Sable Palace/Chicago IL
End-December SY153/Mid-2007
It's a sad fact of life, but however good a country's medical system is, the one thing that cannot be cured is old age, and Sable is no exception. Our practice of medicine and healing magic is second to none, and life expectancies are undeniably longer than they normally would be in Shadow, both because of the skill of our healers and those who craft the youth spells which are often resorted to by those who can afford them, and also because Sable's very nature as a Primal World gives solidity to its inhabitants. But what we have still failed to prevent by natural means, is the fact that a person born in Shadow just doesn't have the same resilience or longevity as one born in Sable itself.
And such was the dilemma facing my daughter-in-law Sarah, William's human wife from Terra Magica. When Will had told me that he was marrying, my most optimistic prognosis had been that they'd have seventy, maybe eighty years together. As it had turned out, they'd been given nearer to a hundred and sixty, allowing for the varying time differentials between Terra Magica, Sable and the Rest of Creation, where they had stayed for some time before moving Inside on a more permanent basis.
There was no denying that the years had been relatively kind to her, and of course, Will had made sure that she was given the best youth spells, but they don't really extend life...merely keep you younger and more active for longer. Instead, I eventually came to the conclusion that what had given her the extra time had been carrying James, their only child, despite the fact I had the impression they both would have liked more. For nine months, he had shared her life, and therefore my family's immortal blood had mixed with hers and apparently strengthened it. But in June 153, Will noticed that she was beginning to age.
He tried to deny it to himself - and the rest of us - at first. After all, she was living on a Primal World now, so surely that would have had an effect? Indeed, when various of the family, notably Claire, had expressed concern about Sarah, he had dismissed them as alarmist. And Sarah herself seemed unwilling to accept it when Claire had talked to her about it: she had lived too long among us, observing a family where age only ever touches us if we choose for it to. However, while my son is a brilliant general, a doctor he isn't, and when she fell and badly broke her arm in July, she couldn't deny Malcolm Carlisle's assessment that her bones were becoming brittle and that there was nothing he could do except make things as comfortable as possible for her. Perhaps she was more willing to accept a pessimistic medical assessment from him than from one of us, as Malcolm, like herself, is not of the blood by birth but had married into the family.
In the end, Malcolm called them both into his office and spoke with them for a long time, and afterwards I could see that Will was upset. I suppose he could no longer hide from the truth that he was going to lose his wife sooner rather than later. Of course, doctor-patient privilege meant that I couldn't ask my friend what his assessment was, but it was noticeable that Sarah (and Will when he could be around, which given how busy the year turned out to be, wasn't as frequently as he would have liked) was resigned to the inevitable, and was putting her affairs in order.
It was also obvious that she didn't want Will to forget her, once the time had come, and in August, she started organising sittings with a well-known society artist, Olivia Perrett. As a result, she gave Will a beautifully crafted portrait of herself in September, around the time of James's birthday. While it was hung in their private quarters, he showed it to me a few days later: an idealised version of her older self, but with enough hints of her youth that it seemed utterly timeless. I could read from his body language that he was having to work very hard not to break down as he looked at it, at which point he admitted to me that Malcolm had given her a year to live, maybe eighteen months at the outside.
What comfort could I give him?
When he had first told me of his intention to marry her, I had tried to explain, but he had been so young, just nineteen, and at the time I hadn't been sure that he had really understood what I was trying to tell him. And probably, living in Sable had lulled him into a false sense of security as far as the longevity of our friends and colleagues was concerned. He's no fool, but when my predictions that he would watch his friends grow old and die while he remained unchanged didn't really come to pass, I suspect he dismissed them as alarmist. After all, he was only in his hundred and eightieth year, and apart from those who I had initially created with Sable at an older age, so the population spread was right and would remain balanced, many of his non-family contemporaries were still alive and well. He could even see old friends of mine, like Gray and James Blake, still outwardly hale and hearty, and that, perhaps, is why he'd tried to deny her frailty. After all, why should it happen to her, when everyone else seemed to be fine?
I did what I could to help him as her condition slowly deteriorated but it was hard to know what to say, given that what was finally coming to pass had been inevitable from the day they'd decided to spend their lives together.
I could understand his grief, having lost Elizabeth, and not for the first time, I was thankful that at least with her it had been quick: I hadn't had to watch her linger and die. Still, eighteen months, even a year, was better than nothing, and he was apparently determined to make the most of it, so they could live every moment they had left together to the full. Therefore, with Andrew around more again and in better heart than he had been in many years, and not forgetting Francis's ever growing talents in the field of command, I suggested that Will pass at least some of his duties to the others, so that he and Sarah could spend more time together.
However, I was still surprised when he cried off accompanying the Sable Royal Party to the wedding of our firm ally Emperor Sirius of Eboracum, on December 22nd, Sable calendar. Will and Sirius hadn't met often, but when they had there had been something of a meeting of minds...albeit not as strongly as Sirius's relationship with his brother Wilhelm, which had been directly responsible for the opening of Eboracum-Reich relations and the undesirable transfer of ATS technology to our perennial enemies...and until the previous week, Will had been happy to be included in the Sable party.
It was only after I returned that I discovered that Sarah's health had taken a distinct downturn. Private as ever, Will hadn't wanted to discuss it, instead finding another excuse he knew I wouldn't question.
I found them in the palace infirmary: Sarah lying pale and drawn on one of the beds, looking as if she'd aged ten years since I'd seen her just a couple of days before, and Will sitting quietly in a chair beside her, her hand wrapped in his. Malcolm was in his office, and I had the distinct impression that he was staying out of their way. Given that apparent situation, it was in his direction I headed, rather theirs.
"What happened?" I asked, quietly, glancing out at my son and his wife through the glass wall of the office.
"I'm not really sure. William said that she collapsed the morning before you were due to leave. They didn't think it was serious, so they didn't contact me until after you'd gone."
"Or me," I commented, "all he said was that something had come up, and could he make his excuses."
"But he didn't say what?"
"Not a squeak...he gave me to understand that it was something on the military front and that he'd deal with it. So I left him to it, as I expect he knew I would. After all, I leave the military stuff to those better qualified. What's wrong with her? She seems much worse..."
"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure," he answered, regretfully, "it's as if the aging process has suddenly accelerated."
"How long does she have?"
"A few days, maybe...I'd be surprised if she sees the New Year in."
"Poor Will."
"Sorry to ruin your Christmas, Robert,"
"Heck, it's not your fault, Malcolm. These things happen."
"You and I both know that...I wouldn't try telling it to him, though. He nearly bit my head off when I gave him the bad news, and all but accused me to my face of lying to them about her prognosis."
"Was he grasping at straws when you told him a year? Or did he only hear what he wanted to hear?"
"No, I genuinely believed it, and it would have been true if she hadn't deteriorated so suddenly."
"Unnaturally suddenly?" I asked, musing aloud as much as anything else. After all, Sarah's death was going to put Will off his game for some time, as he dealt with his grief, and that could only benefit our various enemies.
"I can't see how...although we are in uncharted territory, here. I've never had to treat someone before who, to be blunt, has been living on borrowed time anyway, from what you and Will have told me about where she comes from. I just regret that I got it so wrong for both their sakes, as they'd been coping pretty well up until then. Although I'll not deny it's giving me an interesting sense of my own mortality... not, of course, that that means the same thing to you."
"That's a little harsh," I protested, "yes, I've been around a while, but over the years I've watched too many people in the situation Sarah's in now, friends, colleagues and enemies alike."
"Of course you have...sorry, that was uncalled for."
I looked at him then nodded.
"I'd better go in and see them," I said, finally, "okay, Will may ask me to leave immediately, I'd like him to know I'm here if he needs me."
"Probably wise," Malcolm said, then added, his tone pensive, "I'm not sure when there was last a death in your family, Robert...your own near demise a couple of years ago notwithstanding."
"In Sable, probably Andrew's first wife. Normally we're a pretty healthy bunch. Which isn't going to make losing Sarah any easier on Will."
"I guess not."
"Thanks, Malcolm...I'll talk to you later," I finished, and then headed into the infirmary to see if there was anything I could say to comfort my son.
* * * * * * *
The deterioration in Sarah's condition understandably cast a pall over the family's Yuletide celebrations that year. I didn't even have the heart to make sure there was snow on Christmas night...there were more important things to worry about than my annual self-indulgence. Will eventually asked me to consult on Sarah's condition on Christmas Eve, presumably in the hope that I could pull some miracle out of a hat, but however much I would have liked to tell him otherwise, I ended up coming to the same conclusion as Malcolm: natural causes were finally taking their toll, albeit more quickly than either of us would have thought possible.
