The Heroic Villain 2

by Charles Dean

  The next war, it would be one of their turns. The cycle would continue, and their power, the nobles’ power, would continue to grow. It was a beautiful machine that had run like clockwork for a hundred generations, and one that some upstart, lowborn fool could never comprehend. This long-term planning, this ability to see that not all enemies are enemies, is why we, the descendants of Ramon’s great alliance, are destined to prosper and you, you idiotic guttersnipe, will fail. The image of Lucas was still fresh in his head as he cursed the man’s success.

  “So good of you to join us,” the headmistress of the academy said as Edmund entered. “I was wondering if you would make it or if you might crawl in your hole after being so thoroughly embarrassed by that whelp at court today. I didn’t even have to attend, and my little rabbits hopped about spreading the news of it everywhere for me to hear.”

  “Is this something I should be concerned about?” Ari, a tall Were-Bear, asked. He had silver fur and was wearing a suit of armor with the prestigious blue and gray colors and coat of arms of his house, House Ostreicher.

  “Nothing you need to worry yourself about, suit boy,” Edmund answered, brushing off Ari’s question. Edmund had a lot of respect for most of the members of the table, but Ari wasn’t one of them. He broke with traditions that the founder had established long ago for the safety and protection of the group, things like not wearing armor inside the meeting room or bringing guards. While the group had stopped him from bringing his men, the fact that Ari had tried it at all still irritated Edmund to no end--an irritation that he did little to hide.

  “Go easy on him,” the headmistress said. “It’s not like he’s in the wrong to worry. That boy openly criticized, mocked, and insulted you all in front of the king, and yet he still breathes. Shouldn’t we all feel a little concerned?”

  “He won’t be breathing for long,” Edmund answered, sneering slightly at the woman, whom he honestly considered nothing more than a red-dressed harlot whose mother had finagled her way into the group. “I’ve already put plans in motion.”

  “Those outsiders you pointed toward him? The ones you made me let into my pretty little garden? I’ve met the man; he’ll make short work of them,” she declared confidently. “He will be like a lake, swallowing the small stones you cast at him. You need to go about it in a more nuanced fashion. You need to do it with more class, something I thought you had in ample supply.”

  “Humans. Your kind is always bickering among themselves,” a tall-eared Alfar scolded. He was dressed in the traditional long robes of the Alfar nobility that were dyed blue and green. “If there is nothing more, shall we get down to business? There is still land to be divided and payments to be allocated for it.”

  “Tao is right. Edmund’s irritations and problems are none of the larger group’s concerns, and we all have pressing issues to get to,” Dinniman, the Were-Beaver representative sitting next to Ari and clad in his house’s orange and black colors said, finally speaking up. He was about to add more, except Ramon VIII raised a hand, silencing Dinniman and the other representatives.

  After a moment of silence, Ramon dropped his hand, and the Were-Rat’s eyes never blinked as his gaze swept back and forth across the group. “The divided and quarrelsome are the first to be culled. Or have you all forgotten the lessons from history, the lessons carved across this table by our ancestors generations ago?”

  It was a rhetorical question, but no one answered. Ramon VIII, Ramon VII, and Ramon VI had shown up to meetings for decades, but rarely ever opened their mouths. Edmund and the others knew that they had a lot to say and were always thinking about something. The beady eyes shifting from person to person, the way they lurched in their chair, the mannerisms with their hands as their fingers rapped across the desk--it was clear they had thoughts. Deep thoughts. It was also evident that they didn’t share them. Unlike the Were-Bears, who were boisterous and loud with their opinions, or the Were-Cats and Were-Beavers, who were self-serving and direct, or the Were-Foxes, who were always weaving words to cover their interests, the Were-Rats were guarded. They were locked vaults. So, when one of them, a descendant of the founder, finally chose to speak, it was enough to silence everyone and capture their attention.

  “Our blood is not special. It gives us no immunity from a blade; it stops no spell nor fends off an army. It is, without a doubt, the same as those lowborn whom you mock at this table. The only things that make us greater than such are class and lessons and tradition, our adherence to solving problems as a community; our insistence on looking five, ten, or twenty years into the future before we even pick out what tea we will drink in the morning; and, most importantly, that we consider all potential threats seriously. We do not take anything lightly. A single general’s decision might undo years of progress. A soldier’s misfired crossbow might kill the only heir of a multi-generational estate. We cannot afford to treat a threat lightly, and I know there is a threat. The rats of Hesse have already spread rumors of tightening laws, stricter regulations, and culled contraband channels. The world is getting smaller for my people as a result of what Humans are suffering.”

  Everyone was quiet. The words were true. Edmund had lost revenue too. Without the lecherous and idiotic Dray’s lax, near-incompetent regulations, he had already taken a hit on his imports and exports. The brat Lucas had only barely come to power, and he had already somehow united Hesse and made it nearly impossible to smuggle things inside and out of it without the tariff patrol slapping fines on his cargo.

  After pausing long enough for everyone to consider his words, Ramon shifted his eyes from the table to the Human nobles at the end. His eyes shifted between the Humans until it finally landed on Edmund. “So, Edmund, why don’t you tell me about this incident? And tell me about the threat that has my rats in Hesse finding rafts across the sea. Then, I think, for just a moment, we can act like we did at the first meeting and come together to solve this threat and make sure these lands stay ours--not the king’s and certainly not the commoners’.”

  Chapter 5

  This is so boring, Bonnie thought as she and Viola walked through the rather sparse and empty campus. It was nothing like the bustling city or the packed university where she had attended school in real life. A college campus in the real world was like a living thing with people moving about like blood flowing through the creature’s veins. I suppose that’s actually what I am to the school: a little blood cell that carries money instead of oxygen to and from the different departments, my attendance bringing funding to needy teachers.

  “Sometimes, I think that the afterlife must be filled with angels,” Viola said out of nowhere, interrupting silence that had thus far persisted through the walk.

  What? Bonnie thought, almost asking aloud what she meant, but then stopping herself. With Viola, there really wasn’t any point. The theatrical young woman spoke in nothing but riddles, and there wasn’t a very good chance of her bothering to clarify her meaning. Annoying, self-important, pretentious archaic riddles. Bonnie glared at Viola out of the corner of her eye for a moment before turning her attention back to the road ahead of her.

  “After all, this world is filled with devils, so the angels have to be somewhere else,” Viola explained, even though Bonnie was positive she hadn’t asked.

  “Sure,” Bonnie agreed disinterestedly. She paused long enough to kick a stray pebble out of the road and then fell back in step.

  “You know, we’re supposed to have a conversation here,” Viola said. “It’s required for the sisterly bonding part of our adventure. Just think of this as some big play and pretend that we’re all having fun if you find it difficult. You can be the charming rogue, and I’ll be the wandering merchant that’s here to procure your conversational services.”

  “But this isn’t a play,” Bonnie scoffed. “And I’m not an actor.”

  “Oh? You’re not?” Viola giggled as she quickly pulled a black masquerade mask out of her bag and put it on, covering up the top half of her face. “Fro
m how you talk to others, I had assumed you would be rather fond of role-playing and games.”

  “I’m fond of games, but not yours,” Bonnie said.

  “My games?” Viola removed the mask in an overly dramatic fashion, making a grand flourish of her hand for show. “Whatever do you mean? It’s neither my stage nor my script that we’re reading, so why not play along?”

  Those dumb wordplay games . . . that dumb way you talk . . . It’s like this is some play from a dead man’s era. Bonnie ground her teeth together and bit her tongue to keep from saying anything. She didn’t feel comfortable going off on Viola like she did with Nick. He was like a brother to her--a young, annoying, immature brother--but Viola was different. Viola was just like her mother: always hiding behind pomp and pretense. Always acting. Always lying. The way she switched from one personality to the next unnerved Bonnie. But she wouldn’t say anything. Even if Bonnie couldn’t stand her, Viola was helpful to the group.

