Chapter 2.4 - Albert X
I wake.
It is an instant transition from repose to active alertness, but without that added urgency of danger. I remain still, eyes closed. It never does to betray awareness. I sense Ariadne near, and none other. I am most likely safe.
I open my eyes and see the ceiling above me. I swivel and rise, drawing back a cover. Ariadne stands before me. “Master,” she greets.
There is something different about the cabin and it takes me a moment to notice the absence of the engine’s hum. “We have arrived?”
“Yes Master. We berthed maybe not that long ago.”
I nod in acknowledgement, and she stands waiting. I feel a sudden weariness at the theatre to come. The cavalcade of motions to perform, the lies to listen to, the functions to attend, the false smiles and the real smiles, and the deep whispering of the dark within: let it all go. To sink into the deeper sleep and let the world forget me, and to forget the world. Not even Mithras would blame me …
No.
I stand. “I need to change,” I say. Ariadne nods. She has laid out some options, all entirely acceptable. I force myself to actually make a choice - a not-quite casual outfit that should offer no insult to the Prince, but is not actual evening wear. She takes the rejected garments away as I quickly change, discharding the clothes I have worn on the voyage. I put my chosen attire with purposeful acts, as I might once have girded myself in nights past for struggle on an unfamiliar field.
call Ariadne back into the space. “Destroy them,” I say, pointing to the clothes I have strewn on the floor.
“Master,” she says, “Rupert has a message.”
I nod, and walk to the other room, where Rupert is now waiting. “A message?”
“Yes Master,” he says. “Transportation has been sent for you, and I believe an escort. They sent this note aboard.” He hands me an envelope.
I draw out the card, and read the simple writing. Welcome to America - Theo.
Theo.
I take a moment to quell the sudden flush of feeling. It must be nearly fifty years. “All is done here?”
“Yes Master,” Ariadne confirms. “This the last luggage.”
I do not wish to wait longer. “Lead on,” I say to Rupert. He leads us - carrying his burdens - through the ship to our egress. We wait a moment for another passenger to debark, and from the air that passes through the open hatch I sniff the scent of this strange city. Much like any other, and like all others still its very own. The officer waves us through, and onto the gangplank with a muttered courtesy I barely acknowledge. It takes me but a moment to see Theo standing at the quayside, as tall and as broad as when I first saw him...
The two American visitors stand together in the gallery observing the painting of a drowned woman, but I find the two men a far more interesting study. Both are tall, but the Spanish gentleman has a thinner frame. The other is altogether broader, with shoulders and a back well used to hard labour, and scarred. Also, he is black.
Don Cerro and his negro childe have caused quite a stir since they arrived in London several months ago. They have been in demand, feted and hosted in a frenzy of social engagement. Tonight is more set: a formal gala of the Domain, with its own rituals they can only observe.
I walk quickly over, timing my motion to brush past the Latimer woman - who fortuitously happened to be standing in just the right place. She begins to exclaim, and that stops her retort - but it serves its purposes, not least letting the Americans know of my approach so they turn as I near.
I stop and place my hands splayed on my chest, one atop the other, and bow from the waist. “Don Cerro, may I have the pleasure of introducing myself,” I say.
Don Cerro’s eyes crinkle, perhaps with humour. His childe regards me without obvious emotion. “Satrap Albert, I had wondered if you were avoiding us,” he says, a trace of a smile twitching lips.
I smile in return. “You have been rather under siege since your arrival. I thought it polite to wait for a quieter moment. Practically, we are less likely to be interrupted.” Though, of course, eyes are on us. I have a message to deliver here, and it is not to the two before me.
“Well, you need not introduce yourself to me, but let me introduce you to my childe, Theo Bell.”
“At your service,” the large man - larger than I - holds out a hand. I take it, a firm handshake both ways. “I trust you are not finding your time here too onerous - all these social niceties,” I say directly.
The young one’s eyes tighten slightly as he draws to retain his impassive view.
“London is a fascinating place,” he says after a moment, having chosen his words. We are still gripping each other’s hands.
“I hear your Sire has had you exhibiting your scars - I wondered if you like to see my own?”
“Satrap,” Don Cerro says, and I release his childe’s hand.
“I mean no insult,” I say, “to you or your childe. It is just,” and I loosen my shirt and let it slip from my back, “your childe is not the only one here who was once a slave.”
