by Scott Duff
Kieran stared at me for a long moment as my chest heaved, releasing the pent-up anger. His eyes darted back to Dad for a moment as he, too, relaxed his own tension.
“You’re right, Seth,” he said, his voice meek. “I’m sorry.”
“And you!” turning on Dad now, just as angrily. Yelling at my Dad? I’d have to check my underwear for brass later. “You’ve got some explaining to do! You shut me out worse than he did. You shut out the world from me, tucked me away in a tiny corner of a swamp in Georgia. What was next, Dad? Were you gonna bring in prostitutes to keep my teenage hormones in check?” My anger wasn’t releasing—it was building. I was not handling this right.
“I’ve… quite obviously… made mistakes, Seth,” Dad said, his eyes falling to his feet. “With both of you,” he added, looking up to Kieran. It didn’t remove my anger, but it did give me a pressure valve so that I could release it slowly.
“That’s a start,” I told him, calmly, smiling tiredly. “The two of you, go, talk, use my house if you want. I’ll call when Mom wakes up. I’ve still got some politicking to do tonight. Just remember we all still have a lot to talk about and a lot to do.”
Dismissing the shields, I turned to the Castle and walked toward the doors just as Marty was dismissing the moat. Peter and Ethan walked with me, leaving Dad and Kieran on their own.
“What have you been teaching that boy?” I heard Dad whisper.
“Surprisingly little,” Kieran whispered back. “He is a natural talent.”
I wanted to yell that I wasn’t the topic they should be discussing, but I realized that nothing here would be fixed in a few minutes, or even a few hours. It had taken years to build their relationship, years to break it. It would take years to mend. This was a start. Not everybody got this much.
Chapter 63
Enid rushed across the foyer, sweeping the exhausted Martin up in her arms and smothering him in kisses before even Felix or Gordon could get to him. And they were closer. Cries of “Ma, you’re embarrassing me,” were ignored. Gordon rested a hand on Felix’s shoulder as he waited for Enid to calm some, more for comfort than support. Watching the four of them was enough to make me stay back and let them have their time together. They definitely deserved it.
In the meantime, we were still the chum in the shark tank. Marchand decided he would take the point and brought himself directly in front of me. At least he had the sense to not block my direct line of sight to the Cahills. I glanced around to find Ferrin sitting on a bench with Ian next to him, still excited but sleep-dazed. The poor little guy was gonna fall asleep on his feet soon. Asking Marchand to wait a moment, I stepped over to the Ferrins.
“So what’d’ya think of all that?” I asked Ian, sitting down beside him and smiling.
“It was really scary,” he answered, wide-eyed for a moment. “Till Mr. Cahill punched those huge fists down and they took off like rabbits!”
“’Cept that wasn’t Mr. Cahill, Ian,” Ferrin said, tiredly. “That was Martin.”
“Really?” Ian asked, excited again, looking for Martin on the steps. Ferrin chuckled softly.
“Ian,” I said, “Why don’t you take Mike upstairs and put him to bed. The two of you are exhausted and nothing too exciting is going to happen tonight.”
“Are you sure?” he asked me suspiciously.
“Yeah,” I answered, yawning myself. “Probably be some shouting but nothing fun at all. Trust me. Take care of your brother. He’s important to us.” It was funny how a few words can be so important to someone. For as much as Ian idolized Martin, the hero worship he had for his brother took a giant step forward when he heard that. He bounced off the bench, grabbing Ferrin’s hand and said, commandingly, “C’mon, Mike, off to bed, now!”
“See y’all in the morning,” I called to them as they headed up the steps. Looking over at Marchand, I called, “Can we reconvene in the dining room? I’m still hungry.”
“So am I, come to think,” squeaked Marty, puberty finally hitting his vocal cords. I didn’t doubt it. Channeling that much power took power in its own right. Gordon and Felix laughed heartily and Enid ushered Marty in ahead of everyone and Gordon pushed Felix in behind her. The herd followed a moment later.
