Hutch chuckled. "Fair enough considering to everyone in there, I'm seventeen, and most aren't yet aware I'm the butler. Especially not any tabloid reporter that might be lurking about. At best, my dance with your mother is back page news. I only brought this up, because I wanted to be certain that you were aware, that our interactions haven't gone unnoticed," he remarked as the elevator doors opened, and he followed Clara inside.
"I am, but if you aren't okay with what might be said about you, I'd understand if you didn't want to stay up there with me," she said, opening the door on the operation panel, to reveal a keypad, and an unlabeled button beneath. "If anyone asks, you can just tell them dad told you to escort me safely." Typing in a code, the button beneath illuminated, and she pressed it, effectively commandeering it up to penthouse floor.
"I'm not concerned for myself," he told her, once the doors had closed. "I've lived long enough to know better than to be bothered, over what women like them might have to say about me. Cas knows well enough that whatever rumor might reach his ear has no weight."
"Obviously. He should know better than anyone how dedicated you are to your wife. How long have you been away from her, now?"
"I've stopped counting days. I've been back since November 10th. Sometimes, I can still hear her calling my name just before I fall to sleep at night. Hers was the last face I saw. Her hand reaching out," he explained, lifting his arm, mimicking his memory. Closing his hand, he lowered his arm back to his side. "I could still hear her voice through the myrrget as it swallowed me up."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"
"It's alright," Hutch replied, offering her a pleasant smile. "I welcome every memory of her, even the difficult ones. And I did mean what I said, you are welcome to ask me anything you want, and if it's inappropriate, I'll let you know."
"Okay," she responded, drawing silent as the door opened. "I do have something I've been meaning to ask you."
"Then ask away," he said as they stepped off the elevator.
"Patience, Hutch. My feet have tolerated these heels for far too long."
"I'll get the lights."
"Don't bother," she replied, kicking of her shoes. "We're here to watch the fireworks; remember. Turning them on now, means turning them off later."
"Fine, have it your way. Stumble around in your poorly lit penthouse. If you stub your toe though, I don't want to hear any complaints," he responded, as he headed further into the living room. "Which direction will we be seeing them from?"
"North. Watching from the deck will be the best view, but the dining room will be second if you don't want to go outside. Until then," she explained, as she followed behind him, "it's all about the comfort of this couch."
Moving past Hutch, she laid down and stretched herself out, resting her head on the pillowy armrest. Grabbing the blanket from the corner section, Hutch unfurled it, and draped it over Clara.
"Just don't go falling asleep on me," he remarked, as he carefully removed his tuxedo jacket, and set it over the back of the couch, before sitting down near her feet. "So then, what was it you wanted to ask me?"
"It's about a part of your story," she replied, her tone turning somber, as she looked towards him, "my dad could or would, never tell me. Why did you go after him the way you did? I mean, it makes even less sense to me now that I've seen the way the two of you interact. It's obvious that you are friends, or at least you're capable of getting along with each other. So, I'd like to know why, from you."
"Well, you certainly do know how to ask the tough questions," he said, glancing over at her. Standing from the couch, he went into the kitchen. "Can I get you anything?"
"No, thanks. I'm good for now," she replied, as he pulled a glass down from the shelf next to the fridge.
Carrying the glass, he moved to the liquor cabinet, and after a brief search, found a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a double.
"Already forgot you're seventeen?"
Hutch stopped for a moment, looking down into the glass. "Are you suggesting that I should drink more or less?"
Clara giggled. "Less obviously."
"If it was obvious, I wouldn't have asked," he remarked, putting the lid back on the bottle, before returning it to its place in the cabinet. Picking up his glass, he made his way back to the couch and sat down. "As to your question, as strange as this is going to sound, the man your father is now, is not the same man he was when he was King. Salvador was a monster. Casimir is the echo of my mentor, trainer, and best friend; the great strategist, Cascel. To me, it's like Salvador is someone else entirely, and I swear to you, he was someone who needed to be stopped."