James returned from Murray once his father told him how ill his mother was, and one or other of them was with her constantly, with various of the rest of us also taking our turns to sit with them: if nothing else, it took my mind off the conversation I'd had with Sirius and Wilhelm after the Emperor's wedding. Of the pair of them, James seemed to take it more stoically. In contrast, Will seemed constantly on the verge of anger, lashing out at all and sundry in a way I hadn't seen him do for many years. Probably even before he had become deeply involved in Sable's forces. When I called him on it, he sounded bitter, as if he felt that he had been robbed of his last few months with his wife, and nothing anyone could say was going to change his mind. In the end, we took to tip-toeing around him in the hope that he would eventually manage to restore his usual equilibrium.
Sarah died in the small hours of Boxing Day morning, and both Will and James were with her when she passed away. Scott Howard, the Royal chaplain, was also present and said the appropriate words as her spirit left her mortal body. I was informed when I woke up at around 7am, but by that time, Will had made himself scarce. I tried to give him a call, worried for him, but I bounced off an angry block, and decided to give him his space. Hopefully he'd eventually come round and get in contact.
In the end it fell to James to dealt with most of the arrangements, as Will couldn't be reached, and after a couple of days, I was beginning to get worried about my son: both for the obvious personal reasons, and also in case he had come to some harm at the hands of one of our enemies. Losing Will would be a bad blow for Sable; and Will falling into the hands of the Reich or any of the other powers ranging up against us would be a disaster.
Not wanting to repeat what had happened with Andrew, when respecting his wish for privacy had damned him to a living Hell for ten years, I was almost on the point of sending out the search parties, when I got a call from my brother Michael. He seemed rather puzzled.
"Robert. Sorry to bother you, but I've just received the oddest message from William."
As he mentioned Will's name, I was relieved, if slightly put out that when my son finally got in contact, it would be with his uncle, rather than me. However, when I thought about it, it made a certain amount of sense. They had been very close when Michael was growing up, and had kept some of that intimacy as they'd got older.
"What did he say?"
"He said he'll meet you in the bar in Chicago in half an hour."
"Did he mention which bar? Heck, come for that did he mention which Chicago?"
"He said you'd know."
"And that's it? Nothing else?"
"'Fraid not," he answered, with an apologetic shrug, "I hope it makes more sense to you than it does me."
"Not immediately, but thanks for passing the message on."
"You're welcome. See you at New Year?"
"Unless the funeral is before then, yes."
He nodded and broke the contact, leaving me to try to figure out what Will's message meant. It took a few minutes of hard thinking to come up with an answer, but when I did, it was obvious. The first time I had taken him into Shadow, the day he'd brought Sarah home to Millbank to meet me, he and I had ended up in a bar in Chicago on Earth, discussing immortality and the passing of time. It had to be where he meant.
I headed upstairs to my room and changed into something more appropriate for such a place - an open-necked polo shirt and cotton trousers - and then brought the Pattern to mind and headed Outside. I got myself to Chicago, and then, after a few minutes of orientating myself, I headed for where I remember the bar being. Of course, the city had changed in the years since I had last been there, but eventually I found the right location. It had obviously changed hands at some point, as the décor was rather smarter and of a slightly different feel, but I headed inside anyway, and looked around for my son.
I saw him in a booth towards the back, a stack of empty beer glasses in front of him and he was most of the way through the next. I ordered a Scotch from the barman, and then crossed to join him. As I sat down, I quickly pulled up some anti-eavesdropping wards around us, and then waited for him to say something. However, he didn't need to open his mouth for me to realise he was well on his way to being drunk.
I hadn't seen him drunk since he was a student.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, before he finally spoke. When he did, his words weren't particularly slurred, although he was obviously suffering the effects of all the alcohol he'd drunk.
"Thanks, Dad," he said, quietly.
"For what? Coming to meet you?"
"No. For not saying 'I told you so'," he answered, quietly.
He lapsed back into silence again for a few moments, and I sipped my drink slowly, waiting for him to continue.
"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?" he said, finally, "that I was going to lose her like this..."
"It's one of the major downsides of being immortal," I replied, trying to sound comforting.
"You tried to tell me, though...the first time we were here. You knew the day you met her."
"I wish I could say otherwise," I replied, "as it is, I'd begun to think I might be wrong."
"So had I," he answered, "I don't think I've ever wanted you to be wrong so much in my life. But it was so quick...I thought we had more time."
"It was like that with Elizabeth, too," I replied.
"I suppose it was," he conceded, "I always forget. You didn't have any warning at all."
"It was a long time ago, and I've come to terms with that now," I answered, "however, what I want to say is that while you might feel that no-one can understand what you're going through, I've been in the same place. I just wish there was more I could do to help."
"Was there nothing you could have done to save her? To extend her life?"