I speak the words clearly, loudly, to be heard - and I hear the ripple of gasps and sudden movements as those long ago afflicted mortal marks are seen. I turn around slowly, fixing each of those who stare at me, and they all look away - apart from my Lord who has a smile on his face. My circle complete I re-set my shirt, and I feel like for the first time I have the childe’s full attention.
“How did a white man become a slave?” he asks, supremely politely given the roiling thought playing out in his eyes.
“My history here is known, though maybe your Sire knows it not - but I am sure he can make a reasonable deduction.”
“Barbary,” Don Cerro says in a quiet tone.
“Let us just say I know how to row.”
For the first time I regard them both with my full sight, and though I might misjudge the flickering colours it seems like Don Cerro accepts my tale. Theo Bell is altogether harder to read, a turbulent tempest whirling in his aura.
“I do apologise for the theatrics, Don Cerro.”
He is now smiling again, “Oh it is quite alright Satrap. To be included in such a display from an Artist of your calibre … I think I shall consider it an honour.”
Sharp. Very sharp.
I look to Theo. “There was a time when pirates from Barbary would raid the coasts of Europe, including these Isles. People were one of the commodities they took.” I shrug. “And now you know how I bear the mark of a slave-whip.” Or so I hope.
I turn slightly to fully face Don Cerro, “I also have an offer for your childe - an excursion outside the city. I thought he might find it interesting how certain things are organised here in Avalon, and you might like a report of it.” I turn straight back to Theo, “And I thought perhaps you might appreciate some time away from the Court, to relax.”
Theo looks to his Sire, who regards me still that same smile and a curious eye. “I think you should accept the Satrap’s offer Theo.”
“Then I do,” the young American says quickly.
… I stop. Theo looks all the world like some sort of household servant, or maybe a hotel minion, a footman. He is standing next to a motor car, clearly intended for our use. America. I should have known. Ships, even if they are built of iron, are still ships. Trains I have become reconciled to, but these newer contraptions I still find troublesome. I force myself to start walking again. It is just, I try to convince myself, a carriage without a horse. Just like a ship I am leaving has no sails (but ships kept sails for so very long, it made the transition easier).
I concentrate on Theo, and the thrill of seeing him again sparks up once more, just a little muted. Enough. Leaving the gangplank I stride towards him, faster than I might have, smiling broadly, hands out. “Theo,” I greet, and he grips my arms as well, studying me. “I had no idea you would be here. Does that mean your Sire is too?”
Now he smiles, “No, not at the moment. Though he’ll be travelling when I wire him you have arrived. And you Albert, are you well?”
I see one of the dockworkers cast Theo an appalled look. Seeing me notice he spits on the ground. “Fine, fine. A good voyage.” I have, I realise, not really looked at the vehicle, and I force myself to. “Our transport?”
“Yes, your servants can load up,” he said, waving to Rupert and Ariadne. The vehicle’s driver, standing un-noticed moves to assist. Theo opens the door to the back, “After you,” he says courteously. I stare a moment at the open door, and the plunge forward. It is, I grant, a comfortable seat in the back.
Following behind me Theo closes the door shut. “I realise you might prefer a horse-drawn carriage, but Prince Schureman would only countenance the best. The driver is from the Prince’s own household.”
There are thumps from the luggage being secured.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of you coming to see me. I had expected maybe the Domain’s seneschal, or a favoured childe, but not a friend.”
“Thank my sire for that. When he heard about the invitation he decided to keep an eye on it. You know he doesn’t want any ill will between Avalon and us. And I argued to the Prince here a known face make things easier all round.”
“Well, it is a pleasure to see you again,” I repeat.
“Well it’s great to see you too Albert - but -” he glances to check the driver is still outside, “I think this whole situation stinks, just so you know.”
I nod, but say no more as at that point the driver opens his door and slides in. I beckon Ariadne in with us - and let Rupert ride alongside the driver. “A woman not in the back would be conspicuous,” I say to Theo, who seems amused.
“Perhaps not as much here as in London, but still a good idea,” he agrees.
“What’s on the table tonight?” I ask.
“Well, off to see the Prince first of course. Get the Presentation out of the way. Then to deliver you to the place they’ve got for you. Too posh for me, but it’ll do. Nothing else tonight. In a few days’ time a welcoming gala, and then sometime after that the Conclave occasioned by your visit.”
“And the Prince.”
“Prince Henry Schureman, as perfect an example of a mercantile Patrician as you will ever meet.” Theo grins as he speaks, and I get the message.
It is true, I realise, I have missed the former slave.
