The Snow never stays White in Manhattan : A Tale of Queen Elizabeth Slate of the Winter Court
Marble Hill, Manhattan, New York
Personal Residence of Elizabeth Slate
April 6th, 2008
It was an odd and somehow reassuring sight, he mused to himself as he was escorted by her personal guard. There, laying on her side sound asleep he could that there could be times she would be at ease, at peace. The book she had been reading lay open before her, and he couldn't help but stiffle a chuckle wondering if her royal majesty had been drooling into it as she slept. Bob Thebeault, oathborne to WinterCorp allowed himself at the very least a smile. For all her reputation among even those that owed her fealty of being a stone cold bitch and calculating manipulator, she still was quite beautiful. Her pale white skin reminded him of freshly fallen snow, held up by the strong and sharp spines of pine tree branches, much like the brown and green silk robe she wore even now. He turned to one of her personal guards;
"Maybe this isn't the best time. She does look very tired."
"Perhaps. But her request was clear; to bring you before her as soon as you had news from your organization."
"... Well um.. should I awake her then?"
She stirred slightly in her spot, her back arching and clicking slightly. The room suddenly became slightly cooler as her eyes open, the bright blue sapphires of her eyes meeting those of the mortal oathborne before her.
"That will not be necessary, Mr. Thebeault. Gentlemen, you may leave us. Go, find my ward and bring him to us." The guards bowed their heads and departed. Thebeault took a knee and respectfully bowed his head before the Winter Queen until such time as she bid him to rise.
"Your grace. I have come before you with an official report from your humble servants, WinterCorp." Said Mr. Thebeault. She sighed, tightening the belt on her robe she walked closer to her balcony window, looking out across the river into the Bronx.
"I am assuming then that Mr. Rose is now aware of the plan that is now in progress between the Duchess Southbreeze and myself?"
"Of course, your Grace." He said. Opening his file folder, he began produced a single yellow manila folder; "We are already reading Two squads of PMC Light Assault Squads to assist. They will be assembled and fully briefed within the next two weeks. They will be instructed to be as abrasive as possible to whomever they are assigned to support to attract attention away from any responsibility of any outside parties. If they are successful, it should be more than apparant that the PMC's are directly responsible for both the elimination of the hostiles you have designated. We have located an artifact in their possession which should draw out the 'other parties' attention. Strategic analysis shows an eighty two perce..." The Winter Queen rolled her eyes before shutting them tightly rubbing her forehead. Figures. Percentages. This was the last thing she wanted.
"Plain english, Mr. Thebeault. The plan between Southbreeze and myself does not need to be re-explained to me. I am the one who designed it in the first place. Do the people under Mr. Rose's employ believe this to be sufficent in drawing out the Changers of Central Park into the heart of the Goblins Lair?" Bob cleared his throat. Less figures. More ettiquite. Kill any possiblity of pretense, he thought to himself.
"Its likely the logical course of action. Your plan is, in a few words my Queen, Ambitious and Efficent."
"Mmm, risky isn't on your list, Mr. Thebeault?"
"Far be it for me, your Grace, to point out the obvious to you. All the same, either results of this plan still far outweigh the enevitable consequence of all Courts marching to War. The only question that concerns my employers is in allowing the Duchess to manipulate her own Court into choosing a motley to be put into direct harms way."
"I have my own reasons for this, Mr. Thebeault. I need not speak of those now."
"My employer still needs something, M'lady. If this plan is successful, they will be directly implicated into the coming conflict. Mr. Rose's concern is in your allowing another political faction to decide what motley is to be risked as a.. well for no better phrasing, sacrificial lambs to the slaughter. He had asked me to remind you that our support was based on the exchange of information like this." The Winter Queen allowed herself a snarl, while gently placing her marker in the book she had been reading earlier before pushing it into the hands of the Oathborne. With a low, impatient voice she closed Bob’s fingers around the volume, he breathed in sharply as the freezing cold of her fingers bit into flesh like a sudden November cold-snap.
