The Northern Sunrise

by Rob J. Hayes

  So involved he found himself with this new idea the first he knew of Trim’s return was the Ooze letting out an impossibly loud, inhuman squeal as Isabel inserted the glass needle into its gelatinous body. She was wearing a set of the same leather gloves they used to secure the creature and a metal mask with a rectangular section of tempered glass for the eyes.

  The Ooze attempted to slowly flee from the needle at the same time as Isabel lifted the plunger. A tiny section of the glass syringe filled with a clear liquid before the needle abruptly snapped off inside the Ooze and the creature slithered to another section of the case where it continued to emit its strange squealing noise. Jacques could not fathom how it was making such a sound.

  “Merde!” Isabel swore as she lifted the syringe from the case and Trim replaced the section of roof. Jacques noticed the man had cleaned himself up and wondered how long he had been absorbed in creating the new designs. “That thing is stronger than it looks.”

  “I believe it has the ability to exert some sort of pressure within its body,” Jacques said excited to get his hands on the creature’s acid.

  “Yes,” Isabel agreed. “Karl did mention that. This will have to do for now, until we can replace the syringe. It may need reinforcing.”

  “I’ll ask the Glassmasters to look into it,” Jacques said taking the syringe from Isabel.

  “Will that be enough?” she asked.

  He grinned at her. “Not for what I have in mind.”

  Chapter 13 – Treachery and Treason and Tea

  “I do not believe he likes me very much,” Bastien said with a frown.

  “That’s not…” Marquis Joudain de Roe started. He glanced at Duc Lavouré who appeared to be paying the conversation somewhere short of no attention and then started again. “He doesn’t really like anyone very much. Our Thibault only comes across a little cold because, well, he is, but with everyone.”

  They were sitting in a wonderful little café that Duc Lavouré had insisted they come to. It was just out of the way of the main thoroughfares but not so out of the way that it was hard to find or seedy. It was just at the beginning of Sovereign Boulevard which happened to open out onto a series of antique and trinket shops. If he could find some spare time later on Bastien decided to visit some of those shops. The sun was high and bright but there was a distinct chill in the air as autumn decided it was well and truly on its way.

  “He’s actually a very charming man,” the Marquis continued, “once you get to know him. As loyal a fellow as you’re ever likely to meet.”

  The subject of loyalty was a little sour to Jacques considering he was lying to these men on a daily basis. The problem was he actually quite liked the stoic Marquis de Roe and the frivolous Duc Lavouré. If he was simply planning to rob them there wouldn’t have been an issue, they were rich enough to afford it after all, but he was deceiving them with the intent of having them thrown in gaol or worse, placed before the firing squad. However, Jacques was a professional and while he may have issues with the intent of his deception, Baron Bastien Bonvillain did not because he was not deceiving anyone.

  “I had presumed he stored all his joviality and released it in bursts of singing, dancing and general merry making,” Bastien said with a wry smile.

  The Marquis threw back his head and let out a deep laugh. “Can you imagine that, Gaston? Thibault singing.”

  Duc Lavouré turned back to his two companions with a strange look on his face almost as though he had forgotten they were there until the Marquis had said his name. “I’ve seen him sing, or more, I’ve heard him sing. He has a wonderful soprano.”

  Again the Marquis let out a sharp bark of laughter. He was fond of laughter and that fondness had a habit of infecting everyone around him so that those in his company couldn’t help but smile and laugh.

  “It isn’t so much he doesn’t like you, Bastien,” Duc Lavouré said. “It’s more that he doesn’t trust you.”

  “There is an issue of trust?” Bastien asked incredulous.

  “There is,” Lavouré replied as he took his pipe from his jacket pocket and began filling it with tobacco. It was a wonder that the man’s teeth weren’t stained yellow he spent so much of his time smoking but then Bastien knew there were plenty of ways to alchemically whiten teeth these days.

  “Have I done something to earn his distrust?” Bastien asked. Duc Lavouré had gone back to staring at something over Bastien’s shoulder and he had to admit it was quite unnerving.

