Chapter 1.10 - Albert VI
“Next stop sir,” Rupert says to me as the carriage clanks its way around the track. If necessary I can navigate the Underground railway - but I do appreciate the reassurance of Rupert’s quiet presence.
The brakes squeal as the train carriage comes to a stop at its appointed place. There is a hissing sound as the doors slide open through some technological wizardry I do not understand. Rupert touches my arm, a signal that it is time. We shuffle off the carriage onto the platform along with a handful of others - the evening rush is over now and the hour is getting late for daytime dwellers.
I move to the wall and wait a moment, to let others past. I nod to Rupert. We walk towards the exit, but then turn down an unmarked corridor. A short way down its length is a door marked staff only. I knock and open it.
The room beyond is small - more really a closed off bit of tunnel with a bench down one wall and a single light overhead. It might be mistaken for a dingy staff room. There is another door at the far end. “You will likely have to wait here,” I say to Rupert.
“As you wish,” he says, and settles himself down on the bench. It is the only outward sign he gives me of his unhappiness.
There is a clang on the main door of a bolt being thrust back, and then it opens. A rag-covered figure emerges. “Lord Albert, your servitor…”
I cut it off. “... is already waiting for me to complete my business with Fagin.” The thing stands there, its mouth open. I indulge this for a few seconds. “Will Fagin see me - or not?” I growl.
“Uh, yes, umm, please follow,” the young thing stammers, tries to turn, falls, picks itself up and shuffles ahead of me. I resist the urge to glance at Rupert, and follow the wretch through the portal to the Lepers’ domain.
Not that they are called that these nights.
Several others heave the door shut behind me, as my guide half-shuffles and half-runs ahead - muttering all the while. Other than the doorwardens I see no one else, but I am not surprised. The corridor is lit, but not brightly. I feel as much as hear the rattling of a passing train, and realise this corridor must run nearly parallel to the tunnel the trains use. It also explains why all the corridors that branch off from this one are all on the same side. My guide stops at the fourth, waiting just long enough to know I have marked it, and then it hurries on.
I follow.
This new corridor is quite short, maybe only ten paces deep, with a simple open doorway at the end. My guide stands there, talking to someone beyond. I quieten my steps, and it does not seem to notice as I approach. It talks rapidly in some accented dialect. It is telling quite the tale and does not seem to notice me. I look at it with the eyes of the soul, and it seems utterly wrapped up in its own fears. Beyond … there is a presence I know.
“Shut up,” a voice says. Fagin’s.
The youngling jabbers on. “I said ... shut … up.” Abruptly the gabbling stops. “Lord Albert is probably right behind by now. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him not to kick you up the backside - and given your failings I think we should give him the option to satisfy that urge. You agree, don’t you?”
When the creature now spoke it was with the slight delay “Yes,” it said in a dull monotone.
“Say ‘Lord Albert, please kick me across the room.’”
The creature echoes listlessly, without turning. “Lord Albert, please kick me across the room.”
I consider it a moment - but no. “Enough Fagin,” I say.
“Really Lord Albert?” he calls back. “Ah well.” Then he speaks to the unfortunate again, “Slither back to your sire and tell him you have disappointed me.” The creature falls to the floor and starts to wriggle out the doorway past me. Then Fagin is at the door. “I must apologise,” he says, “for the youth of today. Please come in.”
The room beyond is relatively snug, three sofas set around a low table. Fagin hobbles to a large armchair, dragging his twisted leg behind him, and settles into its depths, not concealing his repulsive warty form. A single electric light hangs above the table providing sufficient, if not ample, illumination. At the other end of the room is a desk and filing cabinets. That strikes me as a little obvious on Fagin’s part, but I doubt I am the intended audience of particular display. Fagin waves me to one of the sofas.
“Again, I apologise for that … situation,” Fagin says.
I choose to stay silent. I remain standing, and still. No breath fills my lungs and no muscles twitch to animate my features.
He looks at me and continues. “My grand-childe needed the lesson, as does my childe who argued for her service when she was plainly not ready.” I remain silent. “I suppose I should ask why you wanted to see me?”
