I'd said the words with the assuredness of a man never bested in a fight, a talent that had served me well. I'd done as my father had wished unchallenged, a menace in black, a man without conscience. The odd ruffing up of those who sought to belittle he and my mother's work never seemed to do any harm. Only occasionally did I have to resort to worse. I became so used, so acquainted with violence that just turning up at another's door became enough of a threat. That was all well and good whilst the Eternals flourished, but as those who realised my parents' words to be true chose to take their lives, before destiny could take them from them, it became less and less the case. I grew bored. Alba changed all that. Where melancholy had consumed, happiness spread. Where I had courted violence, even enjoyed it, I grew to despise it. But that did not mean I would not have defended Alba with my life. As it happened, I'd had to.
Raphael arrived unannounced, unwanted, and very unhappy. His entrance to our beautiful home had paid testament to that. I had walked into our driveway to see him clambering over the front of the residence in an attempt to gain entry. Alba's screams had cut deep. I'd never heard such raw terror in a voice. She feared her own brother in ways I could never understand nor comprehend. The ensuing fight was more than the desire to harm. For the first time in my life, I fought to defend, not enforce. But it is said that one lost to madness can feel no pain; Raphael showed none. I might even have fallen to him in his blind rage if several neighbours had not intervened. They who owed me nothing – I kept to myself even then – yet they aided me. But they didn't really do it for me, they did it for Alba. She was so beautiful, so popular, who wouldn't have? We forced Raphael to swear he'd never enter the lands of The New Europa Alliance ever again. An Eternal's word is more than an oath, it is a life sentence. He knew he would be exterminated if he ever returned. But even as his mouth snarled the required words, his eyes betrayed him. I'd stood, talons poised around his throat, and still he'd quested for her. My father later said that desperate people did desperate things. That was never more true than in Raphael's sick obsession for his sister.
But, as the years crept by and Raphael and the rest of the banished Santini clan languished in the wastelands of the Southern Americas, Alba became all I could have ever dreamed of and more. I gave up my life of errant morals and misplaced dedication to my parents. As a result, they became derided without response. If I had realised they would take their own lives things might have been different, but I didn't, and they did. From that moment forth the seeds of my life were cast into a breeze that never allowed them to settle. I grew so despondent over their deaths, heartbroken, I left Alba to her own devices and vowed never to return to New Washington. The ladies of the Hierarchy's courts became my respite from self-induced insouciance and even that waned. I danced with a sneer and lived with less.
Linka changed all that. Raphael threatened to return it.
* * *
The sun sank beyond western borders, I felt it in my marrow and prepared myself for my captors: I did not have long to wait. A sneering triumvirate of Raphael's largest brutes burst into the cell and carried my trussed up form from the mansion in a jingle-jangle of unbreakable chains.
“Good Lord, is it raining?” I quipped, as the three threw me onto their master's well-groomed lawn. “I'd quite forgotten what it looked like.”
“Let us hope it pools in your future grave,” replied a leering Marquis. Vincent strolled past, or rather rolled, with the arrogant air of a man who believed himself victorious.
I struggled to my feet, eyes and ears searching for Sunyin. They held him some distance away under chained guard. Although I wouldn't have thought it possible, he looked in an even worse state than the previous evening.
Seeking not to draw undue attention, I gave the gardens a surreptitious once-over. The first thing I noticed was that the flying platform had gone. That was one means of escape ruled out. Raphael stood amongst a bed of roses not far from Sunyin that changed colour with every droplet of water that struck them.
“You like?” Raphael asked looking my way.
“In actual fact, I prefer the real thing.”
“How would you know, they've been missing from this barren world for so long?”
“If only you had, too.”
“I've thought the same thing about you for longer than I care to remember.”
“I'm sorry to have proven so stubborn in my diminishing.”
“True, amigo, but that shall soon be remedied,” he chuckled.
“Do you have to speak like that? We all know you put it on. I think it contributed to Alba's hatred of you and your ill-bred colleagues.”