  “You did get quite drunk,” Marquis de Roe said with a smile as he reached for his own pipe. “And your wife did prove she can out-shoot the Creator himself.”

  “You were quite drunk yourself, Joudain,” Bastien replied with a knowing nod.

  “I wasn’t so drunk my wife had to call the carriage to take me home,” the Marquis said with a wink.

  Bastien felt a little hot around the neck and repositioned his collar. “It was a lack of proper food during the day, I assure you. I don’t usually get so inebriated.”

  Bastien heard the familiar hum of an airship somewhere far away and looked up to see a sleek vessel with a single Vinet crystal slipping through the sky. It was a Royal Navy airship and no mistake, a third generation Hummingbird class designed to carry light armaments and the army’s elite shock troops. It was a ship designed to quickly slip behind enemy lines and it appeared to be damaged. It was listing slightly to the starboard side and even from here Bastien could see a large hole in the hull. He guessed it was returning from the frontier lands across the Brimstone Seas for repairs.

  “What colour are her eyes, do you think?” Duc Lavouré asked in a faraway voice.

  “Who?” asked the Marquis.

  “The waitress. The one who brought us our tea. I come here most days for a bit but whenever she comes over I find afterwards I can’t remember the colour of her eyes only staring into them and losing myself in the depths.”

  “They’re green,” Bastien said without taking his own eyes from the damaged airship.

  “You’re certain?” Lavouré asked.

  “Positive,” Bastien replied. He had made specific note of them when the waitress delivered their drinks precisely because the Duc seemed unable to look away.

  “Fascinating,” Duc Lavouré said in a dreamy voice before returning his attention to his two companions. “I have a question I would like to ask you, Bastien. How do you feel about politics?”

  Bastien pulled his attention away from the airship and made a show of considering the question while taking a sip of tea. “Marquis van Elmer always used to say ‘Politics is like a fist fight only without the rules and good etiquette.’. It always seemed like enough of a warning not to get involved so I have always stayed clear before.”

  “And now?” the Duc asked. The weight of his question was clear, he wanted Bastien on his side, whichever side that turned out to be.

  Bastien smoothed down his horseshoe moustache. “Now I find I have a title and lands and a need to protect those things. Seems to me that politics is the way that civilised folk like ourselves go about doing such a thing.

  “I’m afraid I have terribly little knowledge about the workings of court or government but I am fiercely patriotic and believe…” Bastien paused and made a show of looking around and lowering his voice. “I believe Sassaille should not sit second in the powers of the world to those zealots in Arkland or those magicians in Turlain.

  “We control the fastest and most efficient mode of long distance travel ever created and Sassaille is at the forefront of ALL scientific discovery.” He noticed the Duc was giving him his full attention. “Take medicine, for example. Almost all modern medicine comes not from the magics that the Turlains wield, nor from the Arklanders faith in their one God, but instead from Sassaille and from the scientists and alchemists we teach in our Universities.

  “Lindle, Verne, Merle. These are all artisans at the forefront of their industries and they are all Ssailes born and bred and all of them live here in Rare
s.

  “Who else has managed to cross the Brimstone Seas?” Bastien continued his voice quiet but serious. “Everybody has tried for certain but even Turlain with their mastery over the elements haven’t managed to make the crossing. Not only has Sassaille managed it but we’ve made a trade route of it and our military is busy educating the local populace into more civilised practices.

  “Creator, if only we had managed to win that first war with Turlain…” Bastien stopped. He knew the last part of the approach had been heavy handed at best but he needed to make certain Seigneur Daron was barking up the right tree. “I am sorry,” he continued. “I sometimes get a bit passionate about that particular subject.”

  The Marquis de Roe was nodding. “No need to apologise, Bonvillain. You’re among friends here.”

  “Like-minded friends,” Duc Lavouré added.

  The Marquis took a small flask from his jacket and tipped a measure of liquid into his tea before proffering it to the others, both Duc Lavouré and Bastien refused. “The King’s a fool,” the Marquis said in a whisper.

