A Royal Game

by Antoine Henderson

“Strange?”

  “Yes. That you haven’t wondered how I’m acquainted your rotund friend Lord Rathbone. Well, you may have thought about it at least.”

  “It wasn’t my business to ask. And to be frank, he didn’t say he met you or any other MANA Agent before. He only came to inform me about Lyberia Lafayette’s gala tonight.”

  “He came all the way here to invite you to a gala? Funny, a telephone would have sufficed wouldn’t ya think?”

  “I asked him the same question. But he insisted on seeing me as it’s been quite a while since we’ve seen one-another,” said Andrades.

  “Hm, I see,” said Agent Mauthe. She nodded, her gaze never leaving Andrades’. “Well to answer your question, I am here investigating a case. I’ve been here for about a week now…” she said while waving the smoke from her face. “Two members of a royal family were murdered, and I was tasked to investigate the circumstances surrounding it. And to bring the culprit or culprits to justice.”

  “That’s very unusual,” said Andrades before taking another drag of his cigar. “Why would MANA send one of their Agents to investigate a murder? It was my understanding they left those types of things to local authorities.”

  “You are absolutely right, in most cases, it would have been. Unfortunately, this isn’t a case of simple murder, thus my being here and my investigating.”

  Her words dripped with irritation, enough so that Andrades nearly choked on the cigar smoke as he took a drag. She was firm with her words and didn’t relent or hide her intent. Her questions, although simple, were veiled with clues of interrogation. Her attempt at humor? The question about Magnus? And her pausing after saying, culprit? There was no mistake; she was mining Andrades for information.

  “I see.” He twirled the cigar between his fingers before taking another drag. “And precisely who was murdered? If it was members of a royal family, I would have heard about it by now.”

  “Morgan and Lucia Montcroix,” Agent Mauthe said firmly, studying his reaction.

  “Morgan and Lucia?” he questioned. His eyes widened, and he tilted his head to the side. “But that was almost ten years ago, and we were told that they committed suicide after losing their fortune in the market.”

  “You are as surprised as I was when I first received the letter. I mean, I remember hearing about it when it happened, and I even read over the entire case file. It isn’t every day you hear about a wealthy magical family committing suicide because they lost their fortune in the stock market. And to leave two children behind like that, it made little sense.”

  “It was shocking. Many of us were close with the Montcroix’s,” said Andrades. He stopped himself from taking another puff of his cigar, reanalyzing her previous statement. “And what’s this letter you mentioned?”

  “I received a letter over two months ago stating that the Montcroix’s did not commit suicide, but that they were murdered, and—”

  “That can’t be. Did the letter state how?” Andrades questioned. He was careful not to implicate himself.

  “It did not,” she explained. “And didn’t your daddy teach you it's rude to interrupt someone when they are speaking, Mister Archibald?”

  “My apologies, Agent Mauthe. It’s just—hearing that information was unexpected is all. Can the letter be true?”

  “We believe it is. Their bodies were supposed to be preserved with magic until their children could identify them; as is the protocol for these types of things. But the children vanished and we believe they were in the home the night it occurred. Finding them was our best shot at finding out the truth. When we arrived at their crypts, we discovered that their bodies were fully decomposed into green ash—a symptom of fibrum, the venom of a basilisk snake bite.”

  “Fibrum?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s an interesting route to go. Letting a basilisk to bite you? Even if one wanted to die, there are just a plethora of other ways to go. The only problem is during the initial autopsy, there were no snake bites. Which means the fibrum was injected postmortem—and a large quantity of it. This has brought me to my conclusion. Why would anyone go through the trouble of using fibrum the bodies of people who are dead? My guess is that they were looking for something. We already know when and where I’m just here to find out whom and the why.”

  “I see, so it’s true then,” said Andrades. He slumped into his chair and sighed, giving his best performance. “I—I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s my understanding that you and the Montcroix’s were close, which is why I came to you, Mister Archibald,” Agent Mauthe explained. “Over the last couple of months, I’ve already informed others in your circle, including Lady Lafayette and Lord Rathbone.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” said Andrades. He swallowed hard before dropping his head and closing his eyes.