"Don't think I have forgotten everything that your good and .. kind Master has done for this court." She hissed, breathing in deeply as the room began to freeze around them taking a very small pleasure in watching the worm of a man before her stutter and shiver before her. "Your master needs an answer. Take this book to him exactly as it is. I know he will understand."
The guards suddenly at his side glaring down at him, his cheeks now rosy red in both humility and coldness, he bowed graciously, turned and allowed himself to be escorted from the Queens chamber. Glancing once inside the book, which he now recognized at the Art of War by Sun Tsu, he noticed the phrase that the Queen had spoken of. Confusion crept into his mind like a thief, stealing what sense he had made of the meeting;
"If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt; if you know Heaven and know Earth, you may make your victory complete."
Bay Ridge Station, 95th Street, Manhattan New York
August 9th, 1977
Stone. The Retriever was made of stone. Under the cloth of its denim jacket, hood and jeans even the places where there should have been soft tissue were nothing but cold, solid stone with only a very few hidden cracks between the edges of rock and stone that hid what little human was left of the retriever. And now all that stood between it and its prize was Malcolm, herself and one of those damned 'knights' of the Ordre de l'Azuredge, the one known as Escarabajo. Their firearms were useless, and their blades had to be fast and acurate to have any hope of harming it. Their last attack had failed, felling another Knight by the name of Rashaka to the ground. He was still breathing but he was out cold.
Slowly the three of them circled the retriever. The burlap back over its shoulder struggling, kicking and screaming. Lizzy couldn't blame the kid. She would be screaming more if she knew what was going to happen next. The book, "The Hymnal of Ages only Dreamed Of", lay at the retrievers feet. She calculated her steps very carefully, keeping her sword leveled at the retriever.
"Senorita.. tu halba espanol?" The large rapier wielding cockroach muttered out from behind the retriever, his sword unsheathed and gleaming like the pale blue of a flame hotter than that from any burning wood. She shook her head.
"Don't talk, Bug-boy. We had this under control until you got here." He shrugged slightly... then suddently reared back and leapt upon the retrievers back, grappling with one arm around its neck while trying to stab it in the back with his sword. The creature shook and roared, sounding like a mountain collapsing it on itself as it tried to shake the Knight from his flank. Lizzy saw her opportunity. Sprinting suddenly towards the creature, she slid between its legs at the last minute, barely avoiding a blow from its massive stone hands. She could hear the sound of the tiled floor cracking behind her with the impact. No time to fear what might have happened, she thought. With a cry of anger, she slammed the blade of the knife into the back of the creatures knee, finding a crack in the stone. The creature screamed louder this time, like a beast of the wilderness being wounded by a small scavenger. It shook and thrashed, throwing the knight down upon them both. She barely had time to register the sudden close contact with the bug-man when they were both viciously kicked across the floor, being lifted by the impact and thrown by the kick some distance away from the retriever. She felt a snap in her left side as two of ribs broke like twigs. Her mind had barely begun to register the pain when she saw her companion, Malcolm the Rat rush the retriever head on. The sharp edge of his machete found no flesh though, and as the sparks flew off the point of impact Malcolm was rewarded only with a solid, straight right punch to the chest and followed up with vicious left backhand that dropped him like a sack of wet meat.
The Cockroach was on his 'feet' (or whatever you might call them, though they were clad in boots) with sword back in hand. With that strange chittering howl of his, he charged the retriever again, slashing at it ferociously while it swung at him and grabbed at him in anger. As unclean as the 'knight' was she was amazed at how fast he was moving. Even so, she knew it was only a matter of time before the Retriever would land an attack that could very well kill the bug-man.
"La niña!!!" He screamed out, barely ducking from one of its attacks while slashing at its waist and groin. "Save the little girl, hembra estúpida!! I can't do this forever"
Her mind cleared past the pain of her injuries. She shook the haze from her eyes and saw what he was speaking of. The burlap sack containing a fourteen year old runaway busker lay struggling on the ground, discarded temporarily by the retriever. She kicked and screamed. She could see the outline of small fingers desperately attempting to tear and rip at the inside of the bag. Small trails of blood began to seep through, traces left by those fingers who had nails torn off in desperation.
