As an almost dead nobody, he was just so much carrion for the ever alert scavengers. They had taken whatever the last bits the flesh would yield, the rest being of no use they left for others below them on the food chain – the Canadian bitch and her pretentious, apish drone. But, with handsome returns from the cross and yet to be monetized rewards from the stashed medieval gear, it all got them thinking that there might be a good deal more harvest from a now much warmer Abelard. They would be alert to any opportunities.
About a month before The Society men came for him, Abelard had begun to range about the property, several times bumping into and talking with the twins. Nothing weighty; nice horse; Aubrey is the boss; the rules of salvage means that the suit of armour belongs to them and they have guns to back up their claim; the guns function very well, Aubrey demonstrates, by shooting a hole through the side of their cherished van; but this vest here, made of Kevlar, can stop bullets.
The relationship was a developing one. Very soon Abelard recognized their social status, as the classification existed in his only available memories, and he began to subtly treat them as a cross between serfs and groveling merchants. This emerging hierarchy was reflected in Abelard’s increasingly snooty attitude, as would be expected of a nobleman dealing with his inferiors. As though from a natural bent, the boys fluidly evolved into the roles which Abelard had designated for them. There was no open subservience, just little things like not looking directly at him, rushing a chair to where they anticipated he might want to sit, letting him peer about their hovel and sneering at him when he was not looking, a small act of defiance by the oppressed.
In the dirt, grime and vast collection of cheap and broken bric-a-brac, Abelard found three things of great interest. He knew where they had put his armour and sword; he was greatly fascinated by the Kevlar vest, particularly after seeing how easily a bullet could penetrate metal and; the horse and saddle were within easy reach.
Much as they felt inferior to Abelard and partly because of that, the twins would jump at the first opportunity to kill him if they believed there was profit in it. The motive came very soon after the disappearance of the two Society assassins. When they had failed to bring in Abelard, Dona Maria Donatello had asked the dealer to look into the matter. He lost no time and at once made his way out to see the twins. As it happened, he arrived as Abelard was ending one of his short visits and they crossed paths, briefly exchanging courtesies. The Malvue were of no help in solving the mysterious disappearance, since they had been away that very same day. The dealer had slight regard for the twins and would not normally engage their services for even the most menial of tasks. But, when he learned that the large stranger he had just seen was the very same Abelard of such great interest to his client, he spotted an immediate opportunity for personal enrichment and thought that he had perhaps too harshly judged Aubrey and Benoit. The always eager entrepreneurs were quick to assure the dealer that they could deliver Abelard, alive and ticking, to his shop the following day at noon, a Sunday, when he would be closed.
The fateful morning arrived, they waited for Abelard to come and look at what they had told him would be an interesting artifact they had discovered. Benoit greeted him at the door, and as he stepped in Aubrey was waiting with gun in hand. After the usual ‘don’t move or I will kill you’ Aubrey handed a length of rope to Benoit and motioned for him to bind Abelard. The act of handing the rope to Benoit was the small opening for which Abelard had been waiting. Aubrey was momentarily inattentive and ever so slightly unsteadied. With practiced speed, Abelard drew the long filleting knife from under his jacket and put it to Aubrey’s neck while tightly gripping his gun hand. He kept digging the knife point further into the skin until Aubrey dropped his weapon and then motioned to Benoit to bind his brother. Looking for guidance from his older sibling, Benoit remained frozen at his place until Aubrey reluctantly nodded for him to proceed.
Abelard did not need to hear the elaborate explanations about a harmless meeting they had arranged with the dealer. He had little doubt that they were up to something with their dubious invitation to see them just after running into the altogether too well dressed stranger, quite out of place at the Malvue hovel. He had prudently prepared for foul play and brought with him the filleting knife.
Abelard ushered the twins out to the van, shoved Aubrey to the floor and motioned for Benoit to drive. The confident skill with which Abelard handled the knife so greatly impressed Benoit that he made little fuss and quickly did as he was told. Abelard directed them to a narrow roadway that edged along deep ravines with steep rocky sides. At a sharp turn in the road he told Benoit to stop and pull over to the edge. The moment the van stopped moving, without as much as the smallest warning, Abelard plunged the knife into Benoit’s rib cage, the long narrow blade slipping easily through the flesh, between the bones until the point pierced the heart, leaving Benoit only the briefest moment to look at Abelard before dying. He did not waste an instant, turning quickly to deal with Aubrey who did not have the time to either struggle or beg. Abelard, it seems, had a thorough knowledge of anatomy, able to find entry points unobstructed by bone and perfectly aligned to reach only the most vital of organs.
He had watched Felicity enough to know that the parking gear immobilized a vehicle, making it practically impossible to move. He turned the steering wheel to the appropriate position, moved the lever to neutral and with only the slightest effort gave the van the momentum it needed to roll off the cliff and plunge into the ravine. The extra petrol the twins always kept handy in twenty liter tin drums made the fire that finally consumed their van and their remains all that much more intense. The police had been unable to identify the charred flesh.
*
The Perfect Human: An Abelard Chronicles Book Page 30