Mutually Assured Destruction?
SY124-129
I was spending a bit of time in Murray, checking in with my grandson James, when I received a Trump call from one of my agents in the Outside world: a young man named Richard Lacey.
Richard, like so many of my grandchildren, was Andrew's son: in this case the younger twin of Alexander, who had first persuaded Andrew to contact me after his years in the wilderness. The twins had been born in Avon, having been conceived between the events with Seska and Black Star Thule, and Andrew's formal engagement to Morgaine. When Dominic moved to Thelbane, he invited their mother – Jennifer – to go with him, and as she wanted to make herself scarce from Avon to avoid embarrassment all around, she agreed.
Alexander was brought up in Thelbane by his mother, but it was decided that his twin should come to Sable. Much like Dominic before him, Richard was fostered in Sable City, while his younger but legitimate siblings were brought up in the palace. However, when Dom learned of his brother's existence, he took steps to make sure that the latter had access to the palace if he wanted it, and acted as a kind of mentor for him. Dom introduced Richard to their siblings (he got on with Adam like a house on fire, and the pair of them raised merry Hell as they were growing up!), although he kept him away from Andrew and Morgaine.
Richard went to SMC at eighteen, and walked the Pattern when he came of age, and at some point in that process, Gray identified him as a potential covert agent and recruited him. After he graduated, he was trained and sent on assignment in a variety of places - including stints with the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe - and proved himself a highly effective, if somewhat independent, operative. Therefore, when Gray became aware of another of his counterparts in the Outside world (there certainly seems to be a band of Earth-type Shadows around Earth Prime), and decided to send someone to look at that world, known as St James, and that John Graham, Richard was his first choice. Roland would later use that world as one of the gateways of the Aurellis Transport System to the Outside (along with Casablanca), but at this point, that was in the future.
We built Richard a cover giving him access to the resources of that world's Worcester Duchy: initially as Marquis of Tewkesbury, with the intention of him becoming Duke of Worcester as his assignment progressed. After all, it's always easier to start someone off with a base of operations. Then we graduated him from Sandhurst as a lieutenant in the Coldstream Guards, and gave him the opportunity to get noticed by the St James Oakwood Group. He succeeded in his primary task, by virtue of ending up in the Royal Household and performing a service or two for the Crown, and he quickly managed to form links with the Group. Then he got himself transferred into Graham's chain of command (for all that that Graham was nominally retired, he kept his fingers in one or two unofficial pies), thereby allowing us to offer them assistance if required.
It was about nine months after he was first assigned to St James that Richard first came across Duke William of Normandy, a French sorcerer and ritualist with decidedly Dark tendencies, who tried to rope him into a plot to steal the Sceptre of England. William had a plan involving acquiring himself a great deal of power, but he needed the Sceptre to do it. Thus he arranged for records to be found which would indicate that the Duke of Worcester held the honorary title of 'King's Sorcerer' - which I think amused Richard no end when he found out, given how close it was to the truth - and that the Sceptre was needed for his investiture.
Maybe that was coincidence playing a part again, and if Worcester hadn't been the only Duchy due to be invested during that period of time, William would have chosen another mark. Or maybe it was the Powers that Be indicating that there was a problem which would very quickly need a solution. But either way, Worcester it was, and so Normandy made contact with Richard at an exclusive club of which they were both members, and started to recruit my grandson to his cause.
Richard realised that something was untoward about his new acquaintance almost instantly: in fact, at the moment William proposed proving magic really existed by giving someone a heart attack. He was persuaded to use an alternative method for demonstration, but the fact that he had suggested it led Richard to believe that dealing with the man would fall soundly in the purview of both the Oakwood Group's brief as arcane policemen, and his mission on my behalf. Thus my grandson went along with the plan to see what he could learn, and to find out a way to stop the Duke of Normandy.
His plan to infiltrate William's operations was assisted when Normandy took a fancy to him. Quite literally, apparently, which didn't please Richard hugely. Thus William quickly decided that he had found a like-minded individual, and my grandson, being an experienced agent, was willing to use it against his target in pursuit of information for the cause - at least until the latter tried anything too unwelcome. William invited Richard to his home in Montmartre, and it was there that the latter confirmed his suspicions about just how dangerous William was, and that he was actually insane.
On Richard's first trip to Paris, William explained that he had been in the Paris catacombs, when he had come across a chamber containing a library: he had been drawn to it somehow, as if it had been keyed to him, and when he saw its contents - which was exclusively arcane - he started to read. Thus he had learned that the concealed library was the front room of two, and that behind the door in the second chamber was the secret to controlling St James. Furthermore, he had come to the conclusion that the key to accessing that chamber was the Sceptre of England: hence his interest in acquiring that item and his courting of Richard.