I wait a moment later. “As it happens I was going to ask of you a favour,” I say, and go on, “how courteous of you to arrange matters so that nothing new will be owed between thanks to your educational endeavour, just now.”
Quieter he says, “I suppose that depends on the favour.”
A fair point. “As you will know I am going away. I want The King’s Water to be watched whilst I am gone, and Dara too.”
He grunts. “Lord Mithras puts the place under his personal protection, and you came calling on me?”
“Yes,” I reply. “My Lord provides protection, I come to you for information. Is that not what your blood is known for?”
“I’ve annoyed you,” he states.
“I will answer that, once we have an arrangement in place,” I say.
Fagin looks long at the table, chin resting on clasped hands, a slight gurgling in his throat I have come to recognise as a sign he is regurgitating some thought. He looks up and his arms drop. “As you wish it. We will undertake this task, and no new debt - that was your wording?”
“Close enough,” I say. “Good. As to your question, I answer with one of my own. Have I let you become so familiar that you sought to make me part of your lesson without my consent?”
“I thought …” he began.
“You presumed,” I correct. “You presumed that I would relish a little … physical release. And so I might - at the correct time, in the correct place, and for the correct reason. This whole charade … was a trifle indulgent, Fagin.”
“You’re clearly not going to sit,” he says, and raises himself to his feet. Supporting himself on his chair, he continues, “I’ve seen you do a lot worse than kick someone across the room for chastisement. Nora, now…”
.
“Proceed,” Lady Anne declares.
I approach the frightened creature in front of me. She is bound between two posts, her arms and legs spread. One of the servitors offers me the so-called Sword of Justice. I heft the greatsword, draw it high, and pause. I centre myself and will my arms into swift, fluid, sinisterly implacable motion. First one leg, then the other, and the arms, all in the time it takes a human to draw a single breath, or less. The blade comes to rest before Nora falls with a thump to the ground. Her torso topples forward, her face hitting the sod. She has made no vocal sound, and is holding close to what little vitae remains to her - none is spilling from her wounds.
Lady Anne passes the rest of the sentence. “Let her remain in this state for a month and a day. If she heals herself before that time her blood is forfeit. If any care for her, they are Accountable for her like a sire is a new childe. After this time she may be presented to this Court to retain the right of residency in this Domain in her own right, or she may quit London and seek residency elsewhere. If she has no patron before dawn the sun will claim her…”
.
“Nora, now - I’ve seen walls that were more expressive than you when you dismembered her. That was truly cruel - my own lesson was just arsing around - and at least I care about my brood.”
I have not yet moved any muscle - save those required for speaking - since he invited me in. I wonder if he has noticed. He is sharp, but not all the time. Time for a lesson? A weariness pervades me, but I need him, and perhaps he will yet grow up.
“Fagin, I am a Satrap to Lord Mithras. You can call me cruel, and I have been cruel. Cruelty and violence are but some of the tools of my trade, and I use them as required - but they do not entertain me.”
It is time to move beyond this. I continue before he can speak again, “Next time you need a young thing educated, give me warning. It is not the lesson I am opposed to - though I would choose the precise method of instruction - it is the presumption.”
Fagin says nothing, and the pustules on his face do a good job of concealing what he is thinking. I remain still - and I think I see an understanding of sorts grow in him. He shuffles onto his knees. “I am sorry, Lord Albert.”
“Fagin, get up - it is past, and it is done.” Purposefully I will my limbs to motion, to act just a little - if only a little - human. “As I said, there is nothing new now owed between us. Just … you are getting too old to be making these mistakes.”
With some effort he clambers back onto his feet, and I sense some tension leave him. “I don’t feel old,” I think he mutters.
I smile. “And yet … you remember Nora’s trial. Not so young.” I shake my head. “I must be going. Let me know if you need my assistance in some future tutelary efforts. For the proper reason, at the proper time…” I leave it there, and I am not sure - but I think his expression is caught between a glower and grin.