Raphael laughed at that, but it was apparent for any fool to see that all he wanted was to rip out my heart.
“Marquis, take your dog and go fetch your ship.”
“Too lazy to get it yourself?” I said as scathing as possible.
“Too much in charge,” he corrected. “Now, Jean, you will get me into New Washington, won't you? I might have to take it upon myself to harm this Linka that the Marquis blathers on about if not.”
“I don't think you could, Raphael, she is far stronger than you.”
“Really? We may have to put that to the test once I've found out why you have cheated on my sister, something I would never have done.”
“I should hope not too, you moron, she's your sister, not your wife.”
“She will not be yours much longer,” he said with such a disgusting look I almost baulked.
Fortunately, the glinting silver of the Marquis' craft settled like a fallen leaf upon the grass breaking the image. Raphael's sickness required new words to describe it. He'd be a hell of a lot more so when he found Alba unable to greet him. I still had no idea how I would handle that but tried not to dwell on it.
I replaced Raphael's ugliness with Linka's beauty in a surge of raw emotion. How I longed to see her emerald eyes and winsome smile. It focused me. It had to.
The Hispanics manhandled me into the Marquis' blood bank craft. They lashed me to one of the many light emitting contraptions that lined its interior as Raphael's full household trailed out after me. A long line of false tans and white, wicked smiles swaggered inside as though vacationing. Bringing up the rear in arrogant contentment came the Lord of the manor himself.
The Marquis had Sunyin tied to the only seat in his contraption, then hastily retired, as Raphael took it from him. The globular one busied himself with the controls, whilst Raphael stretched out like a cat, his feet rested on the control panel. He desired to look relaxed, carefree and in control, but where Alba was concerned, I knew it a falsehood.
We took off with the silence of a hunter stalking its prey and shot into a water filled sky.
“Confound this damn rain!” the Marquis cursed.
“I rather like it,” I said more to annoy him than anything.
“You would, the only Eternal I know who could drown in a puddle loving the rain, what a joke.”
“I can't say I find it funny.”
“Oh, but it is. Big, bad Jean unable to stomach a little liquid. I found it hilarious watching you floundering in the Rhine, I could barely contain myself I laughed so hard.”
“So, you were watching even then.”
“Always. There are ways and means for such things. I watched it after the actual event, but it gave the same pleasure.”
“Really,” I said, a little annoyed, but unwilling to show it. “Then, I'm glad to have entertained you. Was it as funny to watch your wife being exploded, or whatever the hell that bomb did?”
“Portia was not at the ceremony. She entered, as did I, then left according to my instruction.”
“No, no, no.”
“What do you mean, no?” the Marquis said a little flustered.
“She did not leave. I had the pleasure of talking to her just before I left. Not for long, of course,” I winked.
“You lie. Portia is at home. She took a horse, I told her to.”
“Now who's the fool? Do you honestl
y think the Marquise would ride a horse, never mind all the way home? I doubt she'd even have mounted one. Then again, she mounted me several times, so I could be wrong.”
“NO! She left, I know she did.”
I said nothing. Sometimes a cool silence said more than words ever could. This was my gift to the Marquis. I watched the realisation of my revelation wash over him, then went in for the kill. “Your palace, castle, home, or whatever you call it is all well and good, though. I've recently been there, you know. All your staff are now dead, but I don't suppose you'd notice, what with spending most of your time in Shangri-La. Oops, sorry, I forgot, that's gone too.”
The Marquis turned a deep shade of purple. For one frightening moment, I thought he might even pop. The implications of wiping Vincent fat off my clothes quite overwhelmed.
“You murderous bastard!” he screeched and lunged for me.
His blow never hit. Raphael grabbed the Marquis by the arm with the cool of a cat to a mouse. He held him on the spot with such languorous ease, I wondered just what the Marquis had been feeding he and his brethren.
“He is not to be touched until Alba is mine. Nothing must be done to him until then.” He spoke with a steady calm, but left no doubt to those present, he meant what he said.
