“Poor old Pole.” I echo half-heartedly. Pole is eagerly cataloguing the contents of the boxes. It’s as animated as I have ever seen the man. “Why is he poor old Pole? He seems quite the model of one of your Agent types.”
“That he is.” He eats open mouthed. I am not squeamish, but his eating habits and the fugue of tobacco and menthol that surrounds him. has already driven Ariadne to an alternative vantage point atop the vehicle’s turret. “I hear we’re re-establishing the local Protectorate. Be good to stop your lot having free rein round here. Lance this zit once and for all and that bad old Rhine traffic will be cut off. Less pressure on the military down in Italy, and civilisation takes a big old bite out of the dump-lands.” He casts me a sideways glance. “No issues?”
“None. I am all in favour of human rights. And I have a lot of work to do to whip the local Vampires into line before they can be trusted with that.”
“That you do.” He chuckles. “Haven’t met a Master before, not that I know of. Can see why you lot were worth looking for. Might even be able to help out with a little problem we have.”
“That?” I ask, pointing upwards.
“That, and the bastard who did it.” He hisses through his teeth. “Would love to retire on a yacht somewhere warm without risk of getting iceberged.”
The last boxes are pulled to the surface and we depart for the Union base in the evening twilight. Travelling through the ruins of old Paris as it begins its metamorphosis back into a place of humans and life. I let my mind soar watching lines of MDR troopers and vehicles clearing lanes through the ruins, setting up lights and electrical essence generators. Putting up shelters.
It looks like people are here to stay.
37
An Alliance
When we arrive at the war memorial it is buzzing like an upturned hive, to continue Camelle’s opportune wasp simile. Much reviled creatures, wasps. They have their purpose as do most things, even vampires.
My friend, the Colonel, appears to have vacated his long term abode, helped I hope by gift of Buttons. His shelter has been coopted as a storage depot, and the boxes recovered from the Masters’ library and, sad to say, the records department are being stored and catalogued there under the watchful eye of Mr. Pole.
I should have destroyed my own records. An oversight.
I wonder for a moment what happened to the Colonel. There is a faint taste of sour magic around the place, difficult to be more specific. It reminds me of Mr. Thomas and the pall that hung around him. I hope there is no link between those facts and the Colonel or his eventual fate.
My journey to the memorial had been uneventful, though I was joined in the capacious compartment by the witch hunter, whose name I understand to be Fanshaw.
It turns out he really was off to a fancy dress party. The Union having pulled out all the stops for whatever it is planning and that means all Agents on deck, even those on annual leave.
“First leave in two years, and it’s now that Pole finds you.”
I’m not quite sure what to say. “Sorry?”
“Goes with the territory.”
“Are you able to tell me what I can expect at your assuredly delightful base.”
“Minister.”
“Minister?”
“That’s what I said.”
“And that means…”
“The Minister has asked for a two stage ceremony. There will be an initial meeting with the full team present. A combined celebration at your capture and a sign of respect to someone who, according to our records, deserves a little of that commodity.”
“Thoughtful.”
“Second stage is the important bit. I’m not sure who will be there, above my pay grade. You and the Minister as a minimum. Pool knowledge. Work out why what’s been happening has been happening. Work out how to stop it.”
“What has been happening?” I think back to the Witches dropping from the air and the strange involvement of the cultist Mr. Thomas. Grams’ death. Has something similar been happening to the Union to get them fully engaged?
“Not for me to say chum.” The engine cuts out. “And we’re here.”
The back drops down, in a mirror of the time I was rescued by Ariadne and her witch sisters. I wonder what would have happened if I had not called for a rescue. It had seemed a good idea at the time, yet in practical terms, here I was just where I would have been had I done nothing. Dealing with what I hope to be a civilised group of humans who may well want the same thing as I.
“No, I learnt where I really stood.” I can see Ariadne and Hemlock and Emmet waiting outside being ushered past the bunker entrance.
Soldiers block my view. “Escort is here,” Fanshaw remarks. “I best get changed. Minister isn’t one for fancy dress.”
“It’s quite authentic. You should be proud of yourself,”
He gives me a quizzical look as a pair of Union troopers replace him.
We are led to the guest centre where Ariadne collected her, now sadly lost, UV lights. It is brightly lit with arc lamps though in the normal spectrum rather than those deleterious to my existence. The overall effect is to step out of the red and into a bright summer day.
Given the eternal shadows I actually welcome the light.
The interior of the gift shop has been subject to additional renovation and now resembles a hastily convened war room with Agents and soldiers in the gold braid and impractical uniforms of the high ranking human military scattered around a central point, a sumptuous chair with one of the Union’s mechanical computers in front of it.
There is a palpable absence. Whoever it is who will sit in pride of place is the central point of the Union in this area. All around is aligned to their existence and waiting for their arrival. There are men and women in civilian costume stood around holding cameras, poised for the perfect shot.
My friends stand beside me, fidgeting. I look to Ariadne who seems grouchy, I don’t think she likes being at the theoretical mercy of the Union, nor near the centre of attention. “Are you okay dear girl?”
