67 The Honourable DJ Part Six – Opposites Distract
It is time to neatly package this beginning and in so doing, I must now introduce to you the messiest aspect of this conundrum, Feudal Tom.
No two men could be as dissimilar as The Honourable DJ and his court jester, Feudal Tom. Where the DJ was dapper, Feudal wore his cut as if recently dragged, backwards through a bush. Where the DJ was refined and deliberate in choice of words, Feudal responded from the cuff – swift, staccato-like responses that hung in the air like errant cinders of renegade fireworks that float their way to earth slim moments after the initial boom.
Reposed;Taut. Lingering; Responsive. But for all the antonyms there was one that was glaring obvious, Feudal Tom was comfortable in his own skin. Much more so than the DJ who lived a life in an unspoken, yet desperate search for self. Feudal knew who he was and where he was going – only two people knew (and shortly you,too) the truth of his identity.
Feudal Tom was The Dowager’s love child, making him The DJ’s half brother - a piece of information to this date, with held from the new Lord. The previous bush analogy of the second paragraph was in hindsight an interesting choice of words as Feudal Tom had been raised by the Head Gardener and his wife Clarice. but upon Clarice’s untimely death, The Dowager in her great kindness, acknowledge throughout, took Feudal in, raising him as her own. Because quite frankly, he was.
Framed with angelic struts of wicked blonde hair, his skin ridiculously tanned with a sheen of bronze, Feudal’s face was in possession of stunning, emerald orbs – eyes that shone depth and intelligence, eyes that took all in – his brother, his mother, their collective quest and their inherent duty. Of anyone, Feudal Tom was knowing and ready to fight their cause.
And what of his skill? What is it he he brings to the battle. Feudal Tom was the eyes and ears of this unit. Expertly trained in the mastery of digital surveillance of any kind, able to tap into any sense. Inspired by the native grasses of his childhood, Feudal had recently developed a system of burr-like, sticky microphones – never to be detected by the wearer, a simple pat or slap on the back, an arm held as if in gallantry and Feudal had his target marked.
Right now via a multi-channel implant embedded in his left ear, he is accessing three conversations. While his right ear is focussed on his brother. Feudal has been listening and he of course knows the source of the DJ's tear. He’s been a silent part of the conversation since the champagne of the Library. He understands the sense of loss and frustration that shrouds his half-brother. Feudal realises the world has caught up with The DJ, hedonistic entitlement will be his no longer. The DJ is to be put to work. And yet, if this fact causes one brother sadness, the other could not be more excited – finally an opportunity for Feudal to prove himself.
And now tonight with the world, on the brink of a disaster, we will fear to fathom, you have meet all those upon whom our fate relies.
Feudal Tom, our master of digital surveillance; The Russian, exceptional linguist and show man; China Plate and her one of a kind, mind; Mystery Pink, creative explosives specialist and covert operations strategist; and, the reluctant Honourable DJ, a man who carries his body weight in emotion baggage, squarely on his shoulders, a man who is totally disconnected from his true capacity.
And now as Feudal, China, Mystery and the DJ laze and recline on squares of Persian cushions strewn in a tumble inside the Bedouin Tent, this inner sanctum is serenaded by The Russian. Turkish Delight and cheeses are offered and glasses filled and filled again, and they giggle and laugh in hushed tones as a joke is shared, coded thickly in mutual hilarity.
It’s Feudal who turns his head, searching the crowd for the particular source of a particular conversation. His attention settles on his mother and the Director General. Listening hard now, his concentration is drawn to the carpeted floor of the tent. What he hears is knowledge and this places him ahead of the game, completely aware that the lives of his friends are about to be forever changed. Feudal watches The Dowager break off her conversation with The Director General who points towards the gaggle on the floor of the Bedazzled Tent. He watches how she walks, forward on her toes, so her heels don’t sink into the lawn, as she asks all if they are enjoying the evening or politely, if they have seen her son.
Halting at the tent flap, she too now realises the enormity of what she is about to do - that her actions are about to draw a clear line between childhood, adult and in some cases, mortality. And as The Dowager enters, she slows, it is impossible not to be taken by the beauty of this group. Not just physical, more so by their pouring of youth – laughter unburdened by responsibility, by sadness. Yes, she is about to draw a line. And she does so by heading first towards Feudal who nods as she lowers herself to kiss his forehead and lose herself momentarily in the depths of his eyes. Her son. And now she turns for the other. And she finds him.
The Dowager and her embroidered silk, settle beside The DJ and she says only one word: