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Dad?"
Jason let his backpack hit the floor and rise a
small cloud of dust. Trying to make something out of the darkness of the garage, he stepped out of the ray of sunlight, directly
in the dark room.
"Dad, you here?"
No one answered. It shouldn't surprise Jason, and it didn't. At one time,
sure, it had bothered him that his father was so rarely home, leaving him alone in the great empty Asters Manor. It had bothered
him that he had to forge all the notes for school, and drag his uncle to Parent-Teacher nights, and mostly that no one was
there to greet him when he was angry, or happy, or depressed. Sure, he could call Mum, but it wasn't the same, was it?
Now
that time was gone. Since Jason had left home, he never felt alone again, paradoxically enough. He always had a bunch of flatmates,
friends, roomies, lab partners, flatmates' girlfriends and boyfriends, parasites that kept invading his personal space. Sometimes
it was too much and he actually regretted the quiet of the Manor. So he made up his backpack, stuffed in all his dirty laundry,
crammed his lecture notes and books in, and left. Twice he had just gone for a two- or three-days walk in the forest. This
time he really wanted to go home, so he had hopped on the train to the Manor.
It was empty, of course, save for the
semi-savage cats that mostly lived outside anyways. One of them Jason had called him Vepar a few years ago, he didn't really
know why, it was just a name that hung out in the air around him at that time- entered the kitchen where Jason was making
himself a sandwich and walked along the board to sniff his hand. Then he purred and sat, looking expectantly at Jason. Jason
cut out a bit of bacon from the sandwich and gave it to the cat, who swallowed it in less than a second. He then kept looking
as expectantly at Jason as before. Jason shrugged and left, his bacon-roast beef-chicken-salami-pickles-mustard-vinegar-horseradish
sauce sandwich on his plate.
It was when he was sitting on the laundry machine, trying to eat the sandwich despite
the vibrations of the thirty-years-old contraption, that he heard the beep of the answering machine. He hopped off and left
for the green room, the only place where there was a telephone in the whole Manor since Jason's father had transformed it
into a huge working room, its floor stacked up with books and its walls covered with diagrams and plans. The light on the
machine was flashing with the beat of three messages. He played them. The first was his own. It went something like this:
"Dad?
You here? Right, well, in case you get interested to the phone, I think I'll be coming `round, uh, on Friday no, wait, Saturday,
I gotta be here on Friday night. Well, anyways, I can stay for at least the beginning of the break, maybe we can do some stuff
together about that bookshelf up the stairs, I know you haven't touched it since I left, don't try to look innocent. So, um,
see you this weekend, if you're there. Bye."
The second had been recorded the next day yesterday. It was a female voice.
"Sir
Asters, this is Elena Colledos, from Mr. Estevez's office. We'd like to talk to you as soon as possible about that case you
are examining for us. News have come up. Could you please get back to us soon? Muchas gracias."
The last one was dated
from maybe an hour later. It was from Jason's father.
"Jason? It's me. Look, I may be tied up much longer than expected
with this thing I'm working on. I just wanted to tell you, uh I just wanted to tell you, I love you, son. Really. And I-I'm
proud of you, I really am. I don't know when I can see you again. If any problem arises, consider yourself as Lord Asters,
with all rights attached. The papers are in my desk, but only use them if you need them. This might be nothing, and I hope
it will, but just in case, everything is ready with Jones and Wills, Esq., in Carleon, so you can take care of everything.
I know you'll do good if you're needed. Well, I'll see you when I can. Goodbye, so . . . Jason."
****
Elena
got off the phone and cleared her desk of all the papers it sported. End of the week. Long week. Long, long week. Finally,
it was over. She went over to the machine and gave herself a last coffee. When she came back to close up, there was a heavy
green file, strapped with strands of ribbon, on her desk. She looked up to see a tall young man with a semi-long haircut and
a very angry air.
"Tell me where my father is."
