Sable Palace/Manira
Later the Same Evening
"Hey Gray," I said as I identified my Trump caller, "what can I do you for?"
It was the mid-evening of Epiphany Sunday, barely a couple of hours after Michael had called me for his rather unusual consultation, and it was looking like my aim to finally finish the book I'd been reading when the last crisis broke would continue to be thwarted.
"In the new spirit of openness and all that, I need to inform you of an ongoing operation. Do you have a minute?"
"At nine in the evening?" I asked.
"Intelligence matters wait for no man, sire," he answered, attempting to keep a perfectly straight face.
Boy was he going to punish me for demanding he come clean with everything.
"And this isn't something that was in the briefing the other afternoon?" I asked.
"I mentioned it in passing...now I have rather more information. Would you mind coming through?"
"You don't want to come to me?"
"Not for this one, no," he answered, and offered me his hand.
I shrugged and stepped through into his office, wondering why he was being so mysterious.
"Okay, you've got me. What's up?"
"Manira..."
"Home of the Brotherhood."
The Brotherhood of the Royal Martyr were an organisation which celebrated the alleged 'martyrdom' of one of my grandsons at the combined hands of myself and his father, Andrew. The fact that in truth he'd been attaindered for treason and a variety of other crimes, including parricide, and managed to escape alive before I could catch up with him; and that we were more than 90% sure that the 'martyr' himself had been the one to set up the Brotherhood, was irrelevant in their thinking.
More to the point, Manira was the location of one of the three Dark Broken Patterns: the one of the three which wasn't under Reich control. Sable and the Reich had spent a long time conquering and counter-conquering Manira, and in the end both of us had given up trying. The problem was, however reliable the military governor either of us put in place there, give them more than a couple of years in post, and they would not only go native, but become a traitor to both sides. Because unlike the other two Dark Broken Patterns, which seemed more straightforward - more like their light and grey equivalents - Manira had a track record of corrupting the unwary.
Not that my former grandson counts