Felix put Marty at the head of the table and shoveled food to that end. It was sweet. Maybe a little too sugary, but I could use that. Been a rough day. I couldn’t tell exactly what on the table smelled so good, so a little bit of everything ended up on my plate. I stopped when I ran out of room, looking over at Peter’s plate then Ethan’s, and didn’t feel so bad. They were either covering for me or just as hungry. I’d have preferred tea to the water, but I didn’t ask, ‘specially considering how late it was.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Marchand?” I asked and starting in on some sort of roasted poultry, chicken maybe.
“For starters, you could tell us what happened over there,” Marchand said, smiling his most diplomatically. He was trying still; I had to give him that much.
I looked at him for a moment chewing, trying not to look too disdainful, but I was tired and there’s no telling how much emotion would play across my face that I couldn’t control, then. “Why don’t you tell me at what point you lost it so I won’t be slogging through this again. I mean, you were there, right?”
“Yes, I was there,” Marchand said evenly. “Pardon me if I seem suspicious but all around, your story is surprisingly lacking in details.”
I snickered. “What details do you wish to know?” I asked, knowing he wasn’t going to get all of his wishes granted. I wasn’t the proverbial genie in a bottle.
“Why was your father in MacNamara’s kingdom, for instance? How does one man, a boy at that, see to the needs of, by your count, a million Fae and why would you do that? Weren’t they just trying to kill everyone you hold dear?” he asked, his tone falling more into condescension. He leaned into the table suddenly, dramatically even, trying to draw me out. “How did they escape the ‘abomination’? And if you have the elf lord’s power, where is it? You certainly look no different than you did before.”
I nodded, swallowing. “Certainly some good questions there, Mr. Marchand. I’ll try to answer some. First off, my father wasn’t there; I brought him there. I don’t know exactly how but it probably has something to do with the Heart of Faery, the Fountain, and my power. One man sees to the needs of a million Fae by restoring their balance that allows them to use and take sustenance from the land on which they live. The Rat Bastard destroyed their bonds and the Queens destroyed their land. I gave them back both because they were helpless without it. You may be able to commit genocide, but that’s not in me. These Fae are a threat only to invading rodents and insects. And you can’t see my power. Why would you think you could see something added to it?” Not that there was any power added. The only difference I felt was the connection to the Pacthome was stronger. A lot stronger.
“And where is the Fountain now? Will you be bringing it here?” he asked coyly. He either knew what the answer was or expected it.
“The Fountain no longer exists,” I said, offering nothing further. The answer seemed to shock him.
“What did you do to it?” he asked carefully. “With it?” correcting himself.
“None of your business,” I answered.
“So you are a king without a kingdom?”
“No.” Glancing to Harris and Bishop, I wondered why they were allowing him to range so freely over this conversation, controlling it over them, without saying anything. Both of them were watching both of us intently, but there was definitely a strong sense of distrust from both men aimed at Marchand.
“So where is this kingdom of Seth McClure’s, then?” he asked, his tone finally hitting condescending.
“Locked away from prying eyes, safe and sound,” I said, pushing my nearly empty plate forward. I should have timed that, might have been an eating record of some kind.
“When do we get to see it?”
“If you get to see m
y home, Mr. Marchand,” I said, stressing the first two words, “it will be at my leisure. The Cahills are certainly welcome at anytime, though I would prefer some time to setup a house first. I wouldn’t want Mrs. Cahill sleeping under a tree.”
“I’ve slept under less, dear,” Enid Cahill said from the end of the table. I smiled at her unexpected comment. There was something romantic about it.
Marchand was staring at me, drumming his fingers on the table, looking both disturbed and impatient. At least, on the surface. He was manipulating his aura, too. That, I found interesting. It wasn’t a huge change; he lacked that kind of control over himself as far as I could see. Maybe that was what Bishop and Harris were watching, that manipulation.
“Perhaps you should just come out and say what you’re thinking and save us all some time. I could use a shower before bed,” I said, sniffing myself. “Definitely, with lots of soap.”