****
Being a smuggler in Eisen is hell. The landscape
is littered with checkpoints, the federal Polizei tries to outdo the Lander-based polices, and the military is subject to
check if you're not working for the Red Star Battalions at any moment. Frankly, Mari would have abandoned that job a long
while ago if it wasn't for two reasons. First, it paid well. Eisen was apparently full of people willing to give you large
amounts of money to get merchandise from one point to another. Ussuran alcohol. Vendel tobacco. Montaigne perfume. Once or
twice in six months you stumbled into the big hit: top high-tech merchandise, info disks out of the spy war or the occasional
Vodacci fugitive. Mari wondered why almost all of these fugitives were women, but she didn't mind at all. She often had to
move them along, and that was the second reason: she was extremely good at it, so people came to her for very risky and bizarre
missions, which she generally planned and rolled out smoothly.
Having grown up on a circus helped you to lead a life
of discreet travel, of course. Most of her colleagues had a notion of stealth that made Mari scoff. A two-compartmented tank
truck? Please. Try passing a whole menagerie off as cattle into Avalon, going through their quarantine procedures like butter.
That took some skill.
Mari signed off on the register to get into Freiburg, a false name that went with the forged
paperwork. Two hours later the three kilograms of synthetic hormone she had been taking care of for eight days was finally
on the plane, and she had her pockets full of hard-earned money. Her first stop was Wilhelm's Bar, a grill restaurant that
was more or less the employment centre for smugglers and shady dealers. Sure, she could rest for a few days now, but she didn't
want to be kept out of the loop. Eight days is a long time in the underground, and she hadn't been able to keep up with the
news since she had left Gossia. Maintaining a constant temperature of exactly three degrees under zero inside a crate is hard
work when you travel hidden inside a high-speed boat.
A few cheers went off when she entered the bar, one of them being
from Wilhelm himself. She sat down at the bar, ordering her favourite cocktail, a greenish thing that seemed more suited as
cleaning liquid, or maybe a reasonably powerful explosive, than as a drink, and waited for the news to come to her. Yeah,
she was that good.
Unfortunately, what came to her first wasn't news. It was Martha. She stood there with her big pleading
eyes, looking like the misery of the world had taken up living on her shoulders.
- Mari?
- Oh no. No no no no no.
Let me guess. Inka threw you out, and you've been looking for me ever since. How did you hear of this place?
- Your sister
told me.
- My what- you talked to my sister? I warned you not to involve her in anything, and you went and talked to my
sister?
- Please, Mari, I I got nowhere to go.
- Yeah, right. You think you can stand here, pleading like a lost kitten
for me to take you in. Then in two days' time, you'll be off with some tart and I won't hear from you for weeks. And in the
meantime you'll have nicked my stereo, like you did last time.
- I'm sorry. I apologized to you, I didn't have any money
I'm off it now, you know.
- Yeah. I heard. Doesn't make you trustworthy anyway.
Martha turned to go.
- I'm
sorry. I won't bother you anymore.
- Now if you're giving me the persecution act, I swear I won't give you the keys.
-
Keys?
- Not my place. A new flat, on the northern end of the NicklausTragueStrasse. It's due for rental in three weeks
from now. All I ask is, you don't mess the place, and you're out of sight when the new occupants come in. All right?
-
Yes! Thank you so much, Mari! Danke danke danke!
- Whatever. Look, I'll pass by later today, see how you're settling in,
all right?
- Sure! I'll I'll keep some tea warm for you.
- Good then.
- Good.
While Martha left, Mari turned
back to her drink, hoping to get to the end of it before someone else came to bother her. Tough luck.
- Hey Hans.
-
Hey Mari. Listen, you free tonight?
- Planning to take me out to a fancy restaurant?
- Well, I'll take any attempt at
a date I can have.
- You're hopeless, you know that?
