Torquere’s Outburst
In an underground dwelling, far beneath the city of Limbuss, The Great Torquere was preparing himself for the arrival of a newcomer. He had been informed of this particular newcomer by one of the many millions of Spy Flies that swarmed the city, watching and listening for anything that The Great Torquere might find useful or interesting. Of course, what you or I would consider of interest wasn’t necessarily what The Great Torquere would find of interest. For example, The Great Torquere wouldn’t be even remotely interested in knowing that this particular newcomer could wiggle her ears or that she could hold her breath for more than five minutes. No, The Great Torquere was only interested in one thing; whether she had something that he wanted. We’re not talking about possessions here. He wasn’t interested in her watch or her shoes or the ribbons she wore in her hair. He wasn’t interested in her lips or the smell of her perfume.
In this particular instance, on this particular day it had been brought to his attention that this young woman, this newcomer in Limbuss, had a smile that would ‘light up a room’.
It was the kind of honest and heartfelt smile that radiated pure joy and gladness; the kind of smile that instantly drew people in and made them feel like the most special person in the world.
News of the smile had cheered The Great Torquere up. It was just what he wanted to hear and a great surge of excitement coursed through his veins. He may have been one of the most revered and feared people in Limbuss, but the reality was that in private he was a very sensitive individual.
Truth be told, he cared far too much what people thought of him, particularly if that thought wasn’t a positive one. A compliment, for example, would buoy him for a number of hours. A criticism or an insult, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, would eat away at him for days, weeks, months or even years.
Let’s face it, The Great Torquere wasn’t the happiest or friendliest of individuals. Smiles didn’t come easily to him. They never had.
Born of French nobility, Torquere had been virtually raised by his older brother while his parents travelled the world trying, in vain, to find the stone of the philosophers; a legendary substance with the ability to make people immortal and (more importantly) transform the base metals lead, tin, copper, iron and mercury into gold and silver. Embittered by his perceived abandonment and tortured by his resentful older brother, Torquere made it his purpose in life to succeed where his parents had failed.
The very thought fuelled him. In a small room crowded with beakers and bubbling glass vials he worked night and day, day and night, dreaming wildly of the adulation he would receive; the fame; the fortune. His name would be on everyone’s lips as he bathed in his sea of conjured gold.
One evening, midway through an experiment, a small wisp of white steam escaped from the neck of a flask and instantly transformed into a huge white eagle. Torquere watched, intoxicated, as the bird circled and swooped above him and he relished in the sudden and intense feeling of spiritual and psychological freedom. For the first time in his life he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
Unfortunately for him, this turned out to be more of a premonition for moments later an explosion ripped through his laboratory, ripping off half of his head and face in the process.
To add to his woes, upon seeing the remnants of his experiments amid the rubble, his neighbours reported him to the local clergy who decided that he was in fact a devil worshiping sorcerer. Accused of working hand in hand with the devil to meet his own evil ends, Torquere was tortured on the Catherine Wheel – a large wooden wheel to which he was attached and beaten. Death came slowly. And painfully. Despite his horrific injury. And only then from dehydration.
Needless to say, The Great Torquere had reason to feel as though no one liked him.
Oh, to have a smile like the newcomer's would be a wonderful addition to his ever growing collection of personal traits (albeit pre-loved). He would keep this particular trait in a little box in his bag and carry it with him everywhere. And in case you're wondering why another person's smile would end up being carted around in someone's bag like a cheap bottle of perfume, then allow me to explain.
Unable to rally the people of Limbuss and unwilling to even try, The Great Torquere spent all of his days doing two things: being paranoid about what people thought of him and secondly, attempting to create the perfect personality to counter anything anyone
did
think of him.
In his quest to do so, and with the help of his loyal Dog Beasts, The Great Torquere kidnapped newcomers to the city and stripped them of their personality traits. Only those who had the ‘powers’ he desired: the power to laugh; the power to cry and be moved by others; the power to make people warm to him; the power to speak emotionally and with conviction; the power to love and be loved; the power to trust ...
The list was endless.
It had been several hours since the Spy Fly informed The Great Torquere of the smiley girl’s existence and finally the door opened and a young woman was thrust before him. The girl, pale with fear, had long dark wavy hair and wore a long peach-coloured nylon and lace nightgown.
Filled with the heady excitement of a child on Christmas morning, Torquere leant forward holding a giant magnifying glass over his one good eye. Shadows cast by the lamps flickered on the walls. The young woman, overwhelmed by the giant eye suddenly looming in towards her, pulled away, a sob escaping her mouth.
For a moment The Great Torquere was confused. Had there been some mistake? He pulled the magnifying glass away from his eye and regarded the young woman momentarily. In the quiet seconds that followed, the young woman’s fear evaporated. A smile slowly appeared on her face. It was the kind of smile that seemed to reach out and place its hand on the heart of anyone who saw it.
It was a smile that would bring light to the darkest of hearts; a smile more powerful than any of the weapons in Torquere’s armoury for it was a smile that could disarm the enemy in a heartbeat.
The girl spoke: "Please don't hurt me. I'll give you anything you want, anything. I know people who can give you money; weapons; whatever it is you need." She fell to her knees, "just please, don't hurt me."
But Torquere wasn't listening. His cheeks burned crimson with excitement. He wanted that smile! And in a dark corner of his great underground warren, hidden away from prying eyes, was his pride and joy – a great machine that enabled him to extract and store any aspect of a person’s personality.
He clicked his fingers and two of the Dog Beasts which had brought the young woman to Torquere stepped forward. Both bowed, their ears flat and their steel tails between their legs.
"The Avellotractus Machine! Now."
The dogs nodded and growled then turned to the young woman whose smile had once more been replaced with an expression of terror.