"I can only think of one method, and I really didn't think she would have accepted it."
"Gray and James Blake?"
"Exactly."
"No, you're right. She would have hated that. But what about the Jewel? You're pretty handy with that thing nowadays? Couldn't it have made her Real?"
"I've never tried to use it that specifically...it's more a macro tool than an individual one, for editing worlds, not editing people."
He lapsed back into silence and downed his beer, before signalling to the waitress to bring him over another.
"I was trying to reach you..." I said, after an awkward pause, "to see how you were."
"Just peachy," he answered, hotly, "can't you tell?"
His tone reminded me that when he was younger, he'd been of the inclination to get belligerent when drunk. Mind you, with me he'd been of that inclination even when he was sober.
"Will, I was worried about you," I said, quietly, and I saw him relax slightly.
"I needed some time," he replied, more calmly.
"I can understand that. Do you want to talk about it?"
"What is there to say?"
"Sometimes it just helps to confide in someone."
"Is that said with your psychiatrist's hat on, or your fatherly one?"
"Either...both..."
"All I want, is for you to give me some space."
"You asked me to come..." I pointed out.
"And now I'm realising that was a mistake. Still at least you can for your own eyes that I'm alive and well. I'm sure Gray's been muttering darkly about that in your security briefings."
"Not just Gray. It had occurred to me, too," I replied, "so yes, I'm glad to see you're okay...or as okay as you can be under the circumstances...but I'd like you to stay that way. So be careful."
"Oh there's no need to be afraid that I'll fall off the grid and let you forget about me for fifty years, then come back as a borderline psychopath," he answered, his tone just managing to remain level, but I consciously had to hide my reaction.
"I thought you'd grown out of comments like that," I said, quietly, and he met my gaze for a few seconds, before shrugging.
"Sorry, Dad," he answered, almost apologetically, "I know you were doing what he asked when you didn't go looking for him, but..."
"But what is done, is done, and 20/20 hindsight is a wonderful thing," I answered, then hurriedly changed the subject from something I really didn't want to discuss, "James has been dealing with the arrangements but he hasn't fixed the date of the funeral yet. I think he was rather hoping you'd help him with that. Do you have any thoughts?"
"What's the point?" he snapped, "it won't bring her back."
"No, but it might help you get a sense of closure."
"A sense of closure?" he retorted, "a sense of fucking closure?"
"Will, calm down," I answered, more angrily than I had intended, and I saw him subside a bit again.
"Sorry...It's just that...I feel so helpless."
"So did I, when Elizabeth died...more so, given that we never even had the time you and Sarah did...just a scant five years. But I didn't abandon my responsibilities to her. I didn't walk out and leave my son to sort things out."
"Laying aside the fact that your son was days old at the time," he answered, but I could see I'd scored a point, so rather than calling him on the comment, I continued.
"Among other things, one matter which James didn't feel qualified to decide on is that Malcolm needs to know if you want him to do a post mortem, given how quickly she faded in the end."
"Malcolm can go to Hell as far as I'm concerned," he answered, vehemently, "he fucked up, and now he's trying to cover his ass."
"You know that isn't true," I replied.
"No, Dad...I don't," he snapped, "all I know is that he gave us eighteen months and we got six."
It really didn't seem the right moment to point out that eighteen months had always been the outside estimate, and a year had been more likely, even if that was still longer than the time they'd finally been given.
"Will, this isn't helping. Please, come back with me. Help James. Be with him. Comfort him. And then, after the funeral, take a leave of absence to give yourself a chance to come to terms with things. Andrew and Francis can cope without you for a while, and they can always ask O'Connor if anything comes up that they think is beyond them. Not that I expect they will."
He fell silent again, finishing his beer, and then conceded, finally.
"You're probably right."
Then he looked at me with a weak smile.
"How come you can get roaring drunk and yet you don't end up acting like an asshole?"
"Shape shifting...It has its uses. I should teach you the trick some time."
"Maybe sometime," he answered, getting to his feet. He swayed slightly, and I rose to support him, which is never easy given he has the advantage of me in both weight and height.
"Mind you, you didn't really see me in the days before I could shift..."
He looked at me and chuckled weakly.
"Even if I've been a prick, I'm glad you came, Dad..."
"There were extenuating circumstances," I answered, "come on. We should go home."
"Yes, we should."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out some cash to pay the tab, and then carefully escorted my son out into the warm, muggy Chicago air. And then, once we were somewhere a little less obvious, I brought the Pattern to mind, and transferred us back to the courtyard of Sable Palace by the usual circuitous route.