- Story of my life. Look, about tonight, I know a guy who knows
a guy who'd like to get out of this place as fast as possible. Think you can manage that?
- I'm on holid . . . all right,
I can think up something for your friend. What's the story?
- Got himself in a terrible mess while investigating something.
Dunno what exactly. Now he's desperate to leave discreetly as soon as humanly possible, and he can pay. He's a rich fella
from Avalon. Name's John Asters.
*****
Padre Luis Estevez's office was not what could be described as
richly furnished. One table, serving as a workplace. One school chair in front of it, for visitors. One small painting, depicting
the flaying alive of someone, imposed itself as an evidence, in all its cruelty, to newcomers. Another simple school chair
for Estevez. That was about all. Estevez found that it usually impressed whoever came in this office to find that there was
nothing they could rely upon if things went wrong. And one seldom came, if ever, if things weren't going horribly, appallingly
wrong.
The young man in front of him wasn't impressed, apparently. Estevez studied him carefully. He could not be described
as good-looking. Neither was he particularly hideous, his physiognomy just seemed intent. His nose was long, his cheeks hollow,
his gaze piercing. Like a hawk in many ways, with his red hair tied back resembling a cap of feathers. He didn't seem prone
to making the first move, so after a few minutes of silence silence used to impress his visitors, too, but apparently that
didn't work either, so it was no use going on,
really Estevez spoke.
- I am afraid I can't reveal much to you.
-
What can you tell me, then?
- Well, as you probably know, your father sometimes offered his service in certain areas of
knowledge that are quite uncommon. It so happens that some influent people asked him, through my intermediary, to find and
retrieve a certain item that seemed valuable to them. Of course, you guess who those people are.
- I might.
- Your father
left for this business trip three days ago. We haven't heard from him ever since.
- You're lying.
Estevez seemed
shocked.
- What do you imply?
- I am implying that you are lying. I know my father. He won't have called me first.
He must have reached you before he even thought of calling home. Oh, and by the way, don't you try to manipulate me, ever
again. An office in the Castillan embassy? Please. That's quite lame, Padre.
- What makes you think I am a priest?
-
The painting. "And ye shall flay the skin of the world, that you can see what lays behind, just as Legion was flayed and his
skin draped over the Lord's drums." Chapter 32, Verse 1 of the Third Vigil. That's the line that was used to justify the creation
of the Most Holy Vaticine Inquisition.
- I could be just a devout embassy official.
- True. But your office would have
sported the Royal Shield somewhere, as is legally required. And you wouldn't have looked at both sides of my neck, looking
for the Devil's Letters, as part of your inspection routine. Makes up for quite a few coincidences, don't you think?
-
You seem to be a remarkably knowledgeable young man.
- You have no idea.
- Still, you understand I shouldn't, and won't,
tell you much more than what I did and what you guessed.
- Yes. The Inquisition doesn't seem to have changed much since
`33, has it?
- The Vargas affair was never formally linked with the Vaticine Church.
- Just as my father's job never
will be. If you think that will stop me, then you have no idea what it means to be called an Asters.
*****
Jason
was going through the doors out of the embassy when he heard the girl's voice. She was running to him, the thick green file
in her hand.
- Wait! You forgot this.
- Oh, right. Yeah. Um, thank you, said Jason while he opened the files to
look at its content. Dunno what I would've done if I'd lost this.
- Are you checking that I didn't take anything out?
-
Um no? Jason didn't sound very convinced.
Elena led the way out, into the wide and brightly lit avenue.
- Well,
at least give me credit. If I had, I would have put them back in the proper place after copying them.
- Uh, so you did?
-
Now you don't really expect me to answer that question, do you?
- Nah. Guess I don't.
They started walking towards
the underground station, not saying a word.
- So, did you get what you came for?
- You don't really expect me to
answer that question, do you?
- Of course I do. Else why would I have asked it?