On hearing this, my grandson was naturally worried. He became even more concerned when William showed him the library, which he'd moved wholesale, shelves and all, from the catacombs to a magically protected location within his own home. As Richard browsed through the books, he found, among other things, an entire mage-school course, to full level in every subject available at SMC, which seemed to work by downloading the information within them directly into the mind of the reader. This caused him to take very, very careful note of the other volumes on the shelves, so he could let us know which ones they were at a later date, and as he did so, he was startled to find a number of volumes attributed to Rot Adler, and more disturbing, an entire section of books on energy channelling and the harnessing of Pattern energy, written by Rupert Delatz and Joscelin Kennard-Berthelmes: some individually, some co-authored.
Richard's impression was that William had no idea of the significance of those volumes. Instead, his primary desire was to introduce his new protégé to the joys of real magic - not knowing that Richard was already a practitioner. And therefore he gleefully picked the volume on transport and communications magic off the shelf, handed it to Richard, and took him to the chamber where he found it, explaining that that place seemed to let him read very quickly: a month's worth of work in just a few hours. He provided Richard with supplies for a month, and then left him to it, saying he would be back later.
Once left to his own devices, Richard started to investigate the former library, and the book he had been presented with, and about five minutes later, realising that he'd stumbled onto a pile of dynamite, he gave me a call. From the urgency of the contact, it was obvious that whatever he'd found was too important to discuss over a Trump, and so I went through and joined him. He quickly briefed me on events to that point, and then we settled down to work out what we'd got.
First he built me an illusion of the library as he had seen it at William's house: giving me a chance to look at the spines. Sadly, having not physically handled all of the books, he couldn't show me the contents, but the titles were disturbing enough. Especially the energy and Pattern channelling ones. The impression I was getting from the titles was that Rupert had been doing a lot of work on the applications of Pattern energy, much of it in conjunction with Joscelin, with the obvious slant of using those researches for military purposes. And realistically, there was only one military purpose that could be: gaining an unassailable position over Sable, to end the war. Andrew's fears about a Delatz-Kennard alliance were been completely justified. What I couldn't understand, though, is why that knowledge would be in books in a library in Paris. Were our positions reversed, I certainly wouldn't have published that kind of information such that it could fall into his hands.
Next, he showed me the entrance to the chamber itself. As I studied it, I realised that the wards around it, which had kept it hidden in the catacombs, were triggered to open for someone Talented and preferably Cornelian. Thus it opened for me and Richard. But it had also opened for William, which meant that that particular individual was more of a threat than we had initially realised.
This was borne out when he passed me the book on trans/comms magic which William had given him as light bedtime reading. As I studied it, I realised that the way it worked was by downloading the information almost directly into the head of the reader. The trouble was, without sufficient will-power or an inherent ability to shapeshift, the spells used to transfer the information would drive the reader mad. From what Richard was telling me, this described William's condition, the madness having manifested as a thirst for power, and a lack of restraint as far as using magic for the Darkness was concerned. As servants of the Light, therefore, Richard and I knew then and there that he would have to be dealt with permanently.
Then I started investigating the library itself, and got another shock. As far as I could tell from the remaining fixtures and fittings - William having taken the bookshelves wholesale - the place had been set up three hundred years before. And yet Rupert hadn't existed three hundred years before - hell, I had barely existed - let alone Joscelin or any of their respective research. That was months, maybe a few years old, but no more. This apparent contradiction led me to consider the back room, but when I brought up the Pattern to take a look, I felt a lot of Logrus energy. Not feeling particularly inclined to initiate a Pattern-Logrus clash, I noted that for future reference, with the intention of bringing someone more inclined towards Chaos - Roland being my first choice - to take a look at it.
However, I was left with two distinct impressions: one, that there was a consciousness trapped the other side of that door; and two, that time in both chambers had been pulled and twisted in on itself, almost like a temporal Klein Bottle and that whatever the Logrus energy was, it was searching Shadow for items and information. Shades of the Collectors on Keillour? Perhaps that was how information which could only have been written three months ago, or more likely never formally written down at all, could appear to be three hundred years old.
"What do you plan to do now?" I asked him.
"Carry on worming my way into William's confidence, and then, when the opportunity presents itself, bring the Group in to deal with him."
"What if he is Cornelian?
"Then I'd better make sure he isn't awake when we kill him," he answered, his statement matter-of-fact.
"I need the Delatz-Kennard books. Everything else, I'll leave to your discretion on whether you leave them here on St James with the Oakwood Group, but I have to have those. I can't see another way of stopping the Reich using those techniques against us except proving we can use them too."
"You seem sure that they will."
"If Russia had had the bomb before America, do you think they would have held off using it?"
He paused, then shook his head. "I'll get you those books."
With that I departed, leaving him to wait for William's return.
I heard from him again a few days later.
"Duke William's dead, and I've got that delivery for you, grandfather," he said through the Trump. In the background, I could hear voices, recognising one of them as Gray's. He didn't sound too happy.
"Problem?"
"Not if we get this over quickly," he answered, "the Group are objecting to me wanting to send these through without letting them see them. However, at the moment they're occupied, so I thought I'd sneak them out while they weren't looking."
"Let's get to it, then."
Between us, we transferred two crates to Murray, and as we finished, I heard a shout in the background.
