Oldo sat calmly behind a giant wooden desk on the bottom floor of the jail in the bay. The room was small; the floor was covered in bleached animal skins, the walls painted light blue. Various items lined shelves that wrapped their way around the entirety of the little room. A small wooden ball sat on the shelf, blue covered the ball except for two splotches of brown, one on either side, one bigger than the other. The name plate on the desk read: superintendent.
Oldo swept over the room with his eyes for the twelfth time. It was exactly as the last time he looked, nothing had changed. Something should have been different; there should have been a man by the name of Gyrd standing before him, reciting the complexity of his latest act of defiance against his homeland. Oldo should be looking at Gyrd’s tattoos, disgusted. He should be thinking about the waste of time and energy that went into giving that man tattoos that had no meaning or shape. He should be doing all of this, but he was not, for Gyrd had not arrived from his task as of yet, and that unsettled Oldo. Time was scarce now; he could not hope to fool the palace for much longer. Soon even they would realize that something was not right. Even they would have realized that trouble was afoot.
Oldo scanned the room for the thirteenth time, paying special attention to the door. The wooden door had not moved for several hours, which was not right. Where was Gyrd? Where was news for him, Oldo? How much longer did he have to pretend to be interested in Gyrd before he dismissed him to take his rightful seat on one of the thrones of Parli? What would the king and queen say when he, Oldo, marched into the palace with all the magic? Would they be frightened? Of course they would be; they would surrender immediately. No blood lost, no lives taken. The perfect take over.
A noise. Oldo shot a look at the door. Just someone passing, not entering. Oldo continued his thoughts on the palace. Would they fight? Would they risk it all just to stop a resurrection of old ways? Yes, that is all it is, a resurrection, nothing more. To go back to the ways of Memoria, to live the life he always dreamt, to live the life of Hulius, to live the immortal life. See the world, dive the seas, it would not matter how long it took or how dangerous, for he would be immortal. But would all the magic grant immortality? Why not? There are no stories saying it wouldn’t.
Oldo closed his eyes to imagine his taking over of the palace. What a delightful sight. He walks in, glowing with power—and magic. The king and queen take one look and know their rule is over. The palace is for Oldo now, all for him. But wait! The palace all to Oldo? Would others get mad? What others, the thousands of statues? They will be statues, they matter not. But just in case, perhaps another palace, a second palace, a smaller palace. No, a better palace, a safer palace. But where? Why it would be right here, of course. Out in the bay, would there be a better, safer spot? No, never, the jail is to be the palace, a better palace. My palace.
Oldo opened his eyes. He could not suppress his grin. His hands shook with excitement under the desk. Forgetting entirely about the door and Gyrd, he got up from the hard wooden chair and paced the small room. In his excitement he banged his hands down on the wooden desk. The small blue and brown ball fell to the ground. Oldo did not notice.