Ariadne gives me a wry look. “Really? I’m fine. They had me chatting with some miserable grey haired woman from the psy-ops team all the way here.”
“What were they asking?”
“Witch stuff. Wanted to know about Grams, and what we’d been up to.”
“You told them?”
“Some of it.” She shakes her head. “Not like it’s secret. Poor old Emmet looked a bit cramped in that stupid vehicle, but all things considered this could be a lot worse.” She rustles a foil bag. “She even provided some snacks when I said I was hungry. They taste like shit though. Forgot how bad they can make cheese and onion taste.”
So that’s the problem. Never underestimate Ariadne’s dislike of tasteless food.
A rising tide of excitement grips the room. Something is happening. Outside there is a howl of… engines maybe? And a blast of wind that shakes the windows.
“Hope you like being in the papers, Lumpy.”
“From memory I fear the photos will be quite disappointing, dear girl.”
There is one of those indescribable military noises that all soldiers make when a high-ranking officer arrives. Something between a bellow and a yelp. A set of internal doors open and in strides an older lady in a grey suit, hair in a bun and with a monocle set in her left eye. She moves with a stately grace, like a liner shedding sail as it approaches port.
The Agents snap to attention as do the troopers in the room. Albert manages to make as sloppy a job of the motion as he seems to make of everything else.
Bulbs flash, pictures are memorialised for eternity. Mic booms drop. Yes I know of these things from the endless nonsense that filled my mind form my maladjusted cavern of crystals.
“Oh good, it’s a Minister.” Ariadne comments with a bored look at the new arrival. Witches have no time for these pantomimes, they tend towards the mundane and the effective in terms of power and leadership.
I hope Nan wasn’t to
o hurt when I had to intervene.
Emmet, well Emmet just stands there as he always does. Good old Emmet. Will the viewers believe he’s a statue until he moves, scaring the good people of the Union with his animated antics?
The Minister makes her way along the lines of agents and officers, shaking hands. If there were babies she would have undoubtedly kissed them. The airs of a democratic politician cling even to these authoritarian remnants. Fanshaw and Pole fall into step with her as she makes her way to her seat, taking up position either side as she settles in, regal and ready for business.
Business is us. We are nudged forward, politely but firmly.
“Master Albrecht, Mistress Ariadne, Golem and Cat. I am Minister Mary Hannegan of the Union Government and I formally accept your surrender into our custody.”
“Play along,” comes a whisper from behind me along with the musty smell of Albert.
I wasn’t planning on doing anything else. Mutual interests and all.
“I thank you and the Union for its consideration and acknowledge that I, and my friends, are in your custody. I would also like to commend the attention paid by your fine Agents, soldiers and administrators to our well being.” Grace is a virtue.
The Minister’s face twitches as if she is about to laugh but then settles back into its photo perfect authority.
“The Union notes your comments and hopes that we can help each other learn how to address the situation the world finds itself in. Your knowledge and our power could be the key to the recovery of everything we hold dear.”
The Minister stands and reaches out a hand. I grasp it and we shake out our agreement on a future which appears mutually beneficial at this exact point of time.
Bulbs flash, people applaud. History is recorded. I assume they realise I will not be in the picture of course!
And in the background Ariadne mutters, “Well this is just fecking weird.”
“Never thought I’d be shaking hands with one of the Masters of the Family, the information cleansers will have a lot of work to do to make this one palatable to the general population.” Minister Hannegan turns and smiles one more time for the camera. I maintain a dignified, almost ‘Caraticus before the Senate’ demeanour and then the moment is past and time moves on.
“Clear the room everyone, if you would.” Pole declares. “Minister has serious business with Mr. Alberecht.”
38
Curses, Papers and Tension
The clearance is thorough.
A perimeter set up outside, sentinels in the form of Agents and Home Island Soldiers, reporters face cameras and give updates on what appears to be something of a coup for the current Union government.
Inside an elite company. Yet even that is subject to division according to importance. Hierarchy is important to these people. An echo of a time when order came near to breaking down. I recognise the signs.
In the outer area, the Minister praises and decorates her Agents, chats pleasantly with Ariadne, pets old Hemlock and receives stony indifference from Emmet whose silence is near laconic.
In the inner area, a small room that previously served to store stock for sale to those eager for a memento of this historic and awful battlefield, I wait sat opposite a grey haired woman and Albert.
Once again a chair awaits the Ministers arrival.
I make small talk for a time with Albert and the woman, whose name I understand to be Jane. When it peters out I ask the question I have figuratively been dying to ask.
“What happens next?”
“You’ll love it.” Albert grins. Bad teeth, age plus diet. Man needs some discipline in his life.
The sounds from outside gutter out and in steps the Minister. Alone.
“Mr. Albrecht.” She has a fanatic’s stare, a predator not a politician. I take it that Union politics is more of a blood sport than a constitutional affair for all their attempts to conceal that fact through titles and protocol.
“Minister.”