"Lieutenant Lacey. What the Hell are you doing?"
"Gotta go - about to get a bollocking," he said to me quickly, and broke the link.
Once he had gone, I started checking through the crates, scanning the volumes he had provided. It looked like an entire set of Joscelin's research notes - the ones which should have been destroyed in Danzig - plus a number of volumes of Rupert's own studies into blood and death rituals, Pattern and using the two together as a source of power. Explosive wasn't the right word for it. If he did decide to use the techniques described, there was every chance that he would wipe Sable from the face of Magica Superior – given what had happened by accident in Danzig. Which meant I had no choice but to use his notes to develop a comparable technology for my own lands. What a choice: building weapons of mass destruction, something I had always strongly opposed, or potentially losing everything.
Richard called back a short while later.
"Well, he's fired me."
"Excuse me?"
"General Graham. I've been reassigned as no longer trustworthy. Apparently I'm incurably insubordinate and I have issues with chain of command. So I'm off to the Balkans to redeem myself."
"Do you want to come home? It sounds like the purpose of your assignment just evaporated."
"Oh, you know me, grandfather," he answered, with a chuckle, "Always one for a challenge. My current plan is to stay here, prove myself a hero, and give him no alternative but to take me back on again. And anyway, I have to admit I've rather taken a fancy to his great-granddaughter."
"Caitlin?"
"Uh huh."
"Dammit Richard. This was supposed to be business."
"I know. However, that's never stopped me mixing in a little pleasure along the way. You know that."
I remembered the reports I'd heard about his off-duty activities during a two-year assignment to Berlin and sighed. At times, I could see a lot of my younger self in Richard, which was somewhat scary in itself.
"Yes, I know that," I answered, eventually, "don't get yourself killed being a hero."
"Oh, I have every intention of coming back alive, well and with some new chest ribbons. I think a DSO would probably persuade the General to take me back, so that's my aim. More modest than a VC, but important enough not to sneeze at."
"You're hopeless!" I answered, lightly, "if you need anything, for goodness sake call."
"I will," he said, then paused, looking more serious, and added, "were those books worth it?"
"Definitely," I stated, "they should give me an insight into Rupert's thinking and research which I couldn't have got any other way."
"As long as I didn't get myself fired for nothing," he replied, and I heard the first trace of regret at his falling out with Graham that I had detected in his tone. "Toodle pip, grandfather."
And he broke the contact.
I returned with the books to Sable, taking them down to the lab I maintained in Sable Palace. I strengthened the wards significantly, such that anyone other than me entering the lab would die until I said otherwise, and then started taking advantage of the fact that my lands were running fast relative to St James to start going through the notes. Sadly, they weren't running fast compared to Berlin and the Reich. However, from looking at my counterpart's notes, I didn't think he had completed his work, which meant there was a chance that I might not be too late.
Rupert's research notes were disturbing in the extreme. Not least of which because they incorporated a lot of Joscelin's work on using pain and pleasure in combination to channel energy, as well as other forms of darker rituals. However, one thing did become apparent: that part of the reason my counterpart had gone down that route, is that he wanted to find some method of generating power which would get around the fact that he did not have access to a Jewel. The fact that I did gave me the opportunity to take his ideas, but modify them such that the darker aspects of his work could be circumvented with a similar ultimate effect.
It was a long time later, in my time, anyway, that Richard finally got word to me that he had achieved his aim. He had received his DSO, and he and Graham had made up their differences. My grandson always was a determined young man who would do what he needed to get what he wanted. In a way, that was why he was quite such a good agent, for all his independent tendencies. The bit of information I wasn't expecting, was that he had become engaged to Caitlin Jordan. Finally, it sounded as if he was putting down roots.
He also told me that the College of Heralds on that world had finally decided he was entitled to the Duchy of Worcester, and invited me to his investiture. Thus I got my first opportunity to formally meet the St James Oakwood Group: mostly the usual suspects, but with one or two members I hadn't come across before, at least one of which, Geoffrey Aberford, I was suspicious of being family: maybe somehow related to the Helgrams? Still, as always, it was strange to meet for the first time those individuals I had known elsewhere for many years, although the St James General seemed uncannily similar to his counterparts.
I stayed on St James for a few days, getting to know that Oakwood Group and spending the run-up to Christmas with Richard at Millbank. When I got there, however, I discovered that prior to my arrival, he had discovered two interesting presents which my father had left for the next potential Duke of Worcester: a hidden library with many of his books in it and a Thule dagger which would bind itself to the nascent Duke. Unfortunately, the dagger was already bound to Richard by then, and my grandson was left with a weapon which he could call to him whenever he wished it. A useful trick, were it not for the nature of the dagger in question. The only positive thing about it was that when I examined it, it did not appear to have ever been used in ritual, and therefore the only taint on it was design and intent, rather than anything more sinister.
