My Father, being a historical Pundit, maintained it was His duty
to preserve the past by naming His only Child after a Female Journalist from
the early 1900’s. I think it was more or less because He wanted yet another
vehicle to steer conversations towards topics that He was well versed in at
parties. He enjoyed the attention of Those who thought Him clever almost as
much as He enjoyed sweets. This is His history.
Horace George Gregory Bly was born in 2163 in the city of New
London VII, at the dawn of the Occupation. As a young Man, He witnessed the
fall of New London VII and joined the C.B.N.L.R. (Coalition to Build a New London
Renaissance), in 2187. His work as a Spokesman for the Cause quickly earned Him
recognition, and He was soon elected as the new police Kapitän and later the
Burgermeister for the Coalition in 2189. After two years under His command, the
Coalition officially took power in the no-man’s land that was the ruins of New
London VII and rebuilt it, making The City of New London VIII in 2192.
He abandoned many of the influences that He and the Coalition
perceived to be “tainting” in Our continent; He rid the Hierarchy of the terms
and titles that had over the years come to be viewed negatively, such as the
title “Burgermeister” and insisted that He be referred to simply as “Mayor”. He
replaced His militant “Sturmabteilung” with peacekeeping, direction giving,
cat-in-tree saving, “Constables,” and went as far as to write a statement to
the People encouraging Them to speak only English:
“We, the Easterners of the Great Continent, must set an example
for Our less fortunate Brethren to the
West, Who still wake in
the morning to find Themselves under the
thumb of a Foreign
Power. By speaking only the language of
Our Fathers past, We
honour those Who lost Their lives to
ensure Our New London
VIII would be a place free of Tyranny,
and give hope to Those
on the other side of the Great Rift.”
Horace was well liked, respected, and even loved by the People.
The Power of voting having been given back to the People by the Coalition, He
continued to win elections by anywhere from seventy to-at one point, in 2206-
ninety-two per cent. The vote, that was originally held every year, was changed
to every seven to accommodate the people’s demand that My Father remain in
office.
My father was kind, generous and odd. He stood just under six
foot, with a red face, completely bald head and eyes that on the rare occasions
He ceased smiling long enough to stop squinting with glee, would have appeared
a bluish-grey. His physique as a whole was rather like an egg. He dressed like
one as well, wearing light tan, or cream suits with brown or pink waistcoats on
nearly all occasions with the exception of funerals and very fancy parties. Physicians
had told Him to be cautious with his weight, and it was generally felt among
the medical Elite of New London VIII that My Father’s heart could stop at any
moment, and there had been a few instances I recall from my childhood that My
father would turn redder than usual, gasp for air, lean on furniture for support,
and perhaps even clutch His breast. Dangerous though it was, My Father refused
to amend His diet or habits. He believed that His appearance added to His likability and made the People feel that they could trust Him.
Odd, Sweet, and Helpless though He may have appeared, Horace Bly
was an incredibly powerful Man. He raised the World’s largest, most beautiful,
and influential city from the ashes and made it larger, more beautiful and more
influential still. He owned the hearts and minds of four million of His own
people and inspired hope in the lives of Millions more. At eight years old, I
asked My Father why He wasn’t a King.
“You could be,” I said “and They would let You.”
“That I could, My Dear.” He told Me, “And I dare say not a Soul
would complain. I could carry on in comfortable monarchy till I croaked if I
wanted, but You see, the key authority is that You never use all of it. If You
do, You have none left.”
I didn’t understand the full meaning of these words until His
death a year-and-a-half later, when even in the grave, His power held true. His
death caused great grief, but no collapse. The People were faithful to His
memory and elected the Head Constable, a Man named Percival Sawyer, as Mayor.
Sawyer was quiet, firm, and fair. He had all of the principles and priorities
of His Predecessor, but lacked His jovial attitude. Different men though they
were, I couldn’t help but feel that it was not Sawyer, but rather the ghost of
Horace Bly that had been elected.
I doubt His Murderer expected such rigid conformity to the
memory of Horace upon His death. No doubt They expected a great, uncontrollable
void of power to swallow the city like a black hole.
Detailed here is My search for the Individual Who killed Him and
the Organization (if any), that ordered such. My recent employment at “THE NEW LONDON CONFIDENCE”, the most
reputable news authority in the city, has provided Me with the resource to
pursue My investigation into the death of Horace George Gregory Bly.
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