“Huh, and I thought Peter farted,” Ethan mumbled, snickering.
He sighed heavily, milking the drama. “We are wondering where that puts you in the scheme of things, where your loyalties now lie, and what this means for us? A human liege of Faery? Does this mean you will take men and women and bind them as elves are bound, as slaves to your will under powerful geas? Or will you somehow gain your own elves to contort to your wishes? There are a number of questions that we want answered.
“And assuming that we are to believe every aspect of the history you have projected, you have completed your goals now and received quite a bonus, while we collectively have lost much. What do we get out of this? The political good will of a Faery king we didn’t know existed before today? We’ve even lost the opportunity of political summits on neutral territory now. For that matter, what proof do we have that any of what we just witnessed was not an elaborate setup for our benefit and that you aren’t being controlled by the elves and installed into our hierarchies as their spy?” He shrugged broadly, spreading and splaying his hands out on the table in front of him.
Both Ethan and I started laughing. Bishop and Harris didn’t think it was funny, though. Peter was amused, but the Cahills were ticked at Marchand, Gordon to the point that he was about to jump the table and bash Marchand’s head repeatedly into the table. All the underlings around us were just confused as to why we laughed. Ethan was punching me in the arm after a minute, trying to calm us both down.
“Marchand,” I stammered, still laughing. “I can’t answer most of that because frankly, I don’t know. I can say that my loyalties haven’t changed in six hours and unless I’m very much mistaken, both Harris and Bishop got exactly what they were hoping for out of the exchange today: a powerful enemy removed from the war. Unless your speculation that this is a charade is true. You have done an admirable job of fomenting suspicion, I admit.”
“You arrived after Seth sent us back, didn’t you, Mr. Marchand?” Ethan asked.
“Really?” I asked Ethan, drawing the word down as I turned to face him. “I didn’t know that. I assumed he came in with Bishop’s group. Marty, how did Marchand arrive tonight?”
“Airport limousine service,” Marty said. “John had to go down and unlock the gate himself. Devilish double locking system there.” He grinned, his aura crackling brightly at the memory.
“Où avez-vous été pour les trois jours, Monsier Marchand?” I asked him. I knew he was Belgian so I assumed French Belgium.
“What?”
I switched languages, “Waar ben je geweest voor de drie dagen?” Admittedly, both were rather textbook versions than conversational. I’d had more practice in Fairy languages than Dutch as strange as that is to say.
He shook his head, “No, I mean, why are you asking?”
“I just find it curious that you use ‘we’ in the delivery of your speech, yet all you’ve done is bully and blame. And always after the fact. Dunstan’s, Grammand, here. Grammand’s was a battle summit with a whole lot of powerful people there. Your absence was conspicuous. It seems odd that the leader of the European Council be out of contact with his people in a time of war with unknown enemies. Yet you were. Why is that Mr. Marchand?”
“I was on personal business,” he said stiffly. His aura was guarded and getting angry with me.
“Personal business?” I asked, pressing in on him. “Well, that answers that. Oh, wait, I was on personal business when Bishop found me in London. Bishop found me, but he couldn’t find you. He’s only known me for a few days, barely even knows my name, arranged transportation across three countries, but you? You, he can’t find for three days and I guarantee you I can go more places that he can’t find than you can.”
I leaned back in the chair, steepling my fingers together and glancing up to my mother’s room in the infirmary. I asked Ethan, “Would you mind getting Kieran and Dad please? It looks like Mom’ll be waking up in about twenty or so minutes and I’d like us to be there when she does.”
His blue eyes shined like there were stars behind them as he said, “So soon?” He disappeared from the room and I could have sworn he was happier than I was. I wrote it off to tiredness as I watched Enid slip out of the room more conventionally, through the door. I turned my attention back to Marchand.
“Be glad that I am not a member of your council, Marchand,” I told him, no longer hiding my dislike for the man. Still, I don’t think he quite got it. Mages relied heavily on reading auras to the point that reading body language and facial expressions were Sanskrit written in Phoenician characters backward and upside down. “Because I would be pushing hard to have you removed from office.”