What the dagger and the library did lead to, however, was a Broken Pattern under the hedge maze in the garden. No wonder Delwin had been interested in that particular iteration of Millbank - and perhaps that was why the Shadow had another Graham. With the help of Richard and the resident General, I made sure that the Broken Pattern in question became linked to Sable, rather than Amber, in the hope that that would break it away from any lingering influences my father might have left on it.
It was about six weeks later, St James time - rather longer for me in Sable - that the moment I had feared above everything came to pass.
It started with a very quick message from Richard, relayed to me via James on Murray.
"He's going to test the bomb Outside - heading off to try to stop him."
On receiving the message, I took myself Outside as fast as I could, then brought his Trump image to mind. Initially he seemed to be fighting me, before he eventually let the contact through.
"Bit busy right now, grandfather," he said, abruptly, and broke the contact. In that brief moment, it had looked to me as if he was in the cockpit of an old fighter plane. A Spitfire, maybe? And I could hear gunfire.
I headed for St James and scanned the place, but quickly realised he wasn't there. Then I used a lens to find him, but as I made contact with him, there was a massive backlash of power which knocked me reeling. It felt uncannily like the effect when Danzig was destroyed: and given his message, it seemed likely that that was exactly what it was. I headed in that direction, and found myself on a Shadow which was obviously in the midst of its Second World War. Having arrived in London, I scanned out to see if I could work out where Richard might have been or, more importantly, the source of the power backlash. It took about ten minutes for me to find the 1,000-yard crater in the New Forest, which still had ripples of Pattern energy playing around it. At least it was smaller than the Danzig blast. Equipping myself with a suitable uniform, so that I wouldn't appear too out of place, I transferred myself there and started to take a look around.
Rupert had succeeded in his test. There was no doubt about it. I was looking at the product of his research in practise. However, there was no sign of what had delivered the bomb, and there was no sign of Richard.
"Hey, who are you?" came a voice, breaking into my reverie. I saw an army Colonel approaching me, looking very disturbed. He also looked somewhat familiar, although I couldn't immediately place him.
"Colonel de Lacy, Royal Engineers," I answered, "and you, sir?"
"Military Intelligence. What are you doing here?"
"I came to survey the damage. You?"
"The same. However, my briefing didn't indicate that I should expect an officer from the Engineers."
"Obviously the assignments have been put together very hurriedly, so perhaps the chains of communication were confused," I replied, willing it to be so - and watching him relax as he heard the explanation, "what happened?"
"A young man arrived in my office in Whitehall, saying that Himmler was about to drop a bomb on Buckingham Palace, which would most likely take out the whole of Westminster. I thought he was exaggerating, but he stuck with his story and urged me to warn Their Majesties and the Prime Minister, so that they could be out of London when it hit, and we wouldn't be cut off at the head."
"What made you listen?"
"I've never seen someone so certain of such a preposterous story," came the reply, "and believe me, I've heard some of those in my life. In this case, though, I found myself convinced by his sincerity and said I would make some calls. Then he asked if he could have access to a Spitfire, muttering something about being the only person who could stop Himmler's plane. I called ahead to Northolt, so they would have something ready for him when he arrived, and he departed at high speed."
"What was this young man's name?"
"His name tag identified him as Lieutenant Lacey."
"You're sure he said it was Himmler?" I asked. Richard had to be the young messenger, but who was the enemy pilot? I had a good idea, given that Rupert is a flyer and has even fought with the Luftwaffe on occasion, but I wanted confirmation.
"Yes – he said quite distinctly that the Reichsführer-SS was flying the plane. It puzzled me slightly, as I didn't realise Himmler flew. Heydrich is reputed to, but not the Reichsführer-SS himself. But there is only the one Reichsführer-SS..."
"What happened?"
"From what I've heard from the surviving pilots, they engaged the bomber as it crossed the coast, but none of their weapons seemed to be having the slightest effect: and these are good pilots, and it wasn't a small target, which disturbed them mightily. They reported two men in the cockpit in German uniforms, and probably a tail gunner, although they didn't see one. Of the thirty planes sent to defend, the Krauts picked off twenty-five of them. Then another Spitfire came screaming into the combat. It targeted the tail of the bomber and dived at it, with no apparent expectation of surviving the collision. As it hit, the other fighters tried to pull away, while bomber and Spitfire came down here. Then there was apparently an almighty bang, a flash of light, and both planes were vaporised."
"And the pilots?"
"I have no reports that they bailed out," came the answer, "the boy managed a Hell of a coup, although how he got here in time is beyond me. However, he saved London and killed Himmler in one fell swoop. He ought to be given the VC. Pity it'll be posthumous."
Then he obviously saw my expression.
"What's up, old chap?"
"I think he was a relative of mine," I replied, and he looked rather more serious. For my part, I hoped to Hell that he was wrong.
"Bad luck," he said, his expression sobering, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder, "but at least you can take comfort in the fact that he was a bona fide hero. London is safe, as are the King and Churchill. In fact, he couldn't have found a better place to bring down that plane and minimise casualties than here."