The Marquis looked from Raphael to me, then back again. The overtones of grape eased from his features until he was his usual slobbering self.
“That's better,” said Raphael.
The Marquis said nothing but made to walk away.
“Marquis?” his Hispanic master said.
“What?”
“I am sorry about Portia.”
“Thank you. I detested her mostly, but she was still my wife.” He hung his head and shuffled off into the craft's nether regions.
“I'm sorry too, Vincent!” I called after him. “She would have made excellent ballast!” Raphael was up like a shot, his hand about my throat.
“I know why you mock him. I may even agree with it. But if you do anything to jeopardise his bringing me to Alba and your wooing her back to my side.” He paused, searched to find the right warning before settling on, “I shall harm you.”
“Your breath already has,” I said with contempt.
Raphael breathed on me again, then returned to his seat where he cast his feet upon the console and leaned back once more in his chair. He regarded me with his brown eyes, watched me. His tanned skin showed even in the wan light of an inclement night, and I wondered if the Marquis truly knew what he'd unleashed upon the world?
I doubted it, or he wouldn't have done it.
Chapter Eleven
-
Ash
The Marquis did not return for some time. When, eventually, he deigned to honour us with his presence, he waddled straight to the controls, pressed a few haphazard buttons, then stood watching the incessant rain beat against the craft's window.
Raphael said nothing, preferring to keep his nervous fingers busy by tapping out an annoying Flamenco rhythm on his thighs.
I ignored both, my attention focused on the limp Sunyin. He hung from Raphael's seat head slumped against a console of flickering lights. There was no point wasting words on him, he wouldn't have heard them.
As always, I soon tired of it all. The craft was like a morgue inhabited by the ghosts of those I most detested and then some. There was nothing for it but to make the most of my one freedom: my mouth. I decided to antagonise my captors, whilst I still had breath to do so. One never knew, there was always a chance I might get lucky and annoy them enough to get thrown out the window.
“Got any jackets aboard this heap, Vincent?” I asked. “I don't imagine Alba would be best impressed if I turned up at the doorstep looking like a sewer rat.”
“What?”
“A jacket, I'm sure you've seen them. A thing with two armholes and a back, maybe some polished buttons and a nice carnation, too.”
“You've got a cloak, has it not a cowl to cover your bruises?
“He's right!” exclaimed Raphael. His boots dropped from the console with a clatter as he sat bolt upright. “Alba might not recognise me.”
“Me,” I countered. “I was talking about me.” However, a blind panic had swept across Raphael's handsome features, his tan visibly paled.
“Well, I haven't. And I'm quite sure your sister will remember you, Raphael. As for Jean, he's unforgettable.”
“You can never be too certain,” I offered, hoping to stir up more trouble.
The Marquis did not respond, instead, pretended to busy himself with a few of the blinking lights I presumed essential to the craft's propulsion.
Raphael's response hinted at manic. The Hispanic jumped to his feet and paced up and down the craft's metallic interior. His hands were a blur of motion: running through his hair; tugging at his shirt sleeves; fiddling with anything within range like they had minds of their own. Despite his earlier blithe manner, it was obvious to all he was wound tighter than a spring. Raphael was as nervous of reacquainting himself with Alba as I was of him not.
I had no time to dwell on the matter, as right then, my stomach entered my throat. The sudden change in altitude caused my feet to leave the floor and cloak to flap about like a raven's wings. The Marquis took us down.
In an almost see-saw change of view, we swept from the rain filled sky to one of rain battered ruins, instead.
“This can't be Vienna?” Raphael uttered in disbelief. He leaned forward for a second look, then slammed his fist against a flashing red light that shattered to the floor, fragmented glass exploding in all directions.
“New Washington,” I corrected. “Perhaps, that is where you've gone wrong, dear brother-in-law? Have you consulted an old map? I shouldn't if I was you, they're always moving things these days, or at least they go through phases of it. I myself have entered the wrong house on several occasions.”