And beside the child, the book that started it all. "The Hymnal of Ages only Dreamed Of." The Tome dictated by the True Fae themselves. Songs that would speak of times to come; be they weeks, days, years, centuries. Their very words a siren song to those beings; an acknowledgement to the monsters beyond the Hedge that would come to enslave, or re-enslave.
The choice was very simple.
She broke into a sprint, dropping into a roll as the Retriever swung its giant stone fists at her. Above her, rock and granite in the shape of an open palm slap whooshed. Bringing herself to her feet, she took the book in hand, and dodged away as the Retriever finally landed a single blow on the Bug-Man. He cried out in pain as once again he was hurled meters away, smashing and splintering the tile on the side of the wall he was thrown into. The creature roared as it stepped towards her.
Only one shot at this, she thought. She flicked out the zippo lighter from her leather jacket pocket, igniting the flame and holding it close to the book. The Creature stopped. It growled lowly as the impudent Lost held its second most important prize before her. It barked something at her in a language lost to the ages that roughly translated into something about a day returning that she would remember the cold place again one day.
It seized the child, who began screaming again; this time screaming for someone named Frankie. It threw the burlap sack roughly over its shoulder, and disappeared.
She finally breathed.. dropped to her knees in relief, and grief. The book was once again out of their hands, at the cost of one more taken as a price for its beauty. She pulled a Marlborough Slim out of her jacket pocket and lit it up. The Bug-Man across from her finally pushed himself to his feet. He made an odd gasping sound as he dropped to one knee and retrieved his blue-bladed rapier.
“Tu… tu hembria.. You cold.. BITCH!!” He gasped out. “You could have saved her.. you.. you gave that girl to THEM.. HOW COULD YOU…”
“Save it, bug-man.” She grunted out as she pulled herself to her feet, limping towards Malcolm the Rat. Not much time she thought to herself. In a few minutes this place would be crawling with NYPD, and Queen Deseree the Ruby-Teared was still trying to figure out exactly who they were working for. No pulse. The break in his neck was clean. Time to move, she though. She closed his eyes and quickly muttered an goodbye before turning to try to drag herself out the station before the cops showed up.
“You COULD HAVE SAVED HER!!” The Bug-Man shouted again.
“No, Escarabajo. We couldn’t have. Even if we had, he would have still had the book, which means he would have come back again.”
“You gave her up.. you gave UP on her.. FOR THAT???”
“No. Not for this.” She said still walking away. She felt the Knights eyes burn holes in the back of her head as she limped away. She didn’t care. Not for his morals. Not for his feelings. She didn’t have room for it. The little emotion she allowed herself for the moment lay hidden in her cigarette and her pain; the smallest amount of hope that somehow, sometime that child would find the strength to escape. Even if it was to a place as shitty as New York.
WinterCorp West Headquarters,
The personal office of current CEO Marcus Rose
Yorkville, Manhattan,
April 15th, 2008
The Wine was labeled as a red, but its color seemed almost as black as the night sky as she held it to the light by the window overlooking Central Park. Chateau Margeax, 1995. If there was any advantage that Marcus’s disability gave him, it was a fine taste of things one needed more than eyes to see. She sipped it quietly as she heard Marcus and his assistance walking down the hall towards her. Gazing at Central Park, she allowed herself a moment of forethought; the briefest consideration of what was to come. Regardless of what it purchased, any blood seemed too high a cost, even with the position she had now. Even yet, if it was the blood of those she could never relate to, barely understand. But Marcus had not advised her ill during all their years together. She turned to look at him. So odd she though. Even with the Wyrd bound into his flesh and blood like herself, he was starting to show his age more like a human. It was sad; chances are he may have only a few decades left, save if there was an accident or worse yet an attempt on his life.
“I can smell your concern from over here, my dear Queen.” He said with a smile, his pale white eyes a contrast to the dark mahogany bookcases and furnishings of his personal keep. His assistant left his side and departed for the elevator with the security detail. She allowed herself a smile; blind as he may have been, she knew somehow he would know. He always did.