"But why? What did he do that was so wrong?" she questioned, as he took a sip of his drink.
"It started when he usurped the throne, fifty or sixty, years before I arrived. My tribe told me the stories of the massacres that followed. Entire tribes would vanish overnight. Temples and villages were burned to the ground. He enacted new laws. Bolstered his military defenses, built outposts, and oppressed the Sajomei's very way of life. He demanded they grow certain crops and gave them quotas they had to meet and deliver to the storehouses of Qor'ropi. He outlawed certain religions. Banned cultural practices, and punishments for even minor infractions, were considered severe. He brought down half a mountain to close the only pass between Qur'loam and Cheph, which utterly devastated and crippled that country. The Sajomei tribes that remained after the initial takeover, were the ones that adapted and followed his laws, but that feeling of oppression and outrage, never left them. They always feared that one day Salvador would come back and take even more. And those of Cheph, seemed to hate him even more.
"The part that stuck with me the most, was the way that every bad thing to happen, was somehow Salvador's fault. When the draughts came, Salvador would send his men to help water the fields, but he was the one holding back the rains, so his men could be there to spy, and they'd have to ration their food to help feed them. When the rains wouldn't stop, he was trying to drown them, even when he'd send his men to bag dirt to hold back the floods and save their villages. Yet, that, was to indebt them further, or to give the soldiers time to steal, spy, or force them from their lands.
"When the river that flowed south, was dammed, the reservoir that formed, destroyed two villages along its banks and Salvador was labeled, 'Omshon Kret Nhayur,' which loosely translates into 'devourer of souls.' It was proof, that to them, he was the most horrifying monster in the world. They believed he'd drowned the villagers along with their homes. Downstream, the river's current changed, making it easier to fish, but the banks were now further away. And they hated him even more for disrupting the natural way of the land and waters, believing only a god could ever be so bold.
"By the time I arrived, the damage had been done. The Moahaba, feared him. Speaking his name was treated like a curse. Say it too many times and a yawcancha, a creature akin to a demon, would come in the night to possess you and make bad things happen. Many claimed he, himself, was either a yawcancha, or possessed by one, as he never allowed anyone to see his face, and refused to speak directly to anyone. This earned him the moniker of the faceless king. And if all of that wasn't bad enough, it was known that he was a member of the Shikkashii. He had no right to be a king without a queen, and they despised him for refusing to take one. With no queen, there would be no heir. He refused to take a patron god. He set no effigy at the entrance of the city. He wore the colors of the damned and gave children nightmares by glancing at the setting sun. It was even rumored that he ate the souls of those who displeased him.
"Like I said, he is not like your father at all."
Clara sat up, her face a wash with horror, tears hanging in the corners of her eyes, faintly shinning in the dim light of the room.
"That's because it's not him. Everything you just said, he's never denied any of it. He's told me all of that and more. But there were reasons behind it all. Just because the tribes didn't understand that they twisted the truth and made him a monster. But you worked for him, you had to have seen the truth, right?"
Hutch shot back the whiskey and set his glass down onto the coffee table.
"I didn't. And on somethings, I still don't. Cas never offered an explanation to me for anything he did as Salvador, and we haven't had an opportunity to discuss much of it yet. I think we both just wanted to put our conflicts behind us, since I don't know if we'd be on friendly terms otherwise. When I tell you, I was in shock that he didn't want me dead, I'm not exaggerating. As close as we were on Illimev, for a time, there was still a great divide between us."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means, he assumed I knew that he was also human, and truly believed that I knew he was the king. In truth, I was oblivious to both. I believed what I had been told by the Sajomei because I had no way of knowing otherwise. I believed him to be a Sajomei with an affinity for their magic, and there was so much about that world that I didn't understand, so it was easy for me to take what my tribe told me and not see it for anything other than a form of truth. A divide formed between us, because we never spoke about those things. Misunderstandings happened, because he thought I knew, and never explained, and I never even thought to ask."