“We have much to discuss.” She holds a folder with a variety of papers within. Some appear to be modern computer print outs, some pages torn from the books in the Masters library and backed in card. Others are travel itineraries, yellowed with age and handling. She flicks through them as she walks.
“Sit. All of you who are standing.”
“Much obliged Minister!” Albert manages to sound both enthused and borderline sarcastic all in one three word phrase. A frisson of irritation passes across the Minister’s face.
“You’d have sat anyway, Albert. This way I at least get to appear to be in charge.”
“Oh, you’re always in charge Minister! You know that.”
“I do. Niceties…”
“You have the advantage on me.” I nod to the papers.
She ignores my implied enquiry. “It was a pleasant surprise to hear that Pole had finally tracked you down. He’s been looking for decades and never seemed to be making much progress from the files. Not that he tells us much of his little forays. His sort is a hang over from the past of our Union and it is dying out slowly enough to alternately surprise and disappoint those of us privy to the big picture. Anyhow. I think you can help us with a little problem we have.” The Minister smiles, sharks would be proud of that smile. “You will be helping us won’t you Master Albrecht?”
I am far beyond intimidation. “If our aims align then I will assist you to the best of my ability. Particularly if the problem is what I think it is.”
“Adam.” Single word. Papers on the table. Spread out to show their nature.
“We are aligned.” I nod, a half bow from my seated position, the scrape of chair legs on rough storeroom concrete. “Let us speak.”
“Jane, I believe you’re best situated for the first part of this discussion, given your specialist knowledge on the subject.” The Minister pushes the folder across to the grey haired woman. There is the slightest undercurrent to the action, as if she were pushing a grenade across whose fuze is fizzing.
Strange.
“Thank you, Minister. I…” Jane scans across the documents before her. “There are a few here I haven’t seen.”
“From the Masters’ Library,” The Minister confirms. “See what you make of them. I’ll give you a moment or two.” She turns her attention back to me after flicking a look up to Albert. He doesn’t seem on edge but his eyes are softer than I would expect from the apparent circumstances.
His humour has drained away and the smile plastered to his face is fake. Oh something is going to happen.
“Now Albrecht, Jane here is the lead on our project dealing with the entity known as ‘Adam’. She took over, when was it Jane?”
Jane flicks through the papers, fast as a hunting dog following the scent of a wounded fox. “Two years ago. Took over from Swiss when she had the embolism. One of the last of the Calais Crowd. I’m standing on the shoulders of giants here. And I think this information should provide the last few pieces that I need…”
The anticipation in the room is bizarre.
“What is going on here?” I ask, I love surprises, I am sure I will not love this one.
“Nothing to worry about Albie my lad.” Albert gives a weak chuckle. “Funny we’ve got the same name, isn’t it? Near enough anyway.”
“Coincidence is a constant in my life. Did you know that Mr. Pole claimed to be called Johnson when I first met him? That was the name of my…” I slap my forehead. “Silly me, he’d have known that and…”
“And his name really is Johnson.” Albert says. “He’s always figured that if you make it clear you’re giving someone a fake name then that’ll be the last thing they try if they’re pulling a fast one.” He wriggles his fingers, spookily. “And if you do, he’s faster than he looks.”
“Finished.” Jane says. “That was thoroughly enlightening. So many little mysteries wrapped up with a bow.”
“You do?” The Minister’s eyebrows raise and she glances again at Albert who gives the faintest shrug. “That’s�
�� surprising and quite excellent news.”
And with that the tension in the room drains away like an unblocked drain. “Wonderful,” the Minister adds. “Lets get this party started.”
——————
“The briefing, if you please, Jane.”
“Master Albrecht, as the Minister implied the Union has been researching the cause of the Catastrophe since its earliest days. An initial tectonic event, triggered through long dormant magic, at the instigation of parties unknown. Said dust blots out the sun, resulting in the associated demographic and civilisational crashes that followed.”
“And monsters dear lady. Where did they come from?”
She ignores the question. “Initially the Union’s investigation was handled by certain Agents who formed a clique called the Calais Crowd, so called as a result of their assignment to that City in the immediate aftermath of the tectonic event. That kept them neutral in some political upheaval…”
“Too much detail Jane, move on.” The Minister chivvies her researcher along with a sharpened tone. Somewhat rudely.
“I took over the project two years ago, and discovered that the investigators had been stymied for some time by a lack of key information which we believed likely to be held in the Masters’ Library.” She taps on the folder before her. “And which we have now confirmed was indeed there. As it turns out Agent Johnson has been pursuing similar lines of research for some years ‘off his own bat’ which explains our exasperation with the man. In any event this newly recovered information rounds out our understanding of the cause of the Catastrophe and that cause is the former Secretary to the Masters called ‘Adam’.”
“Insufferable prig.” I mutter.
She is addressing the room now, “taken as a whole we can now confirm that he was the lynchpin and instigator of the Catastrophe. We also now know that he had previously attempted a similar event earlier in history and that he does not appear to be human given his as Secretary to the Masters for over three hundred years.”
Master In His Tomb Page 31
