Chapter 101: Tempus Fugit (1/2)

Sinead comes in person to recover his newest ally and I realize a few interesting details. First, Makyas of the Court of Wings and Keyholes is slightly more intimidating than I gave him credit for, if Sinead’s reaction is to be believed. Second, Makyas is obviously not a bashful child. He drops the act as soon as he finds himself in the presence of a prince and I get a glimpse of the playful malice beneath.

Sinead also uses the opportunity to flirt outrageously. I should have expected it.

I also learn that the Likaeans are busy working on a way back and, apparently, the space magic developed by Ricardo in Alexandria is the key. Sivaya is confident that she will finish a valid spell by the end of the century. When I remark that it is a long time, I am informed that creating an entirely new branch of magic in a rigid reality is a time-consuming effort and that I am welcome to try myself.

Sinead’s condescending delivery is truly without a match.

In any case, I foresee more shenanigans in the future and let them go on their way.

Over the next few months, I manage to keep up my magical studies with the mortals through immense effort and the occasional application of blood magic when some spells become too complex. No matter how hard I try, my fire spells remain pallid and pathetic and my light spells are timid things, bright enough to be seen from afar but never seeming to give the mortals any visibility. On the contrary, anything related to blood, shadows and illusions comes to me naturally.

I get no more issue from Mireille or any of the local Roland vampires afterward, though I do continue sword practice. I eventually come to enjoy it, relishing the flexibility that swords can offer.

On the home front, I have to handle a slew of issues from the care of Sinead’s illegitimate children to the growth of the slave catcher population moving north from Kentucky. My dream mage also marries a cake maker to no one’s surprise. With the rescued children and the White Cabal’s presence, Marquette’s mage population explodes. Strangely, the werewolf population explodes as well even if they cannot bear children. Every time I pass by, there are more of them following me around with their nose in the air, only keeping a respectful distance because of Metis’ fearsome reputation as an ear thief. Any attempt to wiggle the whole truth from Jeffrey ends in a two hours declaration involving his cousins, nephews, friends from the coast, the Illuminati, that fisherwoman from Ottawa with the thick thighs… As far as I understand, their village’s fame has grown as the safest and richest werewolf haven and it attracts a lot of those who would not do so well in traditional pack structures. I understand that many of those prefer to be left alone and that the new town, amusingly named Moonside, affords them the tranquility they crave. Jeffrey assures me that they will fight when called and that is, in the end, all that I care about.

I still wish they would stop trying to smell me. I find it extremely vexing.

Last but not least, I use the opportunity of a payment for a protection detail to ask for blood from Salim of the Rosenthal, which he secretly accepts. Their essence is certainly one of the most useful I have ever consumed. I can now recall things much more easily if I focus on them, and some tedious tasks like reading reports become significantly more relaxing. I complete them as if in a trance. Making paperwork less tedious is without a doubt one of the mightiest powers in creation.

Unfortunately, better memories only make the following ordeal that much more painful.

I knew this day would come. I knew it from the beginning, but I always managed to push the thought to the back of my mind. I had so much to do. There were always new foes to fight and problems to solve, things to learn. Now it has come and I am at a loss.

I bump my head against Torran’s chest in a rare display of public affection. Others might see but I care little. I breathe in deep and the cold spice of him overwhelms the brine on the air to both soothe me and distress me even more.

His hand pats the back of my head. We do not speak. We are beyond words. Everything that was worth saying was said a long time ago.

The fact remains that I have my life here and he has his own back in Hungary. There is no bridging that gap, not when it takes months of travel between our territories. A Dvor can only stay so long away from his fief, after all. Torran will bring his fledgeling back with him and that is it.

I feel a strong mix of emotions now, not enough to cry but enough that it feels… good. I am alive now because of what we shared and must now leave behind. The bittersweet emotion dulls the throb of undirected anger threatening to overwhelm me. There is simply no one I can gut, stab, set on fire or detonate to keep him around and I find that extremely aggravating.

The pier around us is silent, despite sailors loading the last of the goods and supplies they will carry over the Atlantic. No one interrupts us but still, I let him go. I am delaying the inevitable.

“I release you from our bond, my star,” Torran finally says, his face showing no emotion.

“I release you from our bond,” I answer, finishing the ritual.

It hurts as much as I expected.

I can appreciate that we will not see each other for years, possibly decades, and that it would be unfair of me to expect celibacy from him in the off case that I might come back. I still feel robbed. I do not want to share.

If I come to visit and find some tart hanging about, I might just do something unfortunate. I warned him it would be the case, therefore the responsibility of any future dismemberments will be placed solely at his feet.

I leave the pier behind and walk round a warehouse. The city is mostly silent at this time of the night. I stop and lean against some stupid door.

Fuck.

I wait for some time. It doesn’t get better.

