Dawn was rising as the king awoke in the bedchamber. Rays of sunlight pierced through the cold air in the room, and a golden shadow was cast onto the ceiling.
Where a faded map of hell had been painted long ago, a group of angels was elaborately portrayed. The king got up with a yawn and, in a careful manner as to avoid injuring his back, he rose up from his bed and slid his feet into the velveteen slippers that were neatly placed for him by a servant. The door to the bedchamber opened with a screech. Around ten servants wearing identical red tights and linen tunics entered in succession, ready to wash and dress the king.
A dove flew by and sat quietly on an olive branch outside the window.
“What a perfect morning! Everything is good, good as it should be,” King Heimon exclaimed as he descended down the Grand Staircase with a sense of euphoria.
The stairs led to the Hall of Torches, a cavernous room situated on the lowest floor of the castle. With no windows, the room was illuminated by only two rows of torches that seemed to stretch endlessly under the curved ceiling. The flames danced frantically to the sound of nervous footsteps made by the attendants and advisors, who had already been waiting to start their discussion with the king.
As usual, the king sat at his throne and started going through the scrolls of official records brought forth by his advisors. Carefully checking for words or events that might spread negative ideas among the citizens, he placed the scrolls that were in violation to the Divine Law in one pile, and scrolls that were harmless in another. Any scroll that contained blasphemy was to be burned and erased from history. Scrolls that would inspire the goodness in people were stored in the Royal Library, and would be read at the annual Grand Gathering. A particular scroll caught the king’s attention. He was not concerned about the use of the word “murder” in the scroll, but the mention of a
mysterious book stirred suspicion in his mind. Near the end of scroll was written:
During the month of the late moon, Edvard Gondflier, a peasant of the North Suscraw Farm, was arrested and turned in to the prison officer for causing the death of another citizen. The body has not been found, but a mysterious book was discovered in the murderer’s basement, as well as blood.
Accountably concerned, the king motioned his closest advisor forward and said, “I have not been notified of this incident which, from my perspective, is quite a serious matter. Are you aware of this event?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Dracomon answered with a look of embarrassment. It had been years since any crime of this magnitude had been committed since the introduction of the GoodMachine. “The murderer was found and imprisoned around two moons ago. A search had been conducted at his house, which was supervised by myself.”
“And nothing suspicious was found?”
“Yes, my Lord. Nothing that you need to be concerned for... except... There was a book filled with silly sayings,” the advisor appeared puzzled at first but a reassuring smile spread across his face as he explained, “But I wouldn’t bother too much about it. It was probably written by someone who had too much time on their hands and let his imagination go astray.”
Unconvinced by the advisor’s words, the king became more worried about what was written in the book. He knew that there was more than one copy of the Seven Deadly Sins out there. As far as anyone remembered of it, what was written inside was too terrible to ever be read, much less enacted. Perhaps the murder had been committed over the possession of the book, the king wondered. Still, such an ominous sign could not be ignored. Greatly troubled, the king dismissed the advisor and called the attendants to put the scrolls away.
Thinking about the welfare of his kingdom, the king was reminded of the machine and his meeting with the inventor.
“It is time. Bring the Inventor in and leave us in private,” ordered the king.