by James Moore
Kurt scribbled a note to himself, intent on solving the mystery at a later time, then stood to leave the room. As he walked around his desk, he reached over and picked up the note. He tore the note neatly in eight parts, burying half of them in his wastebasket near the door and carrying the rest in his pocket. He made a mental note to dispose of each piece separately and promptly forgot what he had done. He paused before leaving his office, wondering what he had been up to for the last hour. He was tired, and apparently the strain he was under was making him absent-minded. The important thing now, as always, was to protect the interests of the Ventrue clan. The best way to accomplish that was to stop Etrius and his plans.
By the time Kurt returned to the living room, Carl and
Zho had once again settled into discussing their mutual ancestor and how best to approach the problem that Etrius presented. As Kurt approached, Zho commanded Chamas to be gone, and the imp left with a sneer and several obscenities. Jing Wei stood by the window, staring out at the darkness, but her posture told Kurt that she was listening to every word being spoken.
“I see that Chamas has once again worn out his welcome. I must apologize for disappearing so abruptly, but I had a few phone calls to make." The two men looked up at him, and Jing Wei turned away from the window, offering him a small smile. “Have you decided whether or not to risk believing us, Mr. Magnuson?"
“Well, I don’t see as I have much say in the matter either way, Kurt. I’m here now, aren’t I?"
“Let’s stop beating around the bush, shall we?” Kurt dropped all pretenses of a smile, his anger winning slightly, and the need to make his point known only emphasizing the need to get this finished once and for all. “Of course you have choices. If you did not have choices, I could have rectified this matter already.”
“How so?"
“Thadius and I decided that we’d reason with you. I am reasoning with you because I abhor physical violence and have no warm place in my heart for kidnapping. Thadius feels that he and you arc linked by mystical bonds — a point I won’t argue, as one look at the two of you next to each other is enough to convince me that he is accurate in his beliefs — and for that reason alone, he would wish you no harm. Certainly he has already had the chance to choose his own fate. Why would he rob you of the same option?”
“You mean aside from selling my soul to a major demon?" Kurt acknowledged that what Zho had told him and what he had told Carl were two different stories, thought about questioning the man about his divergent tales, and mentally
shrugged the matter off. Instead he focused on the attitude the younger mage was tossing his way and forced himself to calm down as much as possible.
Kurt paused a moment, stepping over to a silver-plated humidor set on the oak bar against the wall and extracting a package of brandied tobacco from its depths, followed by a pipe. He delayed a moment longer, filling the pipe’s bowl and tamping down the loose leaves. “I will be blunt now. If I wanted to stop Etrius without your consent, I could have drained you of your blood and fed you enough of my own to make you a vampire. By so doing, your usefulness to Etrius would be non-existent. Or perhaps it would have been possible to Blood Bond you to me — a very simple process that would effectively make you my slave — and through that bond, perhaps I could even gain a certain level of influence over Councilor Etrius of the Tremere. An opportunity that most of my clan would kill for, Carl. Make no mistake about that.”
Kurt lit the pipe and pulled the smoke into his mouth, letting the sweetened fumes run past his lips in tiny trickles. Normally he preferred to smoke only after he was done with an assignment, but this night he felt the need for his nostalgic habit and the comfort it gave. The two mages before him both stared apparently taken aback by his abrupt change in tactics. That was good; it meant he was achieving his goal. “I could simply have broken your neck last night instead of taking the time to ensure your safety. That would have ended the problem again. It would also have delayed Etrius' plans by at least a few decades."
He noted, with no small satisfaction, the slightly shocked smile on Jing Wei’s angelic face. He believed he might have even surprised her, because such direct comments were just not the norm for him, and everyone who knew him in the least knew that he seldom laid his cards on the table without at least a little restraint. “Do not, for one instant, Mr. Magnuson, assume you have no control over your destiny. As
a rule I try to avoid taking away another person’s options. I respect my own freedom far too much to take away another’s without just cause.”