“You’re an old friend Marcus. I am allowed to worry about my friends.”
“Ha ha! My good lady, Royalty you may be, head of my court and first among my friends this I will not allow you to do. Clearly you need more wine.”
She allowed herself a laugh. So this was how it was going to go tonight. “This glass alone is worth more than some made for an entire weeks labour here. Its absolutely amazing.”
“That? Pyshaw, my queen. It’s the least I can do. Besides we do have serious business to attend to.”
“Of course.”
They began to walk down the hall through the Armory towards the Archives. The many ancient swords, muskets and old suits of earthly and not-so-earthly armor .
A Few Hours Later….
“Your certain she will be the one Southbreeze will choose?” The Winter Queen said, as her good friend poured another glass of wine, the twilight shaded liquid sliding into the glass like the moment the sun disappears beyond the horizon. Marcus nodded solemnly;
“Everything points to it. The quiet interception of our attempts to purchase controlling interest in good Mr. Melnyks ‘acquisition’. Tapping the dishonored remaining Knight of the L’order D’Argentedge to protect her, get close to her. Making a deal with that one Goblin we discovered on Wall Street that can cut deals to adjust who does what when the games roll into town. Her recent purchase through a proxy with the St. Marks Goblin Market of Kingsblossum. She is going to breed her into a replacement. The only question is why?”
“Even to me it’s less than obvious, Marcus.” She said, relaxing a bit into her chair. “There are too many things that don’t make sense.”
“It could be argued that with the recent issues in her court that she is looking for someone new to take over, take responsibility of those issues.”
“Hmm. Perhaps. It wouldn’t be the first time she has made a mess and dumped it on some other naïve Lost to clean it up for her. But it can’t be that. Southbreeze would know her replacement will need time to be trained and taught. She would need the support of the rest of her Court..”
“Which she only has enough to be tolerated, bearing in mind her Motleys other members. I agree. There has to be another reason.” Marcus sighed, rubbing his temples with both thumbs. “I have been looking for the signs for weeks, reading anything I can find that would be able to make sense of it. “
The Queen stood and paced about in the Archives, the gigantic shelves and cabinets filled with books collected from around North America and Europe, and even a few rare Goblin Tomes locked under three layers of transparent Kevlar laced plexiglas. She ran her hand around the corners of the case "The Hymnal of Ages only Dreamed Of". She felt a slight twinge in her side, remembering the day so clearly, and what it had cost to get the Volume to the Fledgeling Changeling Corporation back so long ago. Marcus spoke on in the distance;
“The Wall Street Journal. The New Yorker. NYC Night Life publications. Hell, even the recent Liberal free-press rags you can get for free from those homeless people that my men sometimes bring me show nothing. Nothing at all. But my instincts tell me there is more to this. And I can’t help but search.”
“Marcus, your profit margins are suffering because of this. I know you want to help, but at the same time, the December Group needs your focus on keeping WinterCorp functionable. We both know the recession that’s coming, and the cash your going to need to maintain all of this security for this… collection of yours.” Marcus nodded solemnly.
“Very well. But remember what has been told to you today, my Queen. All the signs point to something very bad happening to at least two of the noble courts.” She shivered slightly, for once allowing herself to find no comfort in the cold.
“What was it that the puzzle said? ‘Blood of the Noble shall shall rise as a sign…’
“ ‘… and with the sign shall follow the hounds.’ The Hounds are easily interpreted. But which Noble? Until we are certain it is you, I would like to again suggest that you leave the city.”
“I might as well be abdicating my throne to Shodehren if I do that.…”
“You may be actually sentencing him to death, nevertheless in the grand scheme of things ..”
“Marcus, its not an option. I’m not going anywhere. If it is to be that die here and now at the hands of the True Fae by the machinations of Fate then I will do so knowing I did what I could to protect who I could with my last breath.” Marcus sighed.
“My Queen, martyrdom has never been becoming of you. I doubt it ever will.” She smiled, placing her half empty glass on an empty spot on the bookshelf;
“I wouldn’t consider it Martyrdom. I would consider it victory with no doubt.”
