“Ah, Jean, so pleased to see you again,” came the booming tones of the Marquis. He was not alone.
The Marquis had vacated his throne to another who slouched comically over one of its armrests. The two were the focal point to a room brimming with effete Eternals of such multicoloured hues I wished I'd worn dark glasses. Dandies slumped, reclined, and propped themselves up against almost every available wall space. Faces massacred by layers of talc and kohl sought to equalise the many races that comprised what had to be Britannia's shores. They used the term Britannian Empire, when the rest of us would have said small tribe. However, it was no den of idle relaxation. The crowd buzzed with feral energy. I could see the eyes of every man upon me and every one of them desired to rend me limb from limb. Let them try, I thought.
“Jean, Jean, Jean, we meet again.” The tones were welcoming, the look veiled behind long, blond hair, said different.
“Why, hello, Worthington. I see your face is looking a little less handsome than when last we met.”
The button pressed, he shot from his position knocking several Sunyins flying. His hands were around my throat before his brigade of multihued disciples could even apply another coat of powder to their pampered faces.
“You play it oh so cool, don't you, Jean? The vagabond, the lover, the killer for hire, murderer; a man without fear, you're a veritable treasure trove of wicked personae.”
I sensed Linka's nervous shuffle at Worthington's claims, but ignored them.
“I wouldn't say that, Worthington,” I wheezed. “At this particular moment, I am in very great fear of your hog-swill breath and sloppy habits.”
The man turned a brighter shade of red, an unhealthy hue, especially for an Eternal lord, as a seam of blood trickled from the still unhealed gash on his cheek. I nodded to it and grinned.
The blow that followed would have floored almost anyone, but I refused to show weakness before such an imbecile, but still staggered into my companions, inadvertently revealing them to all the assembly. A synchronised gasp filled the room not least from its owner.
“It is the princess, Worthington, do you not see? Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! What are we to do? What are we to do?” The corpulent fool blabbered, his chins rolling in waves down to his chest.
Linka remained impassive. She said nothing, whilst I shook the hair from my eyes and returned to my full height.
“Bitten off more than you can chew, have you?” I cooed.
“You're on my land now, Jean. My rules, my word is all that counts.”
“I thought I recognised those decaying fields out there, boring and featureless. A little like yourself, eh?” That stab was worth the second punch, but I noted Worthington never took his eyes off Linka even for a second. He could have just assaulted a wall for all he knew. The man's entire focus was upon the girl at my shoulder, and she only.
“Marquis!” I called, spitting blood onto the pristine stone floor with a splat. “I think you owe me an apology.”
The Marquis gave me a quizzical look, then the glass of blood he'd plucked from a nearby table, then me again. He then erupted into such laughter it sent shock waves through his flabby self. It was infectious though, and soon everybody joined him. The assembled dandies beat their fists upon the walls, held their stomachs in riotous jest and fell about the place in hysterics. I remained fixated on the corpulent fool. After his third or fourth roll on the floor, he realised I still glared and fell silent.
“Well?” I said.
“Well, what? It's not my fault he let you live.”
“Hardly that, Marquis.”
“Hmm, maybe you're right. Either way, you can't hold me responsible for your own stupid knack of remaining alive.”
“But I do,” I replied.
“Get in line,” said Worthington, who appeared to have got a hold of himself. He swept his hair back from his face and extended his hand to Linka. “Pleased to see you, Princess. I hope you enjoyed the ride here. I quite enjoyed watching you cowering like mice in that hold.”
“You were watching us?” I interjected.
“Always. We couldn't be sure who skulked in the dark, but assumed. Do you think there's any move you can make in this mechanical world that goes unrecorded, unobserved? By the way, how is Alba?”
I said nothing, did nothing, but the fire in my eyes caused him take a step back. The heat consumed me until Linka's thigh brushed my bound hands and I felt the inferno subside.
“Ah, I see, can't have gone well. Never mind, never mind.” He hung his head in feigned sorrow. It didn't last. “What should we do with them boys?”