I nodded and moved away, out of his line of sight. Then I got my Trump deck out of my pocket, and shuffled Richard's to the top. I concentrated for a moment, and felt that it was still cold. The lad was still alive, although probably Inside. I high-tailed it back to Murray, headed through to Sable, and tried again.
"Mein Bruder," said Rupert, as he answered the Trump in Richard's place, looking decidedly smug, "I've been waiting for your call."
"Where the Hell is Richard?"
"You'll be pleased to know that Lieutenant Lacey is alive, if not well. But never fear. I have no intention of killing him just yet."
"We don't take each other's kin."
"We do when they actively and openly attack us, as he did myself and Andreas," he answered. Andreas had been there as well? I was impressed that Richard was even still alive: Andreas can't have realised he was Andrew's son. Then my counterpart continued. "Unless you think his kamikaze run against the plane I was flying was an accident. However, your irritating little grandson is really is the least of your worries, today."
"I always worry about my family."
"Of course you do. It's such an endearing feature. But, I predict, not today."
I looked at him, and waited for him to enlighten me.
"On instructions from the Kaiser - who is most pleased with my recent demonstration, by the way, despite young Richard's better efforts to disrupt it - I am instructed to demand a cessation of hostilities, and Sable's unconditional surrender in the war between our nations. Effective, immediately."
I had been expecting the ultimatum as soon as he had intercepted my call, but that didn't lessen the shock.
"And if I refuse?"
"You have seen what I can do, and you have no equivalent to counter it. Save your people any more suffering, Robert. The Reich is not unmerciful to its beaten enemies."
"They just throw them in concentration camps and send the Einsatzgruppen in to annihilate everyone who disagrees with them," I retorted.
"Tut, tut. This really isn't the moment for insults. Also, I haven't finished yet. In addition, you will surrender yourself to the Kaiser and I at the Imperial Palace in Berlin."
"And why do you want me in Berlin? So you can publicly gloat over your defeated enemy?"
"No. So I can have you beheaded," he replied, as cool as cucumber and shocking the Hell out of me. We'd never openly discussed murdering each other before, but I didn't get the impression that he was joking.
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, don't look so shocked," he commented, almost dismissively, "you understand the logic of that, as well as I, and were our positions reversed, you would be a fool not to demand the same thing. For all your goody-goody exterior, you're still Cornelian, and you're still a pragmatist. After all, it's not as if death is a permanent condition for either of us. You'll be back in a few years. But your absence will allow Sable to see the wisdom of surrender and take its first steps as a newest province of the Fatherland."
"I need time to think about this," I answered, appearing disconsolate.
"I expected you to request a delay. Impending doom has a habit of focusing the mind. Especially when your life will be exchanged for that of your people. Which ironically strikes me as just the kind of heroic gesture you would indulge in. Must be where Lieutenant Lacey got it from. The Kaiser has instructed me to allow you seven days to consider, Sable-Berlin time. You will give me your answer no later than eleven o'clock, one week from today."
"Acceptable," I answered, and for the first time I detected a slight hesitation from him. As if he had expected me to argue further. Then, a moment later, he added.
"Oh, and Robert. You will not lock yourself away in fast time to try to come up with a last ditch plan to save your land and your neck. And you will not contact Joscelin Berthelmes in the hope that he can save you, either," he stated, his tone insistent. Mentally calculating the possibilities that I would do one or both of those things would have explained his brief hesitation. "In fact, if you do either, I will know, and the deadline will expire immediately, the weapon will be used and your life will be forfeit. Am I clear?"
"Crystal," I replied, and broke the contact. As I did, I heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God I knew something he didn't. At least, I hoped I knew something he didn't. While I had expected the surrender demand, I hadn't expected my own life to be on the line as well, and it took me a few moments to come to grips with just what that entailed. Knowing that death is temporary doesn't stop you wishing to avoid it any less.
I poured myself a stiff drink, downed it in one, poured another, and then gave Andrew a call.
"Are you busy?"
"I'm fighting a small war," he answered, "but I'm sure I can take a five minute break."
"Make it a week, and then join me in Sable," I replied.
"It may only be a small war, but I'm not sure I can take a break from it for that long."
"Andrew, it may about to become irrelevant. Make arrangements and come to Sable. I need your help," and without giving him further opportunity to argue, I broke the contact.
When he arrived he was far from pleased.
"This had better be bloody good. My intelligence indicates that the Reich are about to Blitzkrieg the Shadow I was working on."
"My intelligence indicates that they are going to hold off for at least a Sable week," I replied.
I poured him a brandy and indicated for him to sit, before throwing up additional privacy wards around the room we were in - which I saw surprised him.
"The Reich have a functional energy weapon," I said, deciding there wasn't a better way of putting it, "based on the technology we believed destroyed in Danzig. They have demanded our surrender."
And I showed him images of what I had found on the Shadow where Richard had been captured, and as I did, I saw his expression darken.
"I knew Joscelin was too dangerous to live."
"That isn't an argument I intend to get into with you here and now," I answered, well aware of his feelings on that subject, "what I need from you now, is to help me find a counter-weapon."
