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It is, when time is of essence, that fear proliferates to invade the unheeded courage in a person. One will react in haste to have a gasp of, what we all unnoticeably take for granted; oxygen to live for the sprout of a new and courageous soul. But is this always a foregone conclusion? Can the inevitable be argued against?

As it remains fearfully unknown, to this day, the last name of the man who had restored the monarchy back to it’s ‘golden age of imperial splendour.’ Nathaniel, an ostentatiously sophisticated gentleman. Tall, pointed nose, golden-brown hair, and an undeniable beauty. Quite an immaculate gentleman, it was without any doubt that he was Italian. He never lacked in vitality; on the contrary, he never had high levels of expressiveness. Although not a man of many words, he would surely be the one to give away and expose anything (be it a spider) to be imperil in the monarchy. He was the king’s most trusted sleuth. With that being said, he too had learnt from none other than the renowned: Jack Hidrat, actually known as RavEagle. A name given to him by His Royal Majesty, for poignantly portraying; an excellent use for vision, unapologetic confidence, and concentration of high instinctiveness. These being the characteristics of both a raven and an eagle, to be blunt; this man was a force to be reckoned with. His ‘death’ was rather unexpectedly peculiar.

Imitation involves a sophisticated cognitive process; however, sleuthing can never be imitated.” These words he expressed so clamorously, he never really said much either, but his aura denoted it. Hidrat, being His Majesty’s only and trusted spy, was assuredly put in command over, not only what made way into and took flight from the kingdom, but the Royal mansion too. This tall, well-built, handsome, and recklessly smart gentleman could solve mysteries arising from an insultingly high degree of unnoticeable residing. Mysteries as small the size of a needle’s hole, a perceived odour of something, a glimmer, a flick, or a taste could lead to an unwrapping of a possible conspiracy, before it was to be conspired by an adversary of any shape, or form.

10th Oct, the pale crescent moon had shone like a silvery claw in the night sky. An exquisite night for a ball. The Royal ball occasionally proved to be the mother of all balls. This was a time given for the prestigious to rub shoulders with one another. It was a huge baronial lot of a mansion set looming behind an embellishing garden. It was furtive, yet so openly inviting. What seemingly looked like a marble staircase illustrated a separation for the outrageous receiving suites. Fancy ball gowns, accompanied with the finest jewellery and silver-shining tiaras, accentuated the mansion’s esteemed beauty. He looked towards her direction, but her ornamental sight was confused by the shining of many red and green wine glasses. She was exquisite! Even Her Royal Majesty, Emeraldia; being the society’s annual finest, and her usual stunning entourage were there, yet none could compare with Chandelier. She was regarded as one of the country’s most astounding beauties. Suntanned skin, dark narrow eyebrows, and blushed high cheeks. Almost every gentleman flashed a coup d’oeil in her direction, but none dared to approach. The chandeliers, in awe, seemed to curtsy in perplexing acknowledgement. The chandeliers were effortlessly covered with differently coloured crystals and had the most inviting ballroom appeal; her dress was no different, the sparkling tiers made it look like she was intentionally living up to her name.

RavEagle, the guest of honour, was mesmerised. Alongside the precious pearl was one of His Royal Majesty’s faithful squire, who to Rav… had abruptly appeared, disturbing his enchanted ever after scenery. They were heading towards his direction. His heart pounded as though being hammered by a power hammer. His blushed and, fairly, strong cheekbones were, suddenly, becoming too bright (taking into consideration that he was needed undistracted. As a huge matter of fact, it was highly unprofessional for a Royal sleuth.) “Pull yourself together,now, would you!” The squire surreptitiously called out, saving both the Royal society and Jack from an awful embarrassment. As expected from a squire; he had brought (or should I say, had accompanied) him a message, from his Majesty, who had not yet made an appearance. It was Jack who introduced being fashionably ‘late’ to His Majesty. “Are you certain about this, young man?”, He had asked a decade ago. But Jack knew that annual balls meant one thing for the king; assassination opportunity. Every annual arriving hour, minute and second was different. Jack was very outstanding in services, but in the utmost discretion. He never attended any award ceremonies; “I do not want to be acknowledged in materialistic accolades, to be quite blunt with you, your Royal Majesty! I do not want to place your life in jeopardy.”

This time around, the king put his ‘lateness’ into good use. He brought to him an early Christmas gift: The message. It would, certainly and most completely, turn his world upside down. But, the king, much knowingly went ahead with it, he was the king, after all. Jack was stealthy and much like a raven; loved his own space. The squire delivered the message, with the corners of his mouth widely turned up. “Well, I’ll be bloody damned!” Jack exclaimed and pulled his hand out, in salutation. For once, Jack sought to give the king a well-deserved standing ovation. The old man, as he had secretly addressed him, had played his cards very smartly. Knowing him, the squire thought he would have revolted. But he never really comprehended the king’s relationship with Jack, nobody ever did, not even the queen. He was like a son to him and for him the father he never had. He was not the type to speak about his up-bringing, but one could see the chill he got to the spine, whenever the Royals’ questioned him about his family. But the most to raise a red flag, was a question about his father. A confrere was brought in, to be of ‘assistance’ to him. The Chandelier was to be the one to do him the honour. Her radiant rays of beauty warmed the entire room, how could (only he) be immune to them?