  “Joudain,” Duc Lavouré said in a reproachful tone.

  “Oh hush, Gaston. It’s true and it certainly isn’t treason to say it.”

  Bastien found it easy to forget how young the Marquis de Roe was. The man looked to be in his late thirties but in truth he was closer to twenty and had the vigour and unfailing belief in his own infallibility that came with the young age and a brief, uncomplicated position in the navy. The Duc, on the other hand, while looking very young had the manner of a much older man.

  Lavouré took a deep tug on his pipe and exhaled the smoke in a ring. Bastien was a little fascinated by the process and almost wished he smoked just to replicate it. “The problem isn’t the King,” Lavouré said slowly. “He acts as a good King should; listens to his council and does what he’s told. The problem lies with his council and with the government.”

  “And with Daron,” the Marquis added.

  Lavouré rolled his eyes and nodded. “And with Seigneur Daron.”

  “I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Bastien lied.

  “Not surprising,” Lavouré continued. “He doesn’t attend any social functions even when invited, which isn’t often, and is rarely seen anywhere but occasionally in the King’s company and when he’s cajoling the government into doing whatever he wants.”

  “He’s only a seigneur?” Bastien asked.

  “Oh yes,” de Roe agreed. “Thankfully, though Maker forbid should the King ever grant him a real title. He’s not noble born, in fact he’s gutter trash. A thug born from the scum that inhabit the lowest places of Sassaille. Rumour has it he started off as a bruiser for a loan shark in some disreputable area of Lelouch.”

  “I’ve heard far worse,” Lavouré said with relish. “Apparently he worked his way up to a position of some power by way of disappearing those above him. Before long he was running the entire criminal element within the city of Lelouch.”

  “He sounds like a dangerous man,” Bastien said.

  “Renard Daron somehow came to the attention of our previous monarch and they made some kind of deal, I’m uninformed of the exact details, and made the man a Seigneur in return for services.”

  “Services?” Bastien asked.

  Lavouré nodded gravely. “He calls himself the King’s Shadow Conceiller and he does… Things no legal representative of the King should be known to do.”

  Bastien made a show of mulling over this information. “And now he works for King Félix?”

  “Works for would be a misleading term,” Lavouré said.

  “He certainly works the King,” de Roe agreed.

  “Seigneur Daron has made himself indispensable to the King in every way. Our current monarch wants nothing to do with real responsibility and Daron is happy to oblige. Every day he takes more power away from the King and gives it to the government, most of whom Daron has well and truly in his pocket.”

  The Marquis gave up adding the liquid from his hip flask to his tea and swigged from the flask directly. “The aristocracy are the last thing standing between Daron and near complete control of Sassaille. Well, the nobility and the Queen, I suppose. Rumour has it she takes a deep interest in the workings of the country.”

  “I would rather have Daron running Sassaille than a Turlain,” Lavouré said with uncharacteristic venom. It was entirely possible the trauma of his mother running away with an Elemental from Turlain had quite cemented his dislike of the Kingdom and its inhabitants.

  “Too right, Gaston, too right.”

  Jacques felt bad and had to admit he really wasn’t cut out for the life of a spy. He utterly disliked Renard Daron and found he actually quite enjoyed the company of de Roe and Lavouré. Despite this he was currently working for Daron in order to betray the other two. Worst of all was that he knew he had no choice. Seigneur Daron had him and Isabel with their backs to the wall and all they could do was play along with his schemes. He felt sick to his stomach about the entire affair.

  “The government would surely never allow the Queen to dictate Sassaille policy,” Bastien protested.

  “Oh no, very true,” Lavouré agreed. “But she has influence over the King and the government exists to serve the King.”

  “Not to mention the woman is pregnant,” the Marquis added. “What if she seduces her child, our next monarch, into the Turlain ways?”

  Bastien could see where the conversation was headed and schooled his face into an appropriately horrified mask. “We’d have those damned magicians in charge of our country in no time!” he whispered.

