The Rectodus Society -

Crispin turned from the bricked window. “Take the crooked path, Aldous. It’s longer. It’s harder. But at the end of it, there’s a view.”

“What do I do now?” he whispered.

“The straight line is the shortest path between two points. The shortest path is the most efficient. The most efficient is the most righteous. Therefore, walk straight. Speak straight. Be straight.” the rectodus society

The Rectodus Society did not appear in any history book, nor was its founding charters filed in any public registry. It existed in the negative space of the world, a secret brotherhood of men who had chosen to live without deviation. Their creed was simple, carved into the marble mantelpiece of their sole meeting place—a windowless room behind a fake wall in a decommissioned clock tower in Prague:

Crispin looked at the circular door, which had not been opened in living memory. Then he looked at the straight, righteous rectangle. And for the first time in his life, he did something irrational. He laughed. Crispin turned from the bricked window

And if you asked what happened to Aldous Vane, they would only smile—a genuine, inefficient, asymmetrical smile—and point to a footpath that led out of Prague, a path that did not go straight to any destination, but instead wandered lazily beside the river, under the chestnut trees, toward a horizon that was not a point, but a promise.

It was a small, choked sound, like a mouse sneezing. But in the Rectodus Society, a laugh was a seismic event. It was jagged. It was asymmetrical. It was beautiful. It’s harder

“I choose the wall,” he said.