  “Fine,” Viola sighed. “Then it isn’t a game. You are a rogue, and I am a merchant. I have a gold coin if you can humor me with a story. That is what you do and promise, right? Anything for the right price?”

  Bonnie looked over at the coin that Viola had somehow produced without her noticing and saw that she was holding it in place of the mask, which had somehow disappeared as well. “It depends what type of story you want,” she answered carefully.

  “If yours isn’t too expensive,” Viola said, extending the coin.

  Bonnie hesitated. She felt like she was being put on the spot, but a few words for a coin didn’t seem like a bad trade. “Fine,” she agreed, taking the gold. “What part of my story do you want?”

  “Hmm . . . How about we start with the easiest part, your hobbies before this game. Were you a book nerd? A television addict? Did you troll the movie theaters, or were you building in basements? Oh, oh, maybe a mad scientist?”

  Bonnie looked down at the coin in her hand. “I don’t know,” Bonnie answered. “I just . . . I just was?” She knew that it was a cryptic answer, but she wasn’t lying. There was no secret past of hers; she just did things so that she wouldn’t be bored. She had never had a hobby of her own, and the only “friends” she had ever hung around with were Aaron, Lars, and Bernadette. Even then, she felt like a little chain that was hooked on tightly to weigh them down since they had to put up with her mom’s stupid rules just to stay friends with her.

  Viola nodded as if she understood, and a new coin appeared in her hand. “Driftwood, eh? I understand. I’ve been there before. It takes a while to find your passion.”

  “When did you find theater?” Bonnie asked. She was surprised by her own sudden interest, and her question caused Viola to clench at her chest tightly as if she had just suffered a heart attack. “What? You do love theater, right?”

  “My dear!” Viola exclaimed indignantly. “This just won’t do. How could you insult me so?”

  “Uhh . . .” Bonnie stared at Viola, unsure what to make of the woman. “What did I say?”

  “You asked for my story. For free! I had to pay a pretty penny, a full gold coin, for yours, but you think mine is free?”

  Bonnie shook her head at Viola’s act, but a small smile crept across her face nonetheless. “Alright. Fine. I’ll pay you with another piece of my story if you sell that one of yours.”

  “Deal,” Viola agreed, and the coin disappeared as she stuck out her hand.

  Bonnie took her hand and shook it. “Looks like we’ve struck a bargain!”

  “Alright then,” Viola began. “My side of the deal . . . Let me think . . . I’d say I found theater during a hard time. I used to just drift a lot. I was like a small, sailless boat afloat in the ocean until the waves finally capsized me. And then I thought I would drown. My life just--for lack of a better word--sucked. I won’t bore you with the details, but I didn’t have a single friend or person I could turn to. Not even the mirror. Then, one day, when I was trying to avoid . . . stuff . . . I ended up crashing in a library. It was warm, quiet, empty . . . basically the perfect place to rest. So I did. I fell asleep on the third floor of some fancy-pants school’s illustrious library and woke up the next day with an annoying old woman standing over me, holding a stack of books and kicking the shelf next to me.”

  Fell asleep for an entire day in a library? Bonnie noted that detail. She could imagine how easy it would be. Libraries had basically become barren, state-funded wastelands, museums dedicated to a medium of storytelling that no one used anymore thanks to technology. If I ever need to save money for a night, I could easily use a library. “So, what happened next?” she asked.

  “Well, that angry woman slammed the books down and demanded that I start reading the one on top, or she would call the police.”

  “She’d call the police just for you sleeping in the library?” Bonnie asked. Maybe a library isn’t the safest place to rest.

  “I don’t think she would have, but I was a little younger than you, and the word ‘police’ was terrifying to me. It was the type of word that kept me walking in straight lines,” Viola explained. “Having them find me . . . that was a fear worse than death.”

  “So . . . umm . . . So, you read the story then?”