  Agent Mauthe sighed. “I can see you are taking this hard. I guess I’ll give you some time and take my leave.” She reached into a pocket of her dress and retrieved a card, placing it on his desk before rising. It was white and had the same symbol at the top as her badge, with a phone number written in black ink. “Take this, Mister Archibald. I’ll be in touch, but if you can remember anything about the Montcroix’s, please call me.”

  Andrades placed his cigar upon the silver plate and stood up. “I will, Misses Mauthe.”

  “And just so you are aware; I will not rest until I find those responsible and bring them to justice. Take solace in that, sir.”

  “Thank you, Agent Mauthe. If I remember anything I’ll get in touch with you as soon as possible.” He stood and shook her hand, then walked her to the front door.

  “You try to have yourself a good day, sir,” said Agent Mauthe before turning and walking outside. A car was waiting with someone sitting in the backseat and someone in the driver seat.

  Justice? You don’t know the first thing about justice, Agent Mauthe. I will find out who is involved in this plot to betray and kill me, and they will die. And if you’re not careful, you’ll join them too. Nothing, not you, not them, not the court, nothing will stop me from reaching my goal!

  ***

  “So, what do you think Nyre? Does he know anything?”

  “He knows more than what he’s letting on, Agent Castle,” said Agent Mauthe as the Archibald estate fell in the distance. “I want you to put a tail on him—follow his every move.”

  “You think that’s going to turn up anything?” asked Agent Castle.

  “It may, or it may not. This is something we’ve never experienced before Diedrich. This is a game—a royal game, and all the players are smart, cunning and rich. There are no games deadlier than that. Politics, money, status, power. We didn’t just poke the beehive… We threw a brick at it, and now the bees are pissed.”

  “Where to now, Agent Mauthe?” said the driver.

  “You can go to Lady Lafayette’s estate, Samson. There are things we need to discuss.”

  6. Family

  It was almost eight o’clock before Andrades decided to get ready for the night. Looking in the mirror, he wiped the falling water from his face before picking up a towel that sat on the counter and patted down his face gently. He stared silently for a moment, looking at his reflection. Andrades Archibald the IV, one of the most elite of magical families. He was a man of status, power, and influence, but all he could see was a tired man with an unkempt gray beard and hair—not a good face for someone who was of royal blood. He focused on the meetings he had earlier in the day. A feeling of betrayal washed over him like a tsunami.

  It took Andrades less than an hour to get ready, with a long hot shower, quick shave, and one of his finest black suits. He now stood looking in the mirror, the man he claimed to be—a man fit to have the title of a royal. Leaving the bathroom, he entered his large bedroom. It was covered in the finest of silks and cotton of crimson and black color. A normal person would be lucky enough to spend a night in such a room, but to him, it didn’t matter. He was u
sed to the finest of things and would accept nothing less. He grabbed a black cane that leaned against the bed. It had a solid gold handle and intricate markings around its edges. He looked at the bed and saw it empty, a sight he was familiar with in recent years.

  He left the room, maidens walked by him as he entered the hallway. They said nothing, only stopping briefly to bow. He never said a word and never looked in their direction and walked with long strides. The hallways were lined with statues and paintings—expensive and exotic no less. He made his way down the stairs, fixing his jacket as he walked toward the door.

  “You’re going to leave without saying goodbye to your own daughter? Even after I gave you my magic to summon that witch?”

  A girl in her twenties stood at the top of the balcony holding a glass of wine. She had long auburn hair that curled on its edges and wore a plain blue dress. Her hands and neck bore diamond jewelry, with the biggest piece sitting upon her ring finger. He sighed heavily before turning to look up at her.