“I appreciate that, Kurt. But you’ve got to understand that you're putting one hell of a weight on my shoulders and asking me to make a decision that will affect the rest of my life. And you’re asking me to make that decision with nothing to go one but the words of one demon-dealing mage, one imp of the aforementioned demon and yours.” Magnuson stood, walking over to the bar to see if there was anything worth noticing. He pulled a rather dusty bottle of Louis XIII out and looked towards Kurt. “May I?"
“Of course. Forgive my ill manners. I only keep the liquors to offer others, I’m certainly not capable of drinking them, and then I forget to offer them when I finally have guests for the first time in a decade. Help yourself.”
“Thank you."
“You have my word as well, Carl." The mage turned from opening the lead-crystal decanter, looking over at Jing Wei. She smiled, moved closer, and took the bottle from his fingers. Kurt stepped behind the bar and rinsed out one of his brandy snifters, remembering with fond regret that Jackie was never the most efficient of housekeepers. Jing Wei poured three fingers worth of the amber liquor, looking to Zho with a questioning glance. He nodded, and she poured another for him. “I had time to study the library at the chantry while waiting for Kurt and Thadius to arrive. There are many tomes in that library, and several refer to similar magics being employed over the centuries. House Tremere has a long and distinguished history, both as a vampiric clan and as a Hermetical order. Make no mistake, the magics employed would have been easy to research and easier still to accomplish."
Jing Wei handed over the glasses to each of the men and turned to look deeply into Magnuson’s eyes. “I have seen the
images of you, of Etrius, in the presence of a beautiful woman, images older than you and I combined. The woman in those paintings and wood-cuttings bears a remarkable resemblance to ilse Decameron.
“Did i not step back when asked? Did I not leave you and ilse together, when you knew even then how I felt for you? I did this because your mutual love is old and powerful. I would not dare to stand in its way.” She stepped away from Magnuson, and Kurt could see the hurt in her eyes before she quickly looked back to the window.
No one spoke. Magnuson looked perplexed by her words and unsettled by her confession. Kurt could empathize. The two mages stared at their snifters, and Kurt stepped over to where Jing Wei stared out the window, facing the east and fighting back the emotions she had just exposed. Once again he placed an arm around her waist as she rested her head against his shoulder. This time, he offered what little comfort he could share, and she took it greedily.
“Why do you risk the wrath of your clan, Jing Wei? For the love of a man?" He spoke in whispers, sharing closed murmurs between old friends.
“No, Kurt. I risk much because Etrius is only one of the Seven. Not all agree that becoming human again is a good thing, and even among those who do, there is no surety that now is the proper time. The Comte de St. Germain would not have this happen, and while he is not a part of the Council, his word is normally well-received. Thomas Wyncham is one of the Seven Councilors as well. He would rather the clan wait for final confirmation from Tremere himself.”
“Etrius does this without the permission of Tremere?”
Jing Wei smiled, shaking her head. “Who can say? Etrius is in charge of protecting Tremere, and Tremere has not been present to make his feelings known personally. At least not that I am aware of."
�
��Have you told this to Ilse Decameron? Perhaps she could urge the truth from Etrius." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted speaking them.
“Perhaps you can ask her yourself, Kurt. She should be here soon." He noticed the edge of frost that had crept into her voice and hugged her waist by way of apologizing.
“Here? At my home?"
“She or another of the Tremere. They will be looking for Carl Magnuson."
“You think Etrius will send ilse?"
“Oh, yes. He loves her. Besides, who else would he trust?" She stared out the window again, and a slight smile crept up her face. “And who else would Astrid Thomas, who is Etrius’ consort, want sent into danger?”
Ilse turned the Key in the lock of Lady Sarah’s umpteenth china cabinet. Ten thousand rooms, a hundred thousand doors, and a million closets and cupboards — the old woman had made certain that the Rite of the Iron Key would have a different, unknown door to use for all the days of a Kindred’s unlife.
It was with delight and trepidation that Ilse knew those would soon come to an end.