"How long?"
"A week."
"We're screwed."
"Not necessarily."
"Perhaps if we headed for fast time, and racked up the Shadow to 1000 to 1 or something. But we'd be shooting in the dark, unless we picked Kennard up kicking and screaming from bloody Denmark and took him with us. Perhaps if his notes had survived Danzig we'd have a chance, but as it is..."
"Can't be done."
"Why not."
"Part of the surrender demand: a condition for having a week to play with. No fast time. No contact with Joss."
"So, in other words, we can do nothing, and Delatz has kindly given you a week to consider how screwed we are, knowing that you can do nothing about it."
"So he believes."
"You believe otherwise?"
"I wouldn't have called you if I didn't," I answered, "let's go down to my lab. I've got something to show you."
I downed my second whisky - he finished his cognac - and we headed down to the lab. I let us in through the wards, adjusting them to allow Andrew access as well, and then pointed him at the bookcase where I was storing the books Richard had recovered for me.
"Holy crap, Robert," he said, as he took one off the shelf and scanned them, "where did these come from?"
"Physically, Paris via a son of yours."
"Who?"
"Richard. Alexander's younger twin."
"Don't think I've ever met him."
"No, I don't think you have either," I answered, "he does some work for Gray and I. Hopefully you will get a chance to meet him eventually."
"Is there any particular reason why I might not?" Andrew asked.
"Because Rupert has him."
He looked at me, hatred contorting his features.
"And you didn't bloody tell me?"
"What good would it have done, Andrew?" I asked, "you've had no interest in the boy up until now."
"Because..." It was almost as if he was going to say something, but then he changed his mind, "because I wouldn't wish Delatz's hospitality on my worst enemy, let alone my son."
"If what I'm planning here comes off, I'm confident we'll get him back," I answered, in a tone which I hoped brooked no argument, "what I need for you to do is focus on the problem at hand, rather than hare off into the Reich to rescue him. Your assessment of the books."
"These have to be the Danzig notes..." he said, then noticed that Joscelin wasn't the sole author represented. He picked up one of Rupert's books, hesitantly, as if he expected it to bite him, and cautiously skimmed it, increasing distaste on his features, "What in Hell's name is a proto-Pattern?"
"An Pattern-based energy construct: I'm pretty confident I can make one now."
"The method here involves bleeding people, possibly killing them, preferably Cornelians."
"Because Rupert doesn't have a Jewel. I do, which means I have an alternative."
"I think the question still applies. Where did these come from? According to Kennard, when you were debriefing him, the only copies of his research were blown to bits."
"That I don't really understand," I answered, "but they're certainly the real thing."
"Well, I'll admit it's a start. But how do you expect to do anything with them in a week? There's years of information in here."
"I've had years to study them," I replied, "Richard gave them to me some while ago, Sable time."
He looked at me, and for the first time he smiled.
"Can you reproduce what Delatz did?"
"With a conjurer who can help me build the box to store the energy."
"You've found your conjurer."
"I thought I might have."
He scanned through another of the books, then looked at me.
"Robert, before we start, I need an honest answer from you."
"I'll try."
"Let's not beat about the bush, here. You and I are about to create a Weapon of Mass Destruction."
"I'm aware of that."
"Do you have the balls to use it?"
"If it will safeguard Sable's future, yes," I answered, without hesitation, "I really don't think Sable City would look good hung with Reich banners. Also, I have a personal aversion to being beheaded."
"What?"
"Rupert's stated method of getting me out of the way for a few years while he takes control."
"Bastard," he said, his eyes narrowing, "Robert, when will you learn about him."
"I don't need to learn - I know," I answered, "more than you can ever realise."
He looked at me for a moment, then nodded. "Let's get to work."
And so we did.
I had enough of the theory memorised to utilise it, especially as I had the books for reference, while Andrew turned his expertise as a conjurer to creating the vessel to hold what I was producing. It was never going to be a weapon which could be mass-produced, but I hoped that just the one would be sufficient to prove the point to Rupert and stave off disaster.
By the time we finished, we had a little over a day left before the expiration of the deadline. It was about ten feet long and 28" wide, made of a thin, strong alloy which Andrew assured me would contain the energy for long enough. Inside was a Pattern-like design which I had inscribed onto a Klein-bottle-type glass surface, using the Jewel. This was suspended within a field of combined magical and Pattern energy. As long as the Pattern design remained intact, it would stay stable. However, breach the surface, and it would instantly begin to feed back into the other magical and Jewel energy stored within the casing, thus leading to the bang. I had also put a simple spell inside to give it altitude and crack the surface, which would act as the remote trigger
At least that was the theory.
"Where do you intend to test it?" Andrew asked.
"Somewhere which will prove a point, without significant loss of life."
"Those two statements are contradictory, Robert."
"Not necessarily," I answered, "Rupert's own demonstration killed very few people."
"Only because Richard crashed it in the middle of nowhere," Andrew retorted, "he was planning on wiping out Central London."