  “No, of course not, Saskia. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “You don’t have to lie. I can feel the disdain you have for me all the way up here,” said Saskia before taking a sip of her wine. “Don’t worry, father, I hate you just as much as you hate me, if not more.”

  “Feelings that wouldn’t exist, if Andrades V was still alive, but he’s not. You saw to that, didn’t you?”

  The wine glass came hurling from the top floor toward Andrades. He didn’t move. It would have connected with its target, had he not raised his magical pressure in that moment to make the wine glass fly over him, hitting the wall and smashing into hundreds of pieces, but Saskia wasn’t done. “You still blame me for my brother’s death? How dare you? It was you who pressured him into entering the Avatar Wars! It was you who pressured him into doing your bidding! His death isn’t on my hands, it’s on yours! Be a real man and accept it!”

  “Pressure he wouldn’t have had, had he spent more time training like I instructed him to! Instead, you kept him from all that because you’re a selfish witch and wanted the attention to yourself!”

  “Is that what you think? I wanted attention? No father, I wanted a big brother! You were showing him blood and misery while mother and I were showing him love and compassion!”

  “I was turning him into a man!”

  “You were turning him into a puppet!”

  “Enough! You’re drunk! Just leave!”

  Their voices came to a stop when Narcissa walked with the help of maidens from the hall and into view. A pale woman wearing only black robes strode closely behind her. Her face was covered by long black hair, hiding whatever features she possessed.

  “Lower your voices. I... I can’t focus with all of this screaming.”

  “I’m sorry, mom,” said Saskia.

  “Oh, it’s quite alright, dear,” said Narcissa. “I’m going to go enjoy the garden. Do try not to get so upset. You’re too beautiful for that.” Narcissa touched Saskia’s cheek softly before the maidens helped her down the hall.

  “You know what, dad? I don’t care anymore. Look at what you did to our family. Using us for your sick game... it’s wrong,” said Saskia, holding back tears and wiping her face. “I gave you my magic because I’m done. Tonight is the last night you will ever see me again. Don’t worry; I won’t ruin whatever sick plan you have. And besides, the witch cut the link anyways. She has all my magic and the only thing that can bind her is the orb. If losing my magic was the price to pay to be rid of you, then I’m glad I paid it.”

  Saskia stormed away and Andrades said nothing. He’d given up on her a long time ago, and tonight was too important for him to worry about his wayward daughter. She could go if she wanted; she had already served her purpose. He had a bigger problem now. Salamandra figured out a way to sever the link between her and Saskia. He only had the orb to threaten her with, but still, he couldn’t afford for her to roam free for his plan would be in ruin.

  The front door to the estate opened and Edgar stepped through.

  “Masters Archibald, the information you requested.”

  “Thank you, Edgar.” Andrades opened the folder and looked through its contents, stopping at a picture of a woman with two little girls playing at a park.

  “The contract is also inside, Master Andrades.”

  He put the contents back inside the envelope and handed the folder back to the old man who stood straight and at attention.

  “Is everything we discussed taken care of?”

  “As you requested, Master Archibald. I’ll be sure he’s ready when the time comes. It will be handled. I do have a question, sir.”

  “Speak.”

  “Can we trust the witch with this?”

  “For now, yes. She’ll do what she’s told. You have no need to worry, Edgar.”

  “Alright, sir. The car is already waiting.”

  “Right, let’s not keep them waiting then.”

  7. Ambush

  Only twenty minutes passed on their hour journey before headlights materialized behind them. A large black SUV sped by the limousine and moved in front of them, continuing to drive at high speeds. Three single headlights illuminated from behind the limousine as Andrades instructed Edgar to take a right, then a left, then another right. He wanted to know if his suspicion was true and with every turn they made, so did headlights. He was being followed. From the sound of it, there were motorcycles and fast ones.

  The car turned a corner down a dimly lit street and slowed when the SUV that passed them appeared in the middle of the road. The limousine came to a stop and so did the motorcycles that were pursuing it. They were about twenty feet back. Armed assassins dressed in all black, their faces covered by helmets, exited the SUV and aimed automatic weapons at the luxury limousine. Three others disembarked their bikes and joined them.