Nate!” Jack called out to Nathaniel. His Royal Majesty had just grandly arrived. Whatever Jack wanted to discuss with Nathaniel needed to be done at tremendous speed. Jack was expected to be present for a discussion regarding the sudden partnership, between himself and the beautiful Chandelier. The squire had confirmed it. It was not everyday that anyone had had the privilege of being the RavE eagles squire, let alone his aide-de-camp. Not being anyone, Nathanial was the best man for the job. This time around Jack personally presented to him the honour. There was a special aura about him. The chap was a rare jewel.

They met in a coffee shop, down street. Jack had never heard somebody stand up for their free coffee like he had done. Wednesday was free coffee day, although he never drank coffee, he always found himself ready to study the lives of coffee drinking chumps. And, because it was a place he had liked as a younger boy. The show that Nathanial put on that day, gave him a flash back to his childhood. The authority with which he demanded his coffee was admirable. As he approached, in response to the call, instant revulsion arose at a darted glance towards the Chandelier. “I would like for you to meet my newly assigned confrere.” Jack said. “Madam, meet my trusted friend Nathanial.” He never did call him Nate, he preferred Chap, it was all an act to keep their professional relationship most secret.

I beg your pardon?” Nathaniel exclaimed, with an expression Jack had never come to see before. At first, he thought it was anxiety, it was his aide-de-camp’s first ball after all, but his sleuth gut confirmed otherwise. Quite frequently it was never wrong. The trance he had been in, Jack could see right through. He could see well enough to know that someone could have had a hand in the evoked emotion. Due to the respect he has for His Majesty’s time, he opted to inquire about it later. “Ah, where was I?... yes, this is Miss Cha…” interrupted by Nathanial, “… ndelier Mondre.” He took her hand to kiss it. “I am glad to have your acquaintance.” It was no secret that she was prominent for her beauty, but he knew more than just that. In fact, both knew two sides to it. Jack’s suspicions had been correct; her presence had turned him sour. The chap excused himself. The Raven/Eagle, not being in his desire to be of misdemeanor sought to attend to him later.

The next day, before dawn break, Jack had hurried to the chap’s room. Knocking was foreign to him. Besides, which sleuth has ever needed a key to unlock a door, more especially before the break of dawn? “For a spy, you sure are one sick bloody fool!” Nathanial shouted and made his way to the bathroom. “Watch your tone, chap.” He understood why he was blazing with wrath. “You think you know everything, chap? Well you know bloody nothing.” Nathanial knew that Chandelier was Lenovo’s most trusted spy. He was irritated by Jack’s agreement to the charade. He stood there, expecting Jack to explain further, but he did not. Lenovo was a monarchy, west of their monarchy. Not much information needs to be known about this society of people other than; they have been powerful. Why? Nobody knows. One of the reasons why Jack was hired. Chandelier was a demon from hell. From a single letter feel, she would deduce the currency of the place, who has sent it, even before she opened it. The speed of horses would give her a clear indication of urgency and if whether, or not, they were of war. She was not only a chandelier of beauty but gave light to every hidden secrecy. She fell at her knees when she went against the Boulevard monarchy, Jack’s territory. She was outsmarted by this undeniably handsome Italian gentleman. What the chap had not known was that the two shared a remarkable history. Nobody was bound to find out; a lot was at stake.

It was bound to happen.” Nathanial said in console to Jack. A few months after Chandelier had been assigned to a reunion with her love, her ornamental body was found murdered in her cottage. That is what Jack told everybody. Nobody had seen her corpse. Nathanial, as shocked as he was, cared less. Shortly after, Jack committed suicide. A note was left for the chap. For some peculiar reason he knew that there was no such, he could read between the encryptions of the suicidal note. He was in great dismay.

Jack had left behind skills of stealth, agility, and sapience for his friend (as written in the note) but one significant of them all: a citation. The one thing Jack sang off. The chap never understood it. Lenovo, exulting over the ‘fall’ of the mighty RavEagle, made way to the monarchy. Nathanial needed something to defuse the threat permanently. His world was cold, and heart left heavy. He was vulnerable. Death had come faster than a flash of lightning. Seeing that the ‘golden age of imperial splendour’ was about to fall, he contemplated Jack's citation. In Jack’s honour, he turned the cited into action.

Sleuths barely believe in miracles, but in that moment, the chad did. In doing what Jack loved to say, an intricate breakthrough for the monarchy was found. There it was in an old yellow coloured enormous paper, hidden under the only two conjoined tables in the kingdom. In a very mendacious grin, he repeated Jack’s famous, finally understood, words: “How the tables have turned.”


Nolwazi Nkosi is a young lady, pursuing a career in the faculty of health sciences.  Always misunderstood she turned to writing; or what she now calls 'Kudeta ' to express her 'weirdly' unique personalities.  It has unapologetically become her new best friend. Over the years, she has been focused on portraying a part of her life through her characters.  In being a motivational speaker, she has discovered that people learn and relate better through testimony.  She continues to use the power of a pen and paper to prove that anything is possible. 


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