I shrugged.
"Thankfully, he was unsuccessful. Do you have a suggestion?"
"There's an SS training camp I'd very much like to see the back of," he answered, "out of town on one of the Shadows where I've been fighting. Place the Pattern bomb in the right place and you'll wipe that out, but probably not too much else."
I considered for a moment, then nodded.
"If it has to be done."
"Excellent," he answered, although he seemed to say it with just a little too much glee.
"Why do you hate them so much?" I asked.
"Because they're evil, and they need to be destroyed," he replied.
"No, there's more to it than that."
"I am a general in Sable's forces. All of us should feel the same way."
"But you take it more personally."
"If I do, I have my reasons. And they're irrelevant to the matter in hand," he answered, in a tone which left no room for argument, "We have a target, and we have a weapon. Do we have a delivery system?"
"As in, am I planning to fly in in a bomber and drop it? Given that I don't know the altimeter from the fuel gauge, I rather doubt it."
"I do, if it helps."
"You would! All that technology is going to your head. I'm thinking more of magical delivery and remote detonation. Can you find us a secure spot far enough away from your intended target for us to do that?"
"I can," he answered, "any bright ideas how to carry it?"
"In its own, inert, private Shadow," I replied, "let's head somewhere a bit more amenable to such things and get this over with before I lose my nerve."
"Would you prefer to be beheaded?" he asked.
"Not particularly."
"Then remember that's what you're avoiding."
I gently rested a hand the device, and Andrew, myself and our creation gated to a Shadow I knew a little outside of the Commonwealth. I checked to make sure everything was still in order, which it was, and then brought the Pattern to mind and bound it into a pocket Shadow for further transport.
"You're driving from here," I said.
"Any idea of the blast radius of this?"
"I'm guessing about a thousand yards. But I'm not going to know for sure until it's gone off."
He nodded, and then concentrated on the place of his choosing. We appeared in scrubland. Off in the distance, I could see a decent sized city, although the area where we had arrived mainly seemed to be uninhabited. The only exception was a fortified building about five hundred yards off to our right, hung with Reich banners. I scanned the immediate area, but as Andrew had said, it was uninhabited, with the exception that complex. I did spot sentries on the towers, but as yet they didn't appear to have spotted us.
"Satisfied I'm not tricking you?" Andrew asked, his tone unreadable.
"Let's get this over with," I answered. I released the device from its pocket Shadow, and we withdrew to what we hoped was a safe location. "Ready."
"Ready."
"You might want to avert your gaze."
He nodded and did so, and then I used my shifting to make sure my own eyes were protected, and triggered the spell. There seemed to be a huge inrush of air, and then it reversed and a pressure wave barrelled outwards. The sound it made wasn't exactly a bang, but the light was intense, even from behind hooded lids, and we were both knocked to our feet even a thousand yards away. The energy release hit moments later, and even where we were had enough in it to burn slightly.
We lay there for a moment, catching our breath, and then, on the wind, we heard sirens from the direction of the city. We looked back towards the site, to see a crater larger than the one Rupert's device had made.
"I think we had the yield off," Andrew commented, as we got to our his feet. I noticed goggles on the top of his head, although I hadn't seen him acquire them.
"Christ. What have we done?"
"Exactly what we had to to preserve the realm," he replied, "it was the right thing to do."
I looked at the crater, and then nodded.
"I might not like it, but you're right. Now let's get the Hell out of here - I imagine I'm going to get a call as soon as he realises what happened here, and I'd rather be on my home turf."
"Agreed."
We had been back in Sable all of ten minutes, Andrew having gone to get something to eat leaving me in the library, when the call came. Insistent doesn't begin to describe it, and I could feel the blazing anger before I ever opened the link. Bracing myself, I accepted the contact.
I don't think I had ever seen Rupert Delatz so angry. Incandescent with rage, even.
"What the fuck have you just done, de Lacy?" he demanded, his fury hitting me like a force.
"Exactly what you intended to do to Sable," I answered, as calmly as I could in the face of the emotional hurricane which was bombarding me, and pleased that we were matched in strength of will.
"I, at least, had the courtesy to use a neutral Shadow to demonstrate."
"Well, you know Andrew. Never a big fan of the SS. Needless to say, Sable isn't intending to surrender any time soon. Concede the round, Herr Reichsführer."
There was a pause and then, through gritted teeth, he answered: "The Kaiser has instructed me to withdraw our surrender demand."
"I had hoped as much," I answered, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief.
"Tell me one thing, de Lacy. How did you do it?"
"Our skill-sets were always similar. Why did you assume I had never done any work on channelling energy. After all, I have been acting as Joss's doctorate supervisor since he returned to the Light."
For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, trying to decide whether I was telling the truth (which I was, partially at least). Then, in the end, he just looked at me, his eyes still blazing, still saying nothing.
"Oh, and Rupert," I added, mildly, "I'd like my grandson back."
"You can have the little bastard," he answered, "I'll even throw in a free gift."