Personal Residence of Elizabeth Slate
April 6th, 2008
It was an odd and somehow reassuring sight, he mused to himself as he was escorted by her personal guard. There, laying on her side sound asleep he could that there could be times she would be at ease, at peace. The book she had been reading lay open before her, and he couldn't help but stiffle a chuckle wondering if her royal majesty had been drooling into it as she slept. Bob Thebeault, oathborne to WinterCorp allowed himself at the very least a smile. For all her reputation among even those that owed her fealty of being a stone cold bitch and calculating manipulator, she still was quite beautiful. Her pale white skin reminded him of freshly fallen snow, held up by the strong and sharp spines of pine tree branches, much like the brown and green silk robe she wore even now. He turned to one of her personal guards;
"Maybe this isn't the best time. She does look very tired."
"Perhaps. But her request was clear; to bring you before her as soon as you had news from your organization."
"... Well um.. should I awake her then?"
She stirred slightly in her spot, her back arching and clicking slightly. The room suddenly became slightly cooler as her eyes open, the bright blue sapphires of her eyes meeting those of the mortal oathborne before her.
"That will not be necessary, Mr. Thebeault. Gentlemen, you may leave us. Go, find my ward and bring him to us." The guards bowed their heads and departed. Thebeault took a knee and respectfully bowed his head before the Winter Queen until such time as she bid him to rise.
"Your grace. I have come before you with an official report from your humble servants, WinterCorp." Said Mr. Thebeault. She sighed, tightening the belt on her robe she walked closer to her balcony window, looking out across the river into the Bronx.
"I am assuming then that Mr. Rose is now aware of the plan that is now in progress between the Duchess Southbreeze and myself?"
"Of course, your Grace." He said. Opening his file folder, he began produced a single yellow manila folder; "We are already reading Two squads of PMC Light Assault Squads to assist. They will be assembled and fully briefed within the next two weeks. They will be instructed to be as abrasive as possible to whomever they are assigned to support to attract attention away from any responsibility of any outside parties. If they are successful, it should be more than apparant that the PMC's are directly responsible for both the elimination of the hostiles you have designated. We have located an artifact in their possession which should draw out the 'other parties' attention. Strategic analysis shows an eighty two perce..." The Winter Queen rolled her eyes before shutting them tightly rubbing her forehead. Figures. Percentages. This was the last thing she wanted.
"Plain english, Mr. Thebeault. The plan between Southbreeze and myself does not need to be re-explained to me. I am the one who designed it in the first place. Do the people under Mr. Rose's employ believe this to be sufficent in drawing out the Changers of Central Park into the heart of the Goblins Lair?" Bob cleared his throat. Less figures. More ettiquite. Kill any possiblity of pretense, he thought to himself.
"Its likely the logical course of action. Your plan is, in a few words my Queen, Ambitious and Efficent."
"Mmm, risky isn't on your list, Mr. Thebeault?"
"Far be it for me, your Grace, to point out the obvious to you. All the same, either results of this plan still far outweigh the enevitable consequence of all Courts marching to War. The only question that concerns my employers is in allowing the Duchess to manipulate her own Court into choosing a motley to be put into direct harms way."
"I have my own reasons for this, Mr. Thebeault. I need not speak of those now."
"My employer still needs something, M'lady. If this plan is successful, they will be directly implicated into the coming conflict. Mr. Rose's concern is in your allowing another political faction to decide what motley is to be risked as a.. well for no better phrasing, sacrificial lambs to the slaughter. He had asked me to remind you that our support was based on the exchange of information like this." The Winter Queen allowed herself a snarl, while gently placing her marker in the book she had been reading earlier before pushing it into the hands of the Oathborne. With a low, impatient voice she closed Bob’s fingers around the volume, he breathed in sharply as the freezing cold of her fingers bit into flesh like a sudden November cold-snap.
"Don't think I have forgotten everything that your good and .. kind Master has done for this court." She hissed, breathing in deeply as the room began to freeze around them taking a very small pleasure in watching the worm of a man before her stutter and shiver before her. "Your master needs an answer. Take this book to him exactly as it is. I know he will understand."