“House of Shadows, House of Secrets, open out to the lost and forgotten, the barrens and backways, the shadowed byway and hidden hall, the forgotten gate, walled away...” A crumpled photograph of the Brandenburg Gate in her other hand, ilse pulled open the door, leading out onto a deserted street, a section of the Berlin Wall and the Gate in the distance.
ilse held the door open, slipping the photograph into her pocket and placing the Key back onto the silver chain about her neck. She then took out her compact and gazed into the
mirror, beginning the Rite of Presentation. It was an abbreviated form of the Rite of Introduction, the classic ritual of Tremere courtesy, but instead of paging every Tremere in a city, the Rite of Presentation instead allowed the invoker to contact the chantry Regent, or other high-ranking officer, and that officer alone. It was an invaluable tool for the many cryptic missions a Tremere agent was sent on and entrusted to only the clan’s most proven emissaries, but it was a rite that Ilse was very grateful for at the moment, especially when she was able to cross it with the other half of the charm of the Mirror of Hathor.
Ilse finished whispering the incantation, the words of the Sator Square said forwards and back, then began the invocation: “Salutations and greetings, Maxwell Ldescu, Magus of Berlin! I am known as Ilse Decameron, childe of Houdini, childe of —”
Yes, yes, yes, I know all chat. The voice came through in her head, quick and amused, and the image in her mirror changed, becoming that of a man, young and handsome, with dark red hair, laughing hazel eyes, and a friendly white smile. This is Maxwell Ldescu, Magus of Berlin, childe of Schreckt, et cetera, et cetera, and I’ve been waiting in front of the Mirror since nightfall. Ilse, do you have the door open?
“Yes,” she whispered.
Which one is it?
“Sulfur and Mercury combine to bring a feast for the Dawn."
The reflection paused, and his chuckle echoed inside her head. I’m guessing that would be Lady Sarah's Cinnabar Breakfast Room.
“I cannot say. It must remain a secret.”
Quite so, he replied. I know where that opens up. I'll see you in a moment.
The image faded, and Ilse stood there in the doorway of the china cabinet, one foot in the House of Shadows, the
other on an empty street, the Mirror of Hathor held open in her hand, the second half of the charm guarding both her and the Midnight Palace from prying eyes.
She hardly had time to look about before a black Mercedes Benz pulled up in front of the alley. The door opened, and Ldescu climbed out of the driver’s side, followed by two women.
“Ah, the illustrious ilse." He smiled and nodded, head cocked. “I’ve seen your work and your image, but I must say, it’s a pleasure to be working with you and meeting you in the flesh, especially on such an important mission.” His handclasp was warm and friendly, even though his skin was as cold as her own.
“Thank every god for the Rite of Presentation and the Mirror of Hathor, not to mention the House. The Ventrue have got the phones bugged, and it’s rather hard to throw a countercharm when you’re dealing with the entire European satellite system, not to mention malicious computer hacking."
ilse stepped away from the door to the House of Secrets, allowing the panel to swing closed with a rattle of antique china, leaving nothing more than a boarded-up door covered with posters for forgotten political rallies and concerts. “I’d imagine so.” She shut her compact, slipping it back in her pocket.
A woman with a long, oval face, beautiful as a cameo, with luminous, golden eyes and red hair dyed black, matched by a short-skirted dress and stockings, stepped up behind Ldescu almost soundlessly.
“My apprentices," Ldescu said, gesturing to the gold-eyed woman. “Lydia Van Cuelen—," and then to the next figure as she stepped out of the shadows, looming, “— and Sabine Lafitte. Ladies, I give you the illustrious Miss Decameron."
Sabine was a statuesque woman with a heavy-jawed, masculine face, offsetting and confusing the issue with a black crepe spaghetti-strapped party dress, cross earrings, shaved off
and penciled in eyebrows, basic black dog collar (with tag), ruby lipstick and slicked back, butched black hair with two strands pulled forward over one eye — either a failed attempt at spit curls or a calculated touch to pick up the line of the spaghetti straps and penciled-in eyebrows. To finish the effect, she wore thigh-high black boots with five-inch stiletto heels, making her tower over the already tall Ldescu by a full head and giving her the general appearance of a transsexual of mixed success or a former member of the East German Women’s Olympic Basketball Team.