Puzzled, then suddenly angry, he
was about to lash out like he had wanted to lash out at Estevez, when he heard a crow's no, a raven's cry. Suddenly an old
nursery rhyme went through his mind:
*A raven's chant for the spring night*
He just stopped, and then noticed
that they stood next to a grocery. The Crescentian grocer was closing the metallic curtain over, and bringing back the fruitcases
in. He looked at Elena in the light given off by the ajar door.
- Look, just ask your boss. He'll probably tell you
more than he told me.
- Um, I doubt that. He doesn't really like me, you know. He just tolerates me.
Jason looked
down when two fallen apples rolled and hit his feet.
*Two apples for the lady's smile*
He looked up to see her
smiling, almost apologetically, while she kept talking.
- They sent him over from the mainland just a week ago, and
I think he doesn't like having a secretary. Plus, I'm kind of klutzy.
- Klutzy?
- Yeah, um, actually, that might be
an Eisenör word. I'm getting my languages jammed up sometimes.
- That's something that could go very wrong, in my experience.
-
How come?
- Oh, uh, never mind, it's just I'm weird, it's the way I grew up. The place I grew up in, in fact. You wouldn't
believe it.
- Really? What's it like?
- Asters Manor. You can't really describe it. I never could.
They were
now walking on the side of Farrington Park, and Jason couldn't help but notice that one tree in it was dead, black and still,
while the rest was in full spring-time mode, bustling with leaves.
*Black among the green keeps company for a while*
-
Listen, you wanna see it?
- Huh?
- Tonight, I'm going back. If you want to see it, I'll take you.
- Whoa, listen,
mister, if that's some clever ploy to um you know, to . . .
She was fidgeting with a ring on her left middle finger.
*A
ring to keep your honour from running through the wild*
- Oh no, no, there are twelve bedrooms in there. I won't even
have to sleep on the couch. Not that the perspective isn't, let's say, appealing, but really, I've got too much on my mind
to even try to pick you up. I mean, I'm not very good at it, anyways, so it would be hard work, and, uh
She smiled
while watching him squirm.
- Okay. I'll visit. Let's go.
- Uh, don't you have to pick up stuff first? I mean, girls
usually do when they plan on sleeping out.
- I'm a resourceful girl. I'll manage.
The entered the underground station,
and a small piece of tiling on the stairs broke off under Jason's foot.
*And a broken stone for the devils you will
fight.*
****
Mari had left Martha's place well, she should have thought of it as her place, but it didn't
really belong to her, did it? around eight. She was now driving her car, a modified Garault G29 with added power and four-wheel
drive that she was absolutely crazy about, in the bumpy streets of the industrial district east of Freiburg. She stopped in
front of the meeting place, an old building housing a
series of abandoned workshops.
She first noticed that something
was odd when she saw the three guys leaving at the end of the alley. They were way too smart for the neighbourhood. She could
only describe them as "neat". Way too prim. Way too smart. Everything was clear-cut about them, from the tailor-made suits
that reminded her of officer's uniforms to the way the walked and looked around: professional, focused deadly. Mari didn't
like that, but then again, she had no certainty they were up to no good. In her line of work, if you see enemies everywhere,
then you make enemies everywhere, and there isn't much left that separates a paranoid smuggler from a dead smuggler.
She
thought something was wrong when she entered the carpenter's workshop and she saw the prone form of a man, laying slumped
against a half-finished cupboard. She knelt beside him and saw that he was breathing, albeit with difficulty, and a large
puddle of blood was growing around him. Fifty-something, with grey hair and a long white trench-coat that was dirty with blood
and dirt, he looked like someone who could be called John Asters.
She knew that the Abyss was breaking loose when she
smelt gasoline and burning wood.
****
Elena was impressed. Really. The place was hidden in a series of hills
and vales that formed a gigantic green and grey labyrinth, and she had been lost for the last twenty minutes of the road.