“How long before you realised you were sleeping with the wrong woman?” the Marquis spat, a little of his old vigour returned.
“So many looked the same, Vincent, it was hard to be sure. Fortunately, Portia was easy to spot by the froth collected around her mouth.”
The blow came from Raphael, not the Marquis, straight in the solar plexus. It doubled me over, but it was worth it.
With a clang of metal on broken concrete, the ship's door opened to a miserable and blustery evening. Spray from the torrent blew straight into the craft soaking all those ready to depart it, which looked to be pretty much everybody. In a release of nervous energy, I expected Raphael to stride out into the night like the prowling predator he was, but he didn't. It was the Marquis who seemed keenest to get on with things toddling his way down the ramp to stand in the middle of a deserted and muddied street.
“Which way, Jean? The whole bloody place has changed since I was last here.”
“And when was that?” I asked, hoping to garner some clue as to his reasons for meddling in my affairs.
“City of music, city of dreams, a life amongst the finer things,” he sang.
“If I said, eh!”
“When it was Vienna, you oaf.”
“You could have just said.”
“Now, which way?”
“I expect you'll find nothing but rather tall mountains to your right, so I would suggest left.”
“Hmm, I see that now,” the Marquis mumbled obviously feeling rather stupid. “Raphael!”
The object of the Marquis' barked request, finding renewed verve, grabbed me by the scruff and shoved me down the ramp. Three forward rolls later, I found myself laid flat on the ground, my face submerged in a rather deep and dirty puddle.
I struggled to my feet in a spray of spluttered liquid only to see Sunyin being manhandled out of the doorway by two of Raphael's testy colleagues.
“Be careful with him,” I called, spitting another mouthful of wet mud onto the street. “I have warned you about your conduct towards my friend.”
The two paid no heed taking it in turns to scrag the
semi-lucid monk. I feared for him and decided stalling was not an option.
I turned my back on he who I most wished to aid, though it pained me to do so, and shuffled my way up the street. By the thudding of feet to my rear, the whole assemblage followed.
The Marquis had landed his ship at the city limits, luckily for me, within two streets of my old home. The craft was far too big to have squeezed into suburbia true, but it was close enough. Large gardens had spilled forth their once majestic contents into every place where soil had settled making the place a bitter parody of a jungle. Seeing the once scenic cityscape dishevelled and near death had troubled me on my earlier visit, but to see the grotesque forms of rotting trees weeping in the gloom of the rainstorm tore at my un-beating heart. Multiple mumbles of disapproval confirmed others thought the same, although I doubted with the same level of regret.
I made my way along the potholed street, took a sharp right into my own, and within ten minutes stood at the entrance to my old, gravel driveway.
“Ah, it's all coming back to me,” I heard Raphael ooze, his smirk grazing my neck.
“Not much to look at,” the Marquis remarked. “Kind of like its master.” He chuckled to himself, then quickly shut up realising his partner's temper might take umbrage to the mocking of his sister's home. “What are you waiting for? Get a move on,” he said, changing tact. He emphasised the point by kicking me behind the knee, which sent me sprawling across the gravel.
“She may be watching!” Raphael hissed.
“Sorry,” said a supplicant Marquis.
The situation was dire. What was worse, as I lay there prostrate on what remained of my lawn – more weeds and ivy than grass – I hadn't a clue how to save myself. One step inside and Raphael would know Alba gone. I doubted I'd be far behind her.
My eyes darted from hedge to tree, verge to porch, but there was no place to hide, no place to run. My bonds were too strong to break, anyway. Rainwater trickled into my eyes, as I sensed the moon rising behind turbulent skies, my hopes retreating in the opposite direction. Even whilst laying so close to where I'd once been so happy, the only person I could think of sat imprisoned underwater in an icy cage too many miles away to count. I had to escape, for if I died, who knew what my blackmailers would do to Linka in retribution. As far as they were concerned, whilst alive, I was able to do their bidding, but dead! It was better not to consider such matters.
Hunter Hunted (The Eternals Book 2) Page 10