  “Quite,” whispered Lavouré before silencing them all with a dramatic hand gesture just as the waitress came around with refills for their tea. The Duc smiled at the woman and she blushed back at him.

  “I find myself compelled to stop such a situation from arising,” the Duc continued once the waitress was away. “I cannot in good conscience allow our great country to fall into subservience to Turlain. Nor can I allow it to fall prey to the bureaucrats and thieves that sit the government, call themselves politicians, and steal power from its rightful place.”

  “The King?” Bastien asked.

  “The nobility,” Lavouré corrected. “Without our families this country would never have existed, never have prospered. Our bloodlines and the experience of rule passed down through each of the families are what keep this country strong and we cannot allow men like Daron to corrupt that tradition.”

  Jacques leaned back in his chair. “My family is new, it carries neither the long lineage nor the proven name.” It was not, perhaps, what Lavouré or de Roe wanted to hear but it was certainly what Bastien would say.

  “True enough, Bonvillain,” said the Marquis de Roe. “But that does not mean there is not a place for you. We are not so foolish to believe that new blood does not strengthen the system from time to time as long as it is the right blood.”

  “And you believe my blood is the right blood?” Bastien asked.

  “Maybe,” replied Lavouré. He looked sideways at de Roe before continuing. “We represent a group, a small group, who are working towards re-establishing the natural order; putting the power back into the hands of the nobility and taking it away from the politicians and their corrupt government. You, Bonvillain, have a skill set we are sorely lacking within that group.”

  Bastien looked up and noticed for the first time the Navy airship was gone from sight. He heard the thrum of Vinet crystals creating the anti-gravity fields still but these were from a much larger airship. “My particular skill set,” he started slowly, “lies in the use of dangerous weaponry.”

  “Precisely,” said the Marquis. “Our group is varied but we do not have anyone who has seen combat…”

  The Marquis de Roe cleared his throat.

  “Real combat,” Lavouré continued, “and certainly we have no one who has taken a life before.”

  “You need me to kill someone?” Bastien asked sceptically.

>   “Yes,” the Marquis agreed.

  “No,” the Duc corrected. “But we may need someone of your calibre to do so in the future. All in a legal fashion, of course.”

  “Of course,” Bastien agreed. Duelling was a time honoured tradition and legal in every duchy of Sassaille so long as the proper rules and etiquette were observed. The fact that Jacques couldn’t hit lac d’Allumer with a pistol from five yards away was neither here nor there as Bastien Bonvillain was known to be a crack shot.

  “Think on it, Bastien,” Duc Lavouré said with a friendly smile. “We need no affirmation from you right away only the agreement that you will think on the offer of friendship and be circumspect in your proceedings. You will, of course, wish to speak over the matter with your wife but I am certain Adeline will see the benefits as you do. Her input and skills would be equally as welcome and I assure you she will not be alone.”

  “Vienne was the one who introduced Gaston and myself,” the Marquis de Roe said, “she believes in our cause.”

  “I do feel I need some time to consider your offer,” Bastien admitted. “What we have spoken of here is…”

  “Nothing more than idle chatter between friends,” the Duc said pointedly.

  “Of course,” Bastien agreed. “Then as friends let us discuss another topic for a while. Have you perchance seen The Northern Sunrise?” he asked speaking of the Navy’s newest and, as yet, uncompleted airship.

  “Seen it?” exclaimed the Duc. “My dear Bastien, I am funding its construction.”

  They spent a good deal of the afternoon discussing the airship and its many design intricacies. Bastien surprised both the Duc and the Marquis with his knowledge of airships and Lavouré promised to take Bastien along on The Northern Sunrise’s maiden voyage to the Arkland border and back.

  After they had finished their tea and said their goodbyes Jacques took some time to visit the shops of Sovereign Boulevard but he found it hard to focus his attention on their wares. He had just been skirting around the topic of a coup with two of Bastien Bonvillain’s friends and the connotations of the conversation worried him. Jacques couldn’t decide what was worse; that he was one step closer to having Bastien’s friends arrested or that they were having him followed.