The guards suddenly at his side glaring down at him, his cheeks now rosy red in both humility and coldness, he bowed graciously, turned and allowed himself to be escorted from the Queens chamber. Glancing once inside the book, which he now recognized at the Art of War by Sun Tsu, he noticed the phrase that the Queen had spoken of. Confusion crept into his mind like a thief, stealing what sense he had made of the meeting;
"If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt; if you know Heaven and know Earth, you may make your victory complete."
Bay Ridge Station, 95th Street, Manhattan New York
August 9th, 1977
Stone. The Retriever was made of stone. Under the cloth of its denim jacket, hood and jeans even the places where there should have been soft tissue were nothing but cold, solid stone with only a very few hidden cracks between the edges of rock and stone that hid what little human was left of the retriever. And now all that stood between it and its prize was Malcolm, herself and one of those damned 'knights' of the Ordre de l'Azuredge, the one known as Escarabajo. Their firearms were useless, and their blades had to be fast and acurate to have any hope of harming it. Their last attack had failed, felling another Knight by the name of Rashaka to the ground. He was still breathing but he was out cold.
Slowly the three of them circled the retriever. The burlap back over its shoulder struggling, kicking and screaming. Lizzy couldn't blame the kid. She would be screaming more if she knew what was going to happen next. The book, "The Hymnal of Ages only Dreamed Of", lay at the retrievers feet. She calculated her steps very carefully, keeping her sword leveled at the retriever.
"Senorita.. tu halba espanol?" The large rapier wielding cockroach muttered out from behind the retriever, his sword unsheathed and gleaming like the pale blue of a flame hotter than that from any burning wood. She shook her head.
"Don't talk, Bug-boy. We had this under control until you got here." He shrugged slightly... then suddently reared back and leapt upon the retrievers back, grappling with one arm around its neck while trying to stab it in the back with his sword. The creature shook and roared, sounding like a mountain collapsing it on itself as it tried to shake the Knight from his flank. Lizzy saw her opportunity. Sprinting suddenly towards the creature, she slid between its legs at the last minute, barely avoiding a blow from its massive stone hands. She could hear the sound of the tiled floor cracking behind her with the impact. No time to fear what might have happened, she thought. With a cry of anger, she slammed the blade of the knife into the back of the creatures knee, finding a crack in the stone. The creature screamed louder this time, like a beast of the wilderness being wounded by a small scavenger. It shook and thrashed, throwing the knight down upon them both. She barely had time to register the sudden close contact with the bug-man when they were both viciously kicked across the floor, being lifted by the impact and thrown by the kick some distance away from the retriever. She felt a snap in her left side as two of ribs broke like twigs. Her mind had barely begun to register the pain when she saw her companion, Malcolm the Rat rush the retriever head on. The sharp edge of his machete found no flesh though, and as the sparks flew off the point of impact Malcolm was rewarded only with a solid, straight right punch to the chest and followed up with vicious left backhand that dropped him like a sack of wet meat.
The Cockroach was on his 'feet' (or whatever you might call them, though they were clad in boots) with sword back in hand. With that strange chittering howl of his, he charged the retriever again, slashing at it ferociously while it swung at him and grabbed at him in anger. As unclean as the 'knight' was she was amazed at how fast he was moving. Even so, she knew it was only a matter of time before the Retriever would land an attack that could very well kill the bug-man.
"La niña!!!" He screamed out, barely ducking from one of its attacks while slashing at its waist and groin. "Save the little girl, hembra estúpida!! I can't do this forever"
Her mind cleared past the pain of her injuries. She shook the haze from her eyes and saw what he was speaking of. The burlap sack containing a fourteen year old runaway busker lay struggling on the ground, discarded temporarily by the retriever. She kicked and screamed. She could see the outline of small fingers desperately attempting to tear and rip at the inside of the bag. Small trails of blood began to seep through, traces left by those fingers who had nails torn off in desperation.