  Without a word, they opened fire and a hail of bullets painted the vehicle as the ends of their assault rifles flashed sporadic strobes of light. The gunfire lasted for less than twenty seconds and one of them nearest it to the car raised his hand, bringing the gunfire to a stop as they followed his silent order. Only the sound of their empty magazines hitting the pavement and their hands loading new ones was heard. They took less than five seconds to reload and their aim was back on the bullet-rattled limousine. Their leader swung his finger in the air and then pointed to one of the men by the motorcycles, then the limousine.

  One assassin followed his order and cautiously walked toward the right passenger side door while the others stood at the ready. Nearing the door, he scanned the broken glass of the windows and tried to get a look inside, but the darkness blinded him. He lifted the face shield of his helmet and it was at the moment that a raven flew from the sky, planting itself atop the car, flapping its wings and cawing, causing him to take quick aim at it.

  “It’s just a damn bird!” One of the other assassins shouted.

  “Is the target dead? Can you confirm?” Their leader asked.

  He took his attention away from the raven, ignoring the loud and piercing cawing of the large black bird. More birds were heard in the sky, getting the attention of the other assassins.

  “Stay focused!” The leader shouted. Their attention fell back to the limousine. “Confirm that the target is dead!”

  He edged closer and removed one of his hands from his weapon, the other still firmly on the trigger. With a quick sidestep, he used his free hand to open the door of the limousine. It was empty; he peered inside and then looked back on top of the hood. The raven was now facing him, squawking. With one push of its wings, it flew swiftly back into the air and the man’s surprised gaze followed.

  “Is the target dead?”

  Before the man could answer, he was engulfed by a flash of light and fire. He didn’t know what hit him and was dead before his skin and flesh could even start to burn. The limousine exploded. Shrapnel and large pieces of charred exterior blasted into the air in all directions.
They never had a chance to get to cover before they were knocked away. Two of them hit the passenger door of the SUV while the other two crashed into their parked bikes.

  Several minutes passed before the assassins could even think of picking themselves up. Their adrenaline was pumping and their ears were ringing. Had it not been for their helmets and the distance from the limousine, their deaths would have been a certainty. They looked at the source of the explosion, but there was none. There was no pillar of smoke, no heat radiating from a blazing fire. Only the charred outline of the limousine on the road remained. It was gone. Only one question rattled their jarred brains: How?

  Headlights illuminated them as they stumbled to their feet. Their gazes fell to a figure walking toward them from the lights. It was the black silhouette of a tall man. It was if death itself was stalking them.

  “There he is!” One of the assassins shouted while scrambling to retrieve his weapon from underneath the SUV.

  Andrades appeared as he began to stalk them with anger burning in his eyes. He removed the hidden dagger from his cane as they readied their weapons and took aim. Andrades didn’t adjust course, he was steadfast in his approach. Although he couldn’t see their faces, he could feel their fear. Fear was one of many distinct emotions mages had an apt ability to sense. And he fed on it. Their fear didn’t induce pity or make him feel merciful. He relished in it. He gorged on it.

  Andrades came to a stop and held his blade to his side. “Now it’s my turn,” he said under his breath.

  They opened fire and Andrades charged, holding his cane in front of him. It emitted a blue aura—the sign of protection—and acted as a shield, as they collided with it. The hail of bullets to dropped like a bag of coins bouncing and sputtering on the ground. One of the assassins backed away as his charge continued.

  He raised his blade, now illuminating a crimson red aura—the color of magic intended to do harm—and slashed at the assassin nearest to him. A fissure of magical energy erupted from the blade and hurled at him, connecting with his chest. It ripped his clothes apart and blood poured from the wound. Before the assassin could hit the ground, Andrades was upon him, spinning on his heels and grabbing him from the back of his shirt. He used him as a shield against the continuous barrage of bullets.