Either of which might actually be the case.
Ldescu smiled, looking ilse in the eye, and she heard his voice in her head: Don’t let Sabine's appearance put you off. She's the heart of kindness and the soul of dependability.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Decameron," said Sabine, extending her large, black-nailed hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ilse returned, revising her opinions again. Sabine had a heavy French accent of some provincial sort to offset her obviously Germanic bone structure. Alsatian? Possibly, but Ilse hardly had the time for speculation. She turned back to Ldescu. “Have you ascertained where the Ventrue are holding Carl Magnuson?”
The Magus nodded. “A citadel of sorts. He’s being kept in Kurt Westphal’s penthouse in one of the hotels of the Europa complex, and, with the shops and restaurants below, there’s more than enough Elysium set up as baffles to any concerted Kindred strike force." He grinned, showing a great number of white teeth. “So we’re not going to use Kindred. At least, not alone. Our Brujah allies have some interesting allies of their own, and we should be able to cause a sufficient distraction without breaking the Masquerade — or, should I say, without us breaking the Masquerade — and get us to the penthouse to rescue Charles the Great. I mean, Carl Magnuson.” “What?" Use asked, blinking. “Charlemagne?”
Ldescu beamed. “I haven't the faintest idea if it’s true, but
it’s an engaging idea, isn’t it? The coincidence in names is a wonderful stroke of luck, and one of the few things of use my first master taught me is that it doesn’t matter if you believe if something is true. If you’re a magician, and you tell people, they’ll believe it." His eyes danced with mirth. “Especially if they want to believe, and with stories like that, let me assure you, there are people who always want to believe. So play along."
Ilse knew well enough about playing along, though did stop to consider the idea. Charlemagne? Her history was terribly rusty, and besides the fact that he was king of the Franks, Ilse didn’t know a thing about him. She supposed he’d had a queen, but she hoped it hadn't been her. After all, there were probably a dozen Carl Magnusons in the Berlin phone directory, or at least one or two.
Ldescu put his arms around his apprentices, pulling them forward. “Come along, girls, and you as well, please,
Miss Decameron.”
“Call me Ilse.”
“Call me Max.”
They drove down the street until they came to a phone booth. Ldescu pulled against the curb and stepped inside, then paused, one hand on the door. “Lydia, how many minutes would you say?”
“Fifteen at the most, the Europa Center is in the middle of everything."
“In a short while it most certainly will be." Ldescu smiled at some personal irony, then picked up the pay phone, deposited a Deutschmark, and began dialing. “Hallo? Herr Sosa.? Maxwell Ldescu. It appears we shall be needing that favor I mentioned. Yes, yes, certainly. We shall be meeting you a block away. Yes, and thank you. To the return of the Golden Age!”
He hung up, the phone chiming as it swallowed the coin, and he glanced over his shoulder, beaming. “I think a New
Age is indeed upon us. This spirit of cooperation is wonderful.” The Magus gave no further explanation, only led them down the sidewalk until a few minutes later, a couple stepped out of a sidestreet and turned, striding purposefully towards them.
The man was huge, at least seven feet tall she was certain, a dancing partner for Sabine and then some, with gargantuan muscles and shoulders so broad it looked like he had football pads permanently attached, swaggering down the sidewalk, blond hair flying, chest and square jaw both thrust forward. The dags on the sleeves and skirt of his knight’s tabard fluttered in his wake. His chainmail clanked with each stomp of his enormous jackboots, and on his mammoth chest he had an equally gigantic bear, rampant, Prussian blue on white.
Taking three steps to every two of his to keep up was a woman with spiked blond hair, dressed in the same tabard as the man, but with lighter mail underneath, in place of the greatsword on his back, she had a short sword at her waist, a quiver of arrows and an ivory bow, a fantastic and beautiful piece that belonged in some museum or magician’s stronghold, for Ilse could see the magical power that crackled around its aura, even without focusing her sight. And once she did, it was hard to disguise the pale red glow of rage from the auras of both individuals. Angry Kindred — Brujah.