Worthington's sudden hail, arms upraised, head held high, caught the assembled dandies as off guard as it did me. There was a silence and a scratching of heads that echoed through the enormity of the room.
“A word, Lord Worthington, if you please,” the Marquis beckoned to his compatriot. It was obvious Worthington did not like his moment of bravado to be interrupted. The man could have fallen over his own lip such was the petulance shown. His actions only sought to remind me of why I hated the establishment so much. They were all children in adult frames pretending to be gods whilst their petty empires crumbled around them. There were none more so than those of Britannia, a nation once proud, now broken.
A reluctant Worthington followed the Marquis into a corner of the room, where the two gesticulated at each other in a most humorous way.
“I think they are trying to decide what to do with us, sir,” said Albert.
“I see you save your wisest words for the most appropriate times,” I joked.
“One tries.”
“Still, it's all very over the top, all that gesturing and such. Who'd have thought it, a Brit and a Kraut pretending to be French.”
“Don't forget we are of the Rhineland too and you France.” Linka spoke for the first time.
“Never,” I replied, “my disdain for myself is as equally cutting as it is for those two fools.”
“Good to know, sir.” Albert gave a sage nod.
“Yes, I thought so. Anyway, I've had enough of this charade.” I took a step forward and snapped the restraints around my wrists. Striding into the middle of the chamber, Linka in tow, was quite an experience, as tens of dolled up excuses for Eternals pushed themselves as far back against the palace walls as possible. I wasn't sure if they feared me or thought I carried some kind of plague? “Worthington!” I growled in my most intimidatory fashion, and pointed straight at my would-be jailor. “I have questions for you and doubly so for the Marquis. It's about time we talked.”
“Is it now,” Lord Worthington responded. The Marquis was noticeable by his silence. “We can discuss your non-assassination of King Rudolph right here and now if you wish. I trust my men completely. There's nothing you can say to me that they cannot hear.”
I felt Linka's hand tense in mine, but she did not pull away, and I did not dare look to her.
“There is nothing to discuss, my lordly friend. I do what I want, to whom I want, and those who think they can manipulate me are misinformed.”
“Oh, I see that. After all, you are a man with a reputation,” he crowed. He turned to each corner of the room as he spoke playing to the crowd, the man loving his moment in the spotlight. The Marquis, on the other hand, was not. He'd slipped from the room with surprising haste for a man of such girth.
“It must be difficult not being manipulated, as you say, after all, you have blood on your hands and more on the way.”
“Sooner than you think,” I retorted.
“I doubt it, Jean. You may well be a fighter supreme, but not that supreme as to take down everyone in these miserable halls.” There was a twitching of monks' shoulders as they listened with intent to their home's disparagement. “Now, back to business. I'm intrigued, how do you suppose to keep all your clients happy? Vladivar wants Rudolph dead and will kill you if you do not carry out his wish. I wish for Linka's dear father to be kept just where he is. And let's not forget th
at mysterious letter.”
I stiffened before I could stop myself.
“Ah, I seem to have hit a nerve. I told you, dear boy, nothing's secret in these little lands of ours. I only wish I knew what was in it. By the way, how did it taste? I didn't respond.”Do you know who sent you it yet?"
“Why not get it off your chest?” I bristled.
“Would if I could, old chap. I know who delivered it though. What's it worth to you?”
“Your life,” I replied. “Perhaps?”
“Ha! Ha! Always spoiling for a fight. Do you know what, I will tell you who it was just out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Really.”
“Really,” said Worthington, a maniacal glint in his eye. It was…"
He toyed with me and loved every second of it, as did his men, who whooped and hollered at his every word.
“Sunyin!” he declared. Sunyin handles everything in this godforsaken, portable excuse for a city." Worthington's men cheered and raised glasses of red liquor to each other, as their master took a bow to each of them. “Now, Jean, much as I'd love to chat, it's time for you to rot in hell.”
A gesture, and his men were upon me. I ripped and thrashed, tore and bit, but I was one against many. The dandies soon subdue me and drag my body to a chamber close to where I supposed I'd first stayed. They tossed me into the minuscule room, featureless for all but a somewhat decrepit looking coffin, gashing my head against the far wall in the process. The men then poured out like the departing tide before I had chance to recoup. They slammed the door to an earth shattering crescendo and closed the peephole that would have provided my solitary view.
What happened to Linka and Albert, I did not know? The two had not resisted their attackers, as well they might not, and I had lost them amidst the red mist that descended.
Left in a heap of dangerous anger, hurt and alone, I brooded over damaged pride. Those I hated had played me like a pawn and for that embarrassment I would have my revenge upon them all. If Linka could ever forgive me that was?
I dragged myself to my feet, straightened my shirt and jacket, then brushed bloodied strands of hair from my eyes. If I was watched, as Worthington seemed to indicate had been the case throughout my travels, then I wouldn't let them see me grovel.
There was nothing else left for it. The coffin was my only solace and the rest would do me more good than pacing the confines of my prison. So, I lifted the battered lid and was about to climb inside when something small, white, and pristine caught my eye: a letter. I snatched the thing from the coffin's interior and tore open the scripted envelope. My hands trembled as I unfurled the note to a message devastating in its simplicity.
Dear, Jean;
You appear not to have taken our last message seriously. We want Rudolph dead! You are to kill him at the earliest opportunity. If you do not, we shall kill Linka. Perhaps this will get your attention?
P.S. We are watching her right now.
The message was succinct and shattering. In my heart, I'd thought and hoped the first letter a hoax, a mere trifling. I was wrong. But as to whom would want Rudolph dead so desperately still bemused. Vladivar I could understand, but he'd made it quite clear it was not he. Yet, Worthington and Britannia seemed hell-bent on keeping Rudolph alive – East versus West, and somewhere a foe in-between.
I sat on the edge of the coffin, hunched over double, and fed myself the letter. Every munched word slid down my throat as though a razor blade.
I sensed the eyes of all upon me in that stinking cell. So, like the wounded beast I was, I slunk into my protective shell, closed the lid, and slept the fitful sleep of a vengeful soul.
Chapter Nineteen
-
Determination
The screams came as a dream, but I did not dream, no Eternal did. They were screams of such anguish I felt any remnants of soul I possessed shredded and expelled to the darkest corners of the universe.
Again, the ear-piercing shriek of female hurt and I was out of the coffin in a flash. There was not a doubt in my mind: someone harmed Linka. I'd seen no other of the fairer sex in Shangri-La. The screams could only be hers.
“Linka!” I called. “Linka! Linka! Linka!” I shouted, cursed, banged upon my prison door, but all to no end. The cell swallowed my desperation like a hole would a stone. I could see them laughing at me as they pillaged my love. It fuelled my torment and made madness of my anger.
I picked up the coffin and smashed it against the doorway. The only thing to yield was the rotting wood of my bed, so I cast the remnants aside. I slammed myself against each wall, a madman loose in the asylum, kicked, punched, tore the skin from my hands, struck the door with more violent force than I thought possible to muster. Ripples of pain only enraged me further. My world of monochrome madness turned red.
I smashed upon the door frame and heard a crack. The sound was not of my bones. Like a cat on the hunt, I snapped to attention dispelled my hurt for her. Something would give, and not me. I charged the doorway again and again, until, in a burst of crumbling masonry and splintered wood, I was through. I did not tarry. Resetting two dislocated fingers on my left hand, I picked myself up from the remnants of my cell's wall and stumbled off towards what I hoped was the throne room.