“I’m working on that,” Bishop said calmly. Marchand’s head snapped to Bishop immediately, shocked for some reason. I certainly couldn’t fathom why.
“What?” he cried.
Bishop reached into the portfolio sitting on the table before him and pulled out a large dark tan envelope. He tossed the envelope onto the table in front of Marchand, closing the portfolio again. Marchand ripped open the envelope and began reading the sheaf of papers within.
Ethan popped in behind me. “They were fighting!” he cried, almost yelling. “Can you believe that? Fighting!” I let my head fall back and looked at him sideways, grinning. I’d been expecting it, really, and it was probably a good thing as long as one didn’t kill the other. “They haven’t seen or talked to each other in over forty years. They’re alone for twenty minutes and they get into a fistfight? Shoot ‘em! Arghh! Idiots!” Everyone in the room, except Marchand, burst into laughter. Marchand kept reading.
Kieran and Dad appeared arm-in-arm in the doorway of the dining room, both smiling broadly, their faces beaten and bleeding.
“He’s got a killer right hook, eh, Kieran?” I said, grinning at them.
“How can you do this? Especially now?” Marchand yelled, slamming his hand on the papers on the table and standing, glaring down at Bishop. He turned slowly back to Marchand.
“Pages three through seven,” he said, then pointed to me. “Basically, what he said.”
“You can’t do this! You yourself said we’re at war! You cannot destroy our chain of command in the middle of a war!” he yelled. I didn’t think it was possible to yell and plead at the same time but somehow he managed.
“Louis,” Bishop snapped, “even if you are not guilty of wrong-doing, you have been a useless fop for the last five years. And there is absolutely no excuse for you being out of contact since Dunstan’s. Period. The Council meets in three days time.”
Without saying another word, Marchand stormed out of the room, his lap dog, Murrik, hot on his tail.
Bishop let out a long slow breath. “I hate politics,” he said.
“How did he get in charge, anyway?” Gordon asked.
“He actually ranks pretty high in power and magic use,” Bishop said.
“And he probably got his knees pretty dirty, too,” Peter said quietly. The room burst into laughter, except for Ethan and me. We were just confused by the comment. Had to be sexual then. Even Marty was l
aughing. Maybe I could get Dillon to buy me some books and movies that might catch me up on the vernacular and such. Of course, that might be asking for trouble.
“Mr. Harris,” I said. “What do you need tonight?”
“Um, nothing?” he said, smiling for once. “Some time to figure out what is going on mostly. I do agree that you have lived up to you part of today’s agreement. And that neither of us owes the other anything from today, um, outside of perhaps general goodwill?”
“You have our thanks for helping my son, Mr. Harris, certainly,” Dad said, coming up behind me and holding the back of my chair.
“Was that an artillery bombardment?” I asked, recalling the sounds of the first few explosions in the Arena.
Harris was still smiling as he said, “Well, actually yes, it was.”
“Targeting was a little wide at times. Was something interfering with the portals?” I was mostly curious to see how much he’d tell me.
“We were stealing them,” he said, laughing. “A couple of battleships, a few foreign armies—there are military exercises going on everywhere in the world at one time or another. We just had to get the right people in place at the right time and some very nice things can happen.”
“See?” Peter said beside me. “Technology can be a good thing. Getting the people in place, timing the people, finding the places, there was a lot of sophisticated technology involved there. Computers, in other words. And then multiple talents were used. We’ve got to find a way to stop magical interference on electronics. At least, unintentional interference.”
“But not tonight,” I said, patting his shoulder and standing. “Mr. Bishop, anything else?”
“Only to say that the European Council formally agrees with the United States Council in the spirit of its statement if not its practices,” Bishop said, calmly gathering the sheaf of papers Marchand left on the table. “Oh, and I agree with you—you need a shower.” He grinned at me, tapping the papers together and shoving them haphazardly into his portfolio.
