. He was dressed in many colourful and expensive looking silks. He wore a golden plate about the size of a man’s hand around his neck. A bird of prey was stamped onto this oddly large pendant. He wore what Copper supposed must be a turban (keep in mind Copper did not know the difference between the varied headdresses of the many cultures of the world). Copper instantly loved this man as she would a favourite uncle. When he spoke, he used gentle tones and seemed to put effort into projecting earnest care. His accent was difficult for Copper to place.

“I am Rabban Bar Sawma. This is a strange place. You are strangely dressed. But I am a traveler. Strange dress affects me very little. I have traveled all my life in the service of my Master. He has sent me far. At his request, I walked the breadth of the world to carry his messages and do his work. He thought I would be best because I am a Christian, I speak many languages, and I have always been received favourably by Kings and Emperors. I have seen the pavilions and Ghers of Avagar, the court of the Master of the everything under the Eternal Blue Sky. His court travels as well, is never in the same place twice. It follows the spirit banner of the Ong Khan. I have seen the many oceans of the world. I have learned from the academics who inhabit the oldest cities. I have taken communion from the Pope, given communion to the King of England. I have walked the length of existence. And now, I am sent to you. I am here to offer you a story, young woman. To give you wisdom.

First. The Great are never to be trusted. There is always an agenda beyond what you can see. To serve Great Powers is to walk the path of the condemned. If you are useful or talented, you will be sought and treated well. But make no mistake. You are expendable and, sometimes, you will be expended. Easily. You can be replaced. Dark and winding are the roads that the Great must walk. I blame them not. They are cursed with the responsibility and the burdens of all those who suffer because of the decisions they make. If by discarding me like a token on a game board, my Master can further the greater cause of freedom and leisure for more of the world, I am honoured to serve his purpose. But he does not tell me of his motives. In truth, in all my services to him, I only met him twice. I know that he cares not for me. Only for how I can serve him. If I am ever more valuable to him dead than alive, I will be dead. If your sense of duty outweighs your sense of self preservation, as mine does, this will be acceptable to you. If you cannot exist with the possibility that your superiors may sacrifice you to further their own political ends, do not serve the Great. Instead, you must be Great. There will come a time when you must choose.

Second, a journey awaits. As in any journey, preparations must be made. At first, you will not want to go. But you will. You will have to. The anticipation will be more enjoyable than the travel itself. It is always so. The key to a successful journey is balance. Prepare as best you can. If at all possible, live by a carefully planned itinerary. But also plan for contingency. And when contingencies fail, be ready to adapt to any situation that may arise. It is good to plan. But do not slave yourself to it so much that you cannot recognize when it is time to abandon all plans. Beware highwaymen. They do not always wear masks.

When I was a boy, my family was very poor. I stole to survive. I was a good thief. The armies of my Master were preceded by emissaries. He sent embassies to the leaders of my people. They brought gifts and riches from many far away lands. They promised that a peaceful partnership would benefit everyone. But the emissaries demanded that tribute be sent to my Master, that they acknowledge Him as their Emperor as His ancestors were honoured in times before.

My people were stupid. They took the gifts, mutilated the faces of the emissaries and of the caravaneers that had brought goods to give and to trade. They took the animals and wagons and spurned the embassy. They did not understand.

My Masters approach to war was that of a hunter, not of a soldier. Enemies were prey. They attacked and burned villages and farms in the surrounding countryside. All the refugees came to the Capitol for shelter. For more than a year, thousands of people fled to the walls of the city. There was little food for the poor or for the refugees. When the armies of my Master finally came to the walls of the city, disease and desertions had already defeated the defenders.

You would think that a conquering army would be harsh. You would think there would be rape and looting, fires that burned for days while wholesale slaughter rained blood in the streets. But my Master’s grandfather had ended those practices.

When surrender had been secured, the people left in the city were asked to leave for a period of three days. The armies of my Master spent those days counting, cataloging and securing for transport everything of value. They did not take slaves per se. They indentured people of talent to be sure. I was taken from my family because I had taught myself to read. I had a long life of usefulness ahead of me. I was given to a family loyal to my Master. In fact, I was adopted into that family and taught to serve the empire. They cared not that I worshipped the One God. I was expected to be loyal to the empire. All religions were held to that standard. I was treated well. I was educated. I was given a station in life equal to my talents. I was not doomed to poverty simply because I was not born to the aristocracy. I earned a place of respect and honour in the empire. The Golden Family listens to my advice. Even when they are deep in their cups full of fermented mare’s milk, I am heeded. Me. A peasant. A nobody. I will not forget that. Nor should you.

Now, I know you must have questions. You must be swift with them. I have not much time. My task complete, I will go back and do my Master’s bidding."

“Why do you come to me? Where do you come from? I do not know who you are? Do you represent something inside myself? Do you somehow draw on things I saw on TV or read in a book? You are precious to me. I live for these moments. But... I don’t know how something so sophisticated comes from me?”

Rabban Bar Sawma smiled kindly at Copper. He placed a hand on her forehead, like a father would to a young child. And he was gone.