Less than a dozen paces had I taken when a cry of such heartache split the darkness I felt sliced in twain by a scimitar of grief. I redoubled my efforts. On and on I groped and dragged my aching form thinking myself lost, abject in my misery. Not a soul inhabited the corridors, not monk, nor Britannian dandy, nor ghost. Every wall, every doorway, every shady alcove looked alike in the infernal place and I grew dizzier by the moment. If Hell had a name brother it was Shangri-La. But, when I thought myself more lost than ever the sound of raucous, booming laughter re-calibrated my inner compass and gave hope. The sound was close. They were close.
I shoved my way through another half-dozen doorways before bursting into the well lighted chamber that comprised the Marquis' throne room. Two men stood behind his regal seat with the slumped and dripping form of Linka trussed between them. Another two stood to one side pointing and giggling at a pile of reddened rags sprawled across the stone floor. Only when I looked again did I realise it to be he who was once the servant Albert. Not anymore. Worthington sat in repose upon the throne a crocodile smile smeared across his arrogant features. Until he saw me, anyway.
When the red mist descends, my actions are not my own, for they are not those of a sane man, a real person. There was screaming, I remember that, a call for help or hurt or pain. I was oblivious to whether that help would come or not. The first to witness my rage were they who had scoffed over Albert's desecrated corpse. I made no sound other than the guttural grunts of instinct as the dandies wailed and ran; I caught them. They tried to resist; I did not allow it. They marvelled at their hearts laid bare in my soiled palms; then died. I was neither happy, nor sad, at this. The culling of Worthington's men was a thing that simply had to be. By the time I turned from my victims, Linka stood with Worthington's hand at her throat, her guards fled. Worthington knew I would kill him, his trembling frame and continual licking of thin, ruby lips gave him away, but he remained resolute. He positioned himself to take Linka to purgatory too. He wouldn't get the chance.
“Don't you take one step closer, Jean, or she's a dead woman.”
“I'm already dead, you fool,” hissed Linka.
I advanced towards them, step by purposeful step.
“I'm warning you, Jean!” he shrieked.
The crazed man's hand appeared to tighten further about Linka's neck and I was about to strike when she said the most unexpected thing.
“You know where I have stood, Worthington. You know what I have seen and what it did to my mother. If you do not unhand me right now it will happen to you, too.” Linka turned her eyes upon him, unwavering, unblinking.
Her captor's response was instant. He released her with a shudder as though struck by lightning. More of Worthington's men tumbled int
o the room, but seeing their master shaking like a frightened child halted them in their tracks. I advanced to within striking distance, but Worthington was way beyond the point of caring for my attentions, as Linka's emerald eyes blazed with intent.
“Don't make me do it Worthington, ash is so hard a stain to remove from good clothing.”
“I…I'm sorry, Linka,” he stuttered. “I meant you no harm.”
“And, Albert?” she said, glancing down to the sodden pile of clothes on the floor.
“He wouldn't tell me if it was true. All I required was the truth. But he remained tight-lipped, the loyal fool.” Aware of his mistake Worthington blathered on. “I am a good person, I respect your father's position more than any. I should sooner have he on the throne than that thug Vladivar at any cost. But I had to know if it was true. I now know that it is. You are free to go.”
A gasp escaped the audience who'd built around us.
“What makes you think I want to go?” Linka closed upon her former jailor.
“But there is nothing for you here, nothing at all!” His voice shrill and desperate echoed around the room.
“Oh, but there is. I want to know about the human blood?”
“I know nothing of it.”
“You feast upon it like vermin!” she roared.
“It is the Marquis' doing. He controls the supply. It is he who decides who gets what, who gets the pure, the original, the undiluted perfection of old.”
I thought Worthington about to combust, so red had he turned as he cowered before the magnificent Linka.
“You disgust me, so-called Lord Worthington. Albert had more decency in one fingertip than you have in your whole disgusting body.” The look she cast me was no more than a glance, a casual confirmation she'd finished with him and I was free to do as I wished.
The smile that spread across my face had a simpering effect upon Worthington. He knew not which way to turn, but seemed to decide I was the more immediate threat.
“I can tell you everything,” he blubbered.
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