There are plenty of conspiracy theories about. Ideas about how power really works and who holds it behind the curtains. They don’t know so they have to guess. They get so close sometimes and at others they are hilariously wrong. They don’t have the perspective to see the world as it is. They are ants trying to appreciate the world as an eagle above might see it. There too many obstructions, too much just out of sight. They could never appreciate the scale of the truth. I find it hard to fathom myself, and its my job to keep track of this stuff. It is my job to keep humanity in check.
The year is 1120 and it seems that many of the ideas we have taken for granted are finally spreading across the borders. The publication of Liber Abaci by Leonardo Pisa has certainly had an effect on the mathematical theory at large. Shame, exclusive knowledge of such kept us ahead of the curve. As important as what we know are the things that no one else does. With each secret there is a power for the bearer. We hold many secrets and much power. It must not be known, nor can we be known for anonymity is our greatest strength.
In these times a magician can be made by his mechanics. The consequences of an idea beyond general comprehension is deemed magic by the masses. They fear and fixate over the power wielded by our servants. We create their celebrity and in return they reinforce our grip upon the reigns of power. We give them creations of guile beyond their understanding to make them gods before their followers at the price of their contribution to individual freedom. We chose who lives and who dies. This applies equally to followers who must know their place in the scheme of the world. There are plans for humanity, our followers know this. Their followers do not.
I have a power over the followers which I find glorious. I love to taunt the feeble minded posers who take the credit for my work. They are the product of my designs. They are the public face of my work. I must be a shadow: observant and anonymous. I must be humble in my work for pride is loud and draws attention. Power is subtle and must be wielded with caution and care. I have my masters and must mould my work to their needs. The agenda of the collective must be furthered foremost and then individual gain can be considered.
The movement I am a member of is organised and lead by rank. My rank at present is mediocre, I inherited my fathers position of handler as he was promoted to do work he was forbidden to talk about.
I love what we have done to the followers; they live in fear of our rage knowing that at any minute we could destroy them. They always look so pitiful when I visit them. I’ve sent more than one mad with paranoia. There will be more. My ‘superiors’ call it reckless. I’ve been told to often that my actions risk the secrecy of our organisation. I don’t care. Toying with the weak is the most fun I have in a dull life. If a couple go missing then only their fans care. They mean nothing, there will always be more.
They have their churches and temples of worship, where the commoners come to pay homage to the master magicians and stare in awe as they conjure fire and water from nothing with our contraptions. I often set their equipment to fail, scalding or stabbing them as their magic backfires. They bleed their regret for pissing me off in whatever way. Feeble. They collect the donations of the commoners and we take the lion’s share. We dress them like kings and far too often they forget they’re not. They maybe worshiped by the dirty horde but they will forever be the bugs beneath my boot. If they buzz with too much indignation I put my foot down and crush them.
They are the actors in my play and if I say die they must. They are a reminder that the magic the commoners worship is dangerous. Their glory is brief, their fame flawed but they have better lives in that time than in all that went before. They should be grateful. I create and maintain the mechanisms that are the source of their status. Without me they are just false idols in daft costumes. I write their speeches, they are my voice. I am a puppet though. Under command of people I might never know nor even know by name or title. I do what they tell me to do. The pattern radiates and ripples outwards.
My work is not satisfactory they tell me. I hurt too many puppets. When they die on stage in front of the commoners the faith is questioned. How could the voice of the gods die while preaching their words? Simple I say, they were unfaithful, they did not practice as they preached and were struck down as an example to others of the power of the gods.
This answer is never acceptable however well I put it. My bloodied hands may be bound in chains for my crimes against the cult or maybe I will feel the cold sting of an assassins blade. I might be silenced by the cold killers who only fear the open death of the puppets who earn their money. The coins fall from the hands of the faithful in a flood of daily gold. Must I be bound to such a system? The puppets preach the words of the gods when their masters believe only in the power of wealth. They have bought up all the villas of the world, furnished with the finest goods and served by slaves of the faith in which they have none. The hypocrisy of my masters grates at my dedication to the cause. For all my power I am just another cog in the machine that rolls on regardless of purpose. My own faith in purpose is being tested and I’m not sure that I can honestly say it will remain.
Were it to fail what could I do? There is no way to leave the organisation and too few places to go if I could. The reign of the religion spans most of the known world and is always expanding. If I left I would be their powerless prey, my only option to hide for the rest of my life. I would never know if a stranger I passed on the road was an agent of the organisation waiting for the right time to kill me. There would be no way back and no knowing how the world might change at the whim of the masters. This consequence is unthinkable. I will remain for now, hiding my doubts behind the brilliance of my work. There is always time to change my plans later. I will not act rashly. Patience is the companion of success.