Someone comes, a familiar aura.

“Sister,” Jimena answers with a soft voice. She is dressed in a form-fitting leather armor, not in knight garb, for once. She drops a heavy-looking backpack and takes from it a case, which she gives me. I unpack it to reveal a weapon.

A pistol, to be precise.

Never have I witnessed its like. It is the work of a mad genius, nay, a revolutionary! I caress the smooth, silvery surface and ask with unmitigated wonder.

“What is this thing?”

“A prototype based on the design of a weapon dealer by the name of Colt. It can shoot six times before being reloaded. They are not even producing it yet. The cartridges go into that barrel over here.”

“Marvelous!”

“So, there is a group of outlaws who just robbed a Rosenthal carriage outside of town. Would you like to go kill them and get paid?”

This time, the emotion is too strong and a single ruby pearl drops down my cheek.

“Jimena, you are the best sister I could ever ask for.”

The smug woman catches the tear before it can drop and raises it to her lips, licking it after I give her leave.

“Aaaaah. Of course I am. I know you well and this is what you need. Now go and test this barbaric tool of yours.”

“Heathen!”

At a corner of an empty road, beyond an overgrown path and the moss-covered room of a hunter rest, a few men have set up camp. They dug a pit and lit a fire there, counting on the remoteness and the wild vegetation to hide the smoke from inquisitive eyes. It was, of course, not enough.

The sentinel is the first to notice me strutting forth with my fancy dress, my coat and the undeniably imposing leather tricorn which is totally appropriate and I would dare anyone to object.

The man squints at my approaching figure. His beady eyes widen in surprise as I enter the light halo of his dusty lantern. He stinks of alcohol.

“What the fuck?”

“Language, mongrel.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

I tut loudly, a gesture of intimidation that is known to make mortals cry, if they know what is good for them.

“I am the law around these parts. You and your little friends have been very, very naughty.”

“You insane bitch. You got some plums coming here at night, I like that. Maybe I can reward you if you make me very happy.”

“I’ll only be happy when you hang from the neck until dead, rascal.”

The sentinel takes the affected smile of someone who is convinced his interlocutor suffers from severe delusion and who is ten seconds away from beating some sense into them. He shifts his coat aside to grab and take out a knife. I mirror his gesture with one small difference, one he realizes as soon as he ends up face to maw with the business end of the six-shooter.

It will always fascinate me how some objects are clearly weapons. My pistol might be a prototype, but there is no mistaking the keen line and metallic gleam. This is a tool of death.

“What the hell?”

“Hands in the air and you might just live to see the day. I am the hand of the law and my reach is long indeed!”

Somewhere behind me, a bush swears in Akkad and lets out a muffled laugh.

“Shit! Everyone! Help! A madwoman!”

“You won’t escape your punishment, miscreant!” I yell in my loudest human voice as if I were as self-righteous as a Gabrielite.

I lightly jog after the fleeing man until we arrive at his camp.

“She’s right behind me! Shoot her, shoot her!”

A man fires a musket and the bullet misses me completely. What is he even aiming at? And now he is just standing here like a moron, gaping at the shadows.

I shoot him in the chest. He falls with a dreadful shriek and the rest of his band finally realizes that they are under attack. They pile on behind crates of supplies and fire back.

I skip behind a thick trunk and take potshots at those who break cover, making no particular effort to aim. I have plenty of bullets in a bag and this is the time to experiment.

“It can’t be just the one, there are too many bullets flying. She must have help!” one of the men says in a panicked voice.

“Maybe it’s a whole band of she-devils!” another replies, “They’re here to cut off our cocks! I told ye not to touch thoses lasses!”

“Shut your mug!”

“Your sins are many!” I shout with a gravelly voice, “and you should all repent! Repeeeeeent!”

Hah, I can see why the Gabrielite would risk dismemberment. This is fun! I leave the cover of the trunk and empty all six bullets in my left gun in quick succession.

“She’s got this strange gun! Do you think that’s why?”

“Then it must be empty! Let’s rush her!” a brave soul screams and then jumps on top of the crate.

I shoot the man down with the right gun like the dog he is. I then open the contraption to reload.

Instead of doing it cartridge by cartridge, I just remove the entire barrel and replace it with a fresh one. This is such a revolutionary invention! I am witnessing history in the making!

“Noooo she shot Jerry! Jerryyyyyyy!”

“Let me die, fools. Run. Run for your lives!”

How very dramatic. It reminds me, I should buy an opera ticket for the Queen of the Night by Mozart. An opera in German! I will go alone, have the waiters bring me a cup of coffee and throw chocolate wrappings on the heads of the rich folks below. It will be grand. Or I could bring Nami and enjoy the outrage. Hmmm.

A bullet hits the trunks fairly close to my head, showering me with splinters.