And beside the child, the book that started it all. "The Hymnal of Ages only Dreamed Of." The Tome dictated by the True Fae themselves. Songs that would speak of times to come; be they weeks, days, years, centuries. Their very words a siren song to those beings; an acknowledgement to the monsters beyond the Hedge that would come to enslave, or re-enslave.
The choice was very simple.
She broke into a sprint, dropping into a roll as the Retriever swung its giant stone fists at her. Above her, rock and granite in the shape of an open palm slap whooshed. Bringing herself to her feet, she took the book in hand, and dodged away as the Retriever finally landed a single blow on the Bug-Man. He cried out in pain as once again he was hurled meters away, smashing and splintering the tile on the side of the wall he was thrown into. The creature roared as it stepped towards her.
Only one shot at this, she thought. She flicked out the zippo lighter from her leather jacket pocket, igniting the flame and holding it close to the book. The Creature stopped. It growled lowly as the impudent Lost held its second most important prize before her. It barked something at her in a language lost to the ages that roughly translated into something about a day returning that she would remember the cold place again one day.
It seized the child, who began screaming again; this time screaming for someone named Frankie. It threw the burlap sack roughly over its shoulder, and disappeared.
She finally breathed.. dropped to her knees in relief, and grief. The book was once again out of their hands, at the cost of one more taken as a price for its beauty. She pulled a Marlborough Slim out of her jacket pocket and lit it up. The Bug-Man across from her finally pushed himself to his feet. He made an odd gasping sound as he dropped to one knee and retrieved his blue-bladed rapier.
“Tu… tu hembria.. You cold.. BITCH!!” He gasped out. “You could have saved her.. you.. you gave that girl to THEM.. HOW COULD YOU…”
“Save it, bug-man.” She grunted out as she pulled herself to her feet, limping towards Malcolm the Rat. Not much time she thought to herself. In a few minutes this place would be crawling with NYPD, and Queen Deseree the Ruby-Teared was still trying to figure out exactly who they were working for. No pulse. The break in his neck was clean. Time to move, she though. She closed his eyes and quickly muttered an goodbye before turning to try to drag herself out the station before the cops showed up.
“You COULD HAVE SAVED HER!!” The Bug-Man shouted again.
“No, Escarabajo. We couldn’t have. Even if we had, he would have still had the book, which means he would have come back again.”
“You gave her up.. you gave UP on her.. FOR THAT???”
“No. Not for this.” She said still walking away. She felt the Knights eyes burn holes in the back of her head as she limped away. She didn’t care. Not for his morals. Not for his feelings. She didn’t have room for it. The little emotion she allowed herself for the moment lay hidden in her cigarette and her pain; the smallest amount of hope that somehow, sometime that child would find the strength to escape. Even if it was to a place as shitty as New York.
WinterCorp West Headquarters,
The personal office of current CEO Marcus Rose
Yorkville, Manhattan,
April 15th, 2008
The Wine was labeled as a red, but its color seemed almost as black as the night sky as she held it to the light by the window overlooking Central Park. Chateau Margeax, 1995. If there was any advantage that Marcus’s disability gave him, it was a fine taste of things one needed more than eyes to see. She sipped it quietly as she heard Marcus and his assistance walking down the hall towards her. Gazing at Central Park, she allowed herself a moment of forethought; the briefest consideration of what was to come. Regardless of what it purchased, any blood seemed too high a cost, even with the position she had now. Even yet, if it was the blood of those she could never relate to, barely understand. But Marcus had not advised her ill during all their years together. She turned to look at him. So odd she though. Even with the Wyrd bound into his flesh and blood like herself, he was starting to show his age more like a human. It was sad; chances are he may have only a few decades left, save if there was an accident or worse yet an attempt on his life.
“I can smell your concern from over here, my dear Queen.” He said with a smile, his pale white eyes a contrast to the dark mahogany bookcases and furnishings of his personal keep. His assistant left his side and departed for the elevator with the security detail. She allowed herself a smile; blind as he may have been, she knew somehow he would know. He always did.