He gestured to someone in the room with him, and moments later Richard's limp, naked body was pushed through the Trump, landing very awkwardly, face down.
"Until next time, de Lacy," he said, and slammed the link closed. As he did, I couldn't help wondering who was about to die in Berlin to sate his anger.
At that point, I knelt down beside at Richard. He was in a very bad way, having obviously been the victim of beatings, torture or worse. However, as I rolled him over I saw the free gift - the hilt of a Thule dagger, probably the one my father had left for him, sticking out of his chest, surrounded by freshly welling blood. Then my physician's instincts took over, and I tried to save his life.
It was of no surprise to me that his inherent ability to shapeshift was proving no assistance to him whatsoever, given Rupert's attitude towards shifters and methods of countering their ability. Hence I primarily bent my skills a magical healer towards staunching the bleeding: a task not made any easier by the cocktail of merasha, heroin and cocaine I detected in his bloodstream. However, eventually I managed to encourage his body to heal around the dagger, isolating it such that I could pull it free. Once I thought it was safe, I removed it - relieved that it didn't start bleeding afresh - and flung it away from me.
"What the Hell...?" came Andrew's voice from behind me. I guess I must have looked like something out of a bad horror movie, and resisting the effects of the second-hand merasha was taking its toll on me.
"Parting gift," I answered, sharply, trying to maintain my concentration on my patient.
"Who..."
"This is your son, Andrew. And right now I need save his life."
"Can I do anything?"
"Go and get Malcolm and Mer, and ask them to bring what they need to get Richard to the infirmary once I've stabilised him. I don't want to risk teleporting him right now. And warn them that their potential patient has been soundly dosed with merasha, which I can't get totally out of his system."
"Will do," he said, smartly, and made for the door.
By the time he returned with the others, I was reasonably sure that Richard would survive. He was certainly stubborn enough, and the chest wound - the major threat to him - was stable. I stood up tired and bloody, and watched as Malcolm and Andrew carefully lifted him onto the gurney to take him upstairs. As they moved him, Mer came over and put her arm around me, supportively.
"You've done a good job, grandfather," she said with a slight smile, "As always."
"Look after your brother," I answered, quietly, "he deserves it. He may well have saved all of us."
"Of course we will," she replied, earnestly, "Don't worry. He's in good hands."
"I know he is," I answered, with a weak smile, and watched as she and her husband took him out of the library. Andrew waited behind after they left.
"Sorry about the short shrift earlier," I said to him.
"I know. You were busy," he answered, "where do we stand?"
"The Reich have retracted their demand for Sable's surrender, although Rupert is spitting blood over it, as you can imagine," I replied, "this..." I indicated the mess in the library, "...was a parting act of malice."
"Is he going to live?"
"He should do. The main danger was that chest wound, and that is now stable: as long as the blade which caused it hadn't been interfered with."
"Where's the blade?"
"Over there somewhere - but careful, the blood on it has merasha in it," I said, indicating the direction in which I'd thrown it. He went over, took one look at it, and then picked it up with a handkerchief.
"Subtle."
"Not really."
"Whose dagger?"
"Delwin left it for the next Duke of Worcester on St James, hence it got to Richard before I could stop it. God knows how, but it's been linked to him ever since. He seems to be able to pull it out of N-space."
"Robert, it's been used recently."
"Yes, it was in Richard's chest."
"No, not that," he answered, handing it to me hilt first, "I'm not the expert you are, but I think this has been used ceremonially."
As I took it from him, I could feel the resonance of a dark ritual: a resonance that certainly hadn't been there when I'd first examined it back at Millbank. I must have been too busy earlier to notice it. And glancing at it with my magical sight, the impression I was left with was that Richard had participated in the ritual, and that someone had died.
"Oh Hell," I said, with a sigh, "Andrew, he's pretty messed up. I got that from him when I was working on him - I couldn't help but get impressions from him. Rupert has been screwing with him big time."
"Will you be able to help him?" he asked, a strange expression crossing his face, but which was quickly gone. Not sympathy exactly. More...understanding?
"In time," I answered, "but as with Joss, it's likely to take months."
"This is getting to be a habit."
"Cleaning up my family after Rupert's finished with them? Tell me about it."
"Knowing all you do about him, why do you tolerate him?"
"You know my answer to that, Andrew," I replied, too tired to argue it again, "Because I have no choice. Can we discuss that one tomorrow - right now I want to clean up and get some rest."
I was slightly relieved when, after a brief pause, he nodded, and then I moved towards the door.
"Father..." he said, quietly, "thank you."
"For what?" I asked, turning towards him, slightly surprised at his form of address. He hadn't called me father since his return from obscurity.
"Saving my son's life."
"No thanks necessary," I replied, "There's still much to be done for him. Saving his soul might prove trickier if he has been involved in rituals: it'll depend if his participation was voluntary. But I will do what I can."
"I know, and I understand."
"Good. Then I'll see you tomorrow," I finished, and then I headed out of the library and up to my rooms.