  “Yeah. I read the story. When I got halfway through it, she shared her lunch with me--rice cakes and sushi--and when we finished, she got me an apple. It was nice. She didn’t even ask a single question about my--” Viola stopped mid-sentence, like her throat had been grabbed so tightly that she couldn’t breathe. Her face paled for a moment, and then she smiled and continued as if nothing had happened. “She didn’t ask me about why I was skipping school. She just made me read. By the time I finished forty or fifty of the books, well . . . I was in love.”

  “In love with the old woman?”

  “No, you idiot,” Viola laughed. “With the stories. Each one was a magical adventure. They were worlds that I could be transported to, wonderlands that I grew obsessed with more and more each book. I thought books would be the end of it, but that old lady, who actually let me stay with her as long as I kept reading, took me to the college theater one day. I remember that day more than any others. It was the best day of my life. Watching those fat, sweaty women; those lanky, nervous men; those idiots, ugly to cute, fumbling over words from my favorite story . . . It was magical.”

  “That doesn’t sound very magical,” Bonnie said, looking up in confusion. That sounds like a train wreck if anything.

  “But it was. It cast a spell on me. That was the moment when I realized that, no matter who I am or where I’m from or what I’m doing, I can be like them. I can be the heroines in those adventures. I can talk like the queens and princesses from the worlds I’ve always dreamed of, and if I do it well enough, it won’t matter if it’s real.” Viola danced forward and twirled around while clutching at her heart and looking to the sky. It was like a scene straight out of a movie and a major clue that her theatrics weren’t going anyway despite the heavy tone of the conversation.

  “So . . . umm . . . What happened with the angry old lady at the library?”

  Viola pursed her lips. “Hmm . . . I’d love to tell you, but you still haven’t paid for the first story.”

  “Oh. Yeah. What do you want to know next?”

  “So, no hobby. What about friends? Maybe a boy?” Viola guessed.

  “No, none of those.” Bonnie paused for a second and then said, “Well, actually, I used to have friends. A few of them. It’s just . . . things got in the way. My parents kind of got between me and them.”

  “The boys or the friends?” Viola asked.

  “Friends,” Bonnie answered firmly. Even though she and Aaron had almost been a thing, she hated his cowardly and indecisive manner. That type of wishy-washy, go-with-the-flow, conflict-avoidant personality was something that she could overlook in a friend, in someone like Nick, but it didn’t suit her at all in a man. Someone like Lucas would never have accepted her parents using college and distance to keep her f
rom him. Even if he had to fly a thousand miles for his wife Yu Hua, he would have, she thought, thinking back to how dedicated the widower still seemed to be. That’s how a man should be. He should be willing to take action for the love of his life no matter what the cost.

  “Ha! So, they failed the damsel,” Viola concluded. “And my life has once again failed to pass the Bechdel test. I’ll get it one of these days. We can even have a conversation about just drinks later to skip on through it.”

  “They didn’t fail; they just didn’t succeed,” Bonnie griped, annoyed that Aaron hadn’t even tried.

  “Well, it’s good to know that the parents have protected the daughter’s chastity,” Viola muttered, mostly to herself. “I’m sure they’re very proud of it.”

  Bonnie shrugged. “They’re used to getting what they want.”

  “Fair enough. It seems that story is short . . . So, old lady is my payment now?”

  “Yeah, what happened to her?” Bonnie realized that she and Viola had completely passed the lecture that they were supposed to attend, but she wanted to know more about Viola.

  “Sad to say, but you’re going to be disappointed. She was a nice woman, but she was old. A few years after she got me into theater, she slipped getting up off the toilet, hit her head, and that was the end of that. She didn’t have any kids, only a sister. The library workers organized a nice little funeral, but other than me, her sister, and the few people working at the library with her, no one attended.”

  “You lived with her till she died?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Didn’t your parents wonder what happened?” Bonnie felt stupid as soon as she asked. She might not have parents. What are you doing? Don’t be rude!

  “I’m sure he wondered. I know she did,” Viola answered flatly. “Mother would have definitely noticed I was gone.”