But the Manor itself gave off something, a vibe, an impression of something old and weathered, surrounded by mists and scary
while at the same time promising the comfort of a country estate. Clearly it had been built to be a home, a source of strength
for the people who lived there, but it had taken on many other roles since then, many other offices, many other duties, none
of them pleasant for the young woman.
Jason opened the door of the main way in and let her inside. In the instant between
the click of the switch and the flooding of light that illuminated the hallway, she could swear she saw tiny figures flickering
to get away from the light, crawling along the walls and the wooden stairway.
The hall was huge. It gave a smell of dust, of stone, of wood,
carpet, and the rich odour of a fireplace, somewhere near. It resonated, talked with a rich, loud, low voice, vibrating deep
within something that she wasn't conscious of before but could only describe as her mind's belly, a sensitive and profound
place where things ancient and powerful might awaken inside her own soul. The feeling wasn't entirely unpleasant.
Following
Jason into the drawing room, she noticed several pieces of furniture were covered with cloth to protect them from dust. The
same was true for many of the paintings or charts she could only guess that hung on the walls. Strangely, while most empty
places such as this one gave off a sad feeling, a melancholic wave, this one didn't. It wasn't abandoned, it was resting.
Coiled. Ready to spring. In fact, its emptiness might be a good thing, because Elena could not shake off the impression that
when the power that resided here unleashed, it would not be a good thing.
The room Jason gave her was big, with a
tall four-post bed, a library filled with leather-bound books whose titles were written in gold, and wooden furniture in a
style that reminded her of the glory of the Castillan kingdom, three centuries ago. The light of the halogen lamp was not
really adapted to it, but oddly enough it helped her feel at home in this strange room.
She sat on the bed and smiled.
The weekend would be interesting.
****
It may be very cliché to say that a room full of wood and gasoline
goes up in flame in instants, but clichés exist for a reason. Furthermore, the originality of a concept takes a back seat
when you're trapped in a burning workshop. Mari shook off the man.
- Hey, can you hear me?
- Uhn Do I really have
to?
Mari smiled.
- You'd better, if we're to get outta here.
- I uh I doubt that, young lady.
- Yeah,
well, you'll doubt when we're out.
- Despite y-your talent for alliterations, I must contradict you. Even if I got out,
I would have twenty minutes on the outside, less being actually conscious.
- You don't know that.
- Please, miss. I
have an important favour to ask of you.
Mari started heaving him on her shoulder.
- You can do that around a
cup of tea later.
Suddenly Asters resisted her and took her hand violently.
- Now look, lady. I am, amongst
other things, a medicine scholar from Bedegrane. I can tell when I have a punctured liver and a major artery ruptured. I may
have only minutes. Now will you listen to me or argue while I die at your feet?
- There's no way I'm leaving you here.
-
There is. Because I need you to do something, because you must leave before the building collapses, and because you don't
want to be around when someone like me dies.
- O-okay. Tell me.
- You must find my son, Jason. Tell him to look inside
the Journals. December 43. Please. Will you?
Mari began to choke on the smoke-filled air, but kept choking quietly
while he talked.
- And tell him, also, tell him That the charts will be well kept. All right?
- J-Jawohl. I will.
-
Goodbye, then, and godspeed to you.
- Um goodbye.
For an instant, she couldn't resolve to leave him. But the sound
of the other half of the workshop crumbling down finally threw her in an uncontrollable flight, leaping with fear until she
finally rested her head against the cool metal of her car, the building burning behind her.
Only when she heard the
firemen's sirens did she finally drive off, trembling with exhaustion and praying that Martha was home.
****
Jason
was sitting at his father's desk, going through his papers, when he noticed a trick of the light on the family photograph
that sat at the far end of the desk. He took it and put it under the lamp. It was no trick of the light. His father was slowly
fading off. A few minutes later he was totally invisible, before Jason could do anything to memorize his face.
Jason
turned off the light and started to cry silently in the darkness of Asters Manor.
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