"Please," she begged. "You can take anything. I have a ring. It was my mother’s. It’s worth something."
"It’s okay," said The Great Torquere bending down sympathetically. "It won’t hurt. A little scratch maybe, but no blood. At least I don’t think so."
The young woman screamed as the Dog Beasts dragged her into an adjoining room.
Whilst the machine extracted the smile from the young woman's face, Torquere remained in his laboratory. It was filled to overflowing with all manner of flagons, jars, gauges, whirring mechanisms, cogs and sat within a large maze of mirrors, so vast and complicated that only a handful of trusted confidantes knew how to find their way through it without getting lost or going crazy. A large wooden bench sat in the centre of the room, flickering in the candlelight. The stench of sulphur permeated the air. At one end of the bench were old dusty books, hundreds of them all piled up in a higgledy piggledy fashion. At the other end was a large glass box containing two dice. In the centre of the table was a wooden chopping board with a Spy Fly stuck to it.
"Right, back to business," he said. "We have three minutes and then my smile will be ready. Until then, it’s just you and me."
Torquere leant forward, holding the magnifying glass over his one good eye which suddenly looked huge.
"You have a secret; I can smell it," he hissed. "Tell me what it is or I’ll rip your legs off. One. By. One."
The Spy Fly said nothing. He didn't care either way if Torquere ripped his legs off or not. He wasn't a
real
fly. No, these had all been wiped out when the Great Torquere arrived in the stinking industrial city. With his super sensitive hearing, he simply couldn’t bear the sound of their wings flapping (like fingers down a chalkboard to you and I) and so he’d ordered their round up and capture and subsequent transformation into silent mechanical Spy Flies; semi-sentient servants which quickly became the eyes and ears of Limbuss reporting back to The Great Torquere on anything they deemed unusual or out of the ordinary.
Together with the Dog Beasts, there was pretty much nowhere in Limbuss that was sacred and most people dared not speak of Torquere for fear of being rounded up and sent to his notorious dungeons. Unlike the Dog Beasts which were inherently evil, the Spy Flies were simply victims of their fate. They had no choice but to return to the Great Torquere’s underground dwelling and report back – for unless they consumed a special elixir concocted and kept solely in Torquere’s abode, the creatures would simply not survive. Every day, hundreds of thousands of flies, gnats, mosquitoes and midges would swarm back to The Great Torquere’s great underground dwelling where those with anything to report would do so.
Of course, not every Spy Fly had something to report – most people knew not to speak ill of their great and compassionate leader, but occasionally there was cause to speak out. Most Spy Flies were happy enough to do this as it usually resulted in a reward of sorts but equally there were those that either couldn’t be bothered or simply didn’t want to report something for one reason or another and this is where The Great Torquere’s olfactory genius came into play for he could sniff out fear in even the most miniature of flies; the kind of fear that comes with retaining information. His nose was like the olfactory version of a polygraph. No Spy Fly had ever fooled The Great Torquere. He was just too clever.
The fly undergoing Torquere’s scrutiny this particular evening was a fly that had emitted a scent which Torquere had picked up instantly. It was the heady scent of a secret.
"You flies have no respect," he hissed. "Without me you’d be nothing but an excrement-shovelling pest. I took you in and gave you a purpose. I give you food. Water. And this is how you repay me."
"I have no secrets."
"You’re calling me a liar? The Great Torquere has no need to lie. You think I’m weak? You think I’m foolish? Huh, huh? I can
smell
your secret."
The fly looked tired. Resigned. It closed its eyes, its mouth firmly closed.
Anger bubbled up inside of The Great Torquere and without hesitation his fist came down on the fly in a flash.
"Damn thing! Damn that fly!"
"You worry too much about what those flies think. They’re vermin."
The voice belonged to Ferocimus the Inquisitor; commander of the Dog Beasts and second in command to the Great Torquere. Torquere jumped back and stared at Ferocimus. It was clear that there was an uneasy truce between the two.
Ferocimus bowed slowly then walked deliberately towards Torquere.
"You think I don’t know that," hissed Torquere.
Torquere took a deep breath, then stretched his back until it clicked. "The Fly, he knew something. How
dare
he keep secrets from The Great Torquere." Torquere stopped and held out his hand to Ferocimus. On the palm of Torquere’s hand were the remnants of the insubordinate Spy Fly.
"Get rid of it."
Ferocimus’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly but despite his obvious revulsion he bowed his head slightly before gently licking the Fly off Torquere’s hand. It took a few seconds for the bitterness of the insect’s cadaver to diminish from the dog beast’s expression.
"I come with interesting news," he said, followed by a low growl.
Torquere studied Ferocimus as a judge might study a felon. "Interesting? Or bad?"
"That depends."
"GOOD OR BAD?" screamed Torquere. "GOOD OR BAD. It’s not difficult! It either is or it isn’t."
Ferocimus bowed his head even lower, his eyes shifting rapidly from left to right. "Bad," he said.
Torquere sat down. Defeated. Exhausted. And almost slightly relieved, although he most certainly would never admit this to the Dog Beast (or anyone for that matter).
"She’s disappeared hasn’t she? She’s gone."
"Not entirely sir."
"She has or she hasn’t ..."
"We were unable to reach her at the freak show. She’d already gone. BUT we have one of her friends ... a girl by the name of Mary. Maybe she has something to tell us."
Ferocimus went on to tell The Great Torquere that he and his minions had searched the whole of Avaricia. "Even under the rocks," he explicated. "We didn't find the girl you're looking for but we found posters of her. It seems she was the star attraction; a veritable celebrity in Avaricia. And she has quite a peculiar talent, your excellence."