“You’re an old friend Marcus. I am allowed to worry about my friends.”
“Ha ha! My good lady, Royalty you may be, head of my court and first among my friends this I will not allow you to do. Clearly you need more wine.”
She allowed herself a laugh. So this was how it was going to go tonight. “This glass alone is worth more than some made for an entire weeks labour here. Its absolutely amazing.”
“That? Pyshaw, my queen. It’s the least I can do. Besides we do have serious business to attend to.”
“Of course.”
They began to walk down the hall through the Armory towards the Archives. The many ancient swords, muskets and old suits of earthly and not-so-earthly armor .
A Few Hours Later….
“Your certain she will be the one Southbreeze will choose?” The Winter Queen said, as her good friend poured another glass of wine, the twilight shaded liquid sliding into the glass like the moment the sun disappears beyond the horizon. Marcus nodded solemnly;
“Everything points to it. The quiet interception of our attempts to purchase controlling interest in good Mr. Melnyks ‘acquisition’. Tapping the dishonored remaining Knight of the L’order D’Argentedge to protect her, get close to her. Making a deal with that one Goblin we discovered on Wall Street that can cut deals to adjust who does what when the games roll into town. Her recent purchase through a proxy with the St. Marks Goblin Market of Kingsblossum. She is going to breed her into a replacement. The only question is why?”
“Even to me it’s less than obvious, Marcus.” She said, relaxing a bit into her chair. “There are too many things that don’t make sense.”
“It could be argued that with the recent issues in her court that she is looking for someone new to take over, take responsibility of those issues.”
“Hmm. Perhaps. It wouldn’t be the first time she has made a mess and dumped it on some other naïve Lost to clean it up for her. But it can’t be that. Southbreeze would know her replacement will need time to be trained and taught. She would need the support of the rest of her Court..”
“Which she only has enough to be tolerated, bearing in mind her Motleys other members. I agree. There has to be another reason.” Marcus sighed, rubbing his temples with both thumbs. “I have been looking for the signs for weeks, reading anything I can find that would be able to make sense of it. “
The Queen stood and paced about in the Archives, the gigantic shelves and cabinets filled with books collected from around North America and Europe, and even a few rare Goblin Tomes locked under three layers of transparent Kevlar laced plexiglas. She ran her hand around the corners of the case "The Hymnal of Ages only Dreamed Of". She felt a slight twinge in her side, remembering the day so clearly, and what it had cost to get the Volume to the Fledgeling Changeling Corporation back so long ago. Marcus spoke on in the distance;
“The Wall Street Journal. The New Yorker. NYC Night Life publications. Hell, even the recent Liberal free-press rags you can get for free from those homeless people that my men sometimes bring me show nothing. Nothing at all. But my instincts tell me there is more to this. And I can’t help but search.”
“Marcus, your profit margins are suffering because of this. I know you want to help, but at the same time, the December Group needs your focus on keeping WinterCorp functionable. We both know the recession that’s coming, and the cash your going to need to maintain all of this security for this… collection of yours.” Marcus nodded solemnly.
“Very well. But remember what has been told to you today, my Queen. All the signs point to something very bad happening to at least two of the noble courts.” She shivered slightly, for once allowing herself to find no comfort in the cold.
“What was it that the puzzle said? ‘Blood of the Noble shall shall rise as a sign…’
“ ‘… and with the sign shall follow the hounds.’ The Hounds are easily interpreted. But which Noble? Until we are certain it is you, I would like to again suggest that you leave the city.”
“I might as well be abdicating my throne to Shodehren if I do that.…”
“You may be actually sentencing him to death, nevertheless in the grand scheme of things ..”
“Marcus, its not an option. I’m not going anywhere. If it is to be that die here and now at the hands of the True Fae by the machinations of Fate then I will do so knowing I did what I could to protect who I could with my last breath.” Marcus sighed.
“My Queen, martyrdom has never been becoming of you. I doubt it ever will.” She smiled, placing her half empty glass on an empty spot on the bookshelf;
“I wouldn’t consider it Martyrdom. I would consider it victory with no doubt.”