Right! I am already in the middle of something fun! Carpe diem and all that.

I lean to the side and shoot at the ass of someone attempting to crawl away. He howls and his friends drag him back. There are only three of them now, including one who is no longer so cheeky.

Heh.

I turn once more and, this time, flick the hammer with one hand while I press the trigger with the other. This allows me to shoot faster but I am still limited by the physics of the gun itself. Otherwise I could shoot even faster! Incredible!

Could I make an overly large version of this? Hmmm.

“We surrender!”

“WHAT REALLY? ALREADY?” I scream in utter annoyance.

My legitimate question is received in stupefied silence. Jimena walks to me with a chuckle as I vociferate and grumble.

“Why? How can they be such cowards?”

“They are bandits, Ariane, not fanatics dying for a cause.”

“But I killed bandits before and they hardly ever surrendered!”

“Did you even leave them enough time to do so? To understand their desperate circumstances?”

“Well…”

“Or did you just enter the fray and happily slaughtered them?”

“I was not done with the test! I want to shoot at them and play with them and have them squirm. How dare they stay here like useless sacks of flesh while Torran is leaving me? They have no right. It should not be happening like this! He was the first man I loved in a romantic capacity in my entire Watcher-forsaken life, the only one I can even think of being intimate with. I love him dearly. I feel good with him, as myself and without a mask. He accepts me and my lack of experience and all my little flaws and he is patient and caring and loving. He knows so many stories. Also he can kick my ass. And he builds swords. Fuck!”

“Ariane…”

“It is not fair! There are so many wastes of space already here, why can’t they go and he can stay?” I finish sulkily.

Jimena remains silent. She reaches up to lightly tap the top of my head. Because it is Jimena, I let her.

“Errrr,” a male voice says from behind, “can we please lower our hands or?”

Torran’s departure leaves me irritable and ill-tempered for a few months during which I take a more hands-off attitude to ruling Marquette and my budding business empire. Following Salim’s advice, I also invest in the real estate of my territory, apparently a vampire tradition. I sink my time and undirected anger into magical and physical training with the occasional help of a few war-minded Masters like Nami and Jimena. I also try to involve guns in my combat style but soon realize that the task is extremely arduous and that my training partners object to being shot at mid-practice. I will have to return to that at a later date.

The year eighteen thirty-six brings an interesting event in the Natalis territory. Texans conduct a revolution and manage to capture the Mexican general Santa Anna, forcibly bringing him to the negotiation table and leading to the birth of the Republic of Texas. Lord Jarek’s territory is no longer part of Mexico as a result.

The new State of Arkansas joins the union, giving us a new, clearly delimited territory, which is granted to the returning Lancaster. Lord Marion is their new leader and he takes the time to come and greet me, bearing offerings and a juicy trade agreement that finally allows me to set up a proper gun factory. Because of this and his overall politeness, I support his claim even though deep inside I am fuming. A few diplomatic agreements and he obtains a state! Pah! Back in my days, you had to wallow knee-deep in werewolf blood to get a tiny piece of land. Those newcomers do not know how good they have it.

The entry of Arkansas brings forth a burning issue, that of slavery. The growth of the abolitionist movement leads to massive frictions and each new state that enters the union threatens the fragile equilibrium between the two sides. For now, Illinois is not a slave state but there are slave-catchers operating on the southern border while in the north, abolitionists assist fugitives on their way to Canada. Although I stick to my belief that a happy human is a tasty human and that no man, or woman, can truly be happy as long as they do not have free agency, I limit my actions to keeping the less honest catchers off my area of control through heavy beatings whenever necessary.

At least three different clans have a vested interest in the institution, including the Cadiz whose financial interests are closely tied to the South and its plantations. Vampirekind is thus equally split on the subject. The Ekon, Roland and I are firmly in the abolitionist camp with Sephare herself calling it ‘odious’, while the others argue that treating people as property is as old as history itself and therefore natural, if unfortunate.

I do not see this ending well.

In the meanwhile, I continue learning from Ezekiel until, in the month of January eighteen thirty-seven, Margaret disappears.

The compass definitely points to the factory in front of me, showing me that the girl still lives. The building is decently new and obviously busy during daytime. The paint of the massive double gate is fresh and the many windows clearly show a neat interior.

“That is not what I expected,” Ezekiel says. Without his ridiculous red robes, he looks more like an actual professor and less like some cheap, farcical villain. His keen eyes fix the brick surface of his target as if they could bore right through it.

I know what he means. Margaret has gone missing and she has ways of contacting us. I am going for kidnapping, mundane or otherwise.

“Let me infiltrate the place, just in case,” I request.

To my surprise, Ezekiel does not argue.

“Agreed, but be warned that after five minutes I shall break in gauntlet blazing. If you find some crime afoot, this is your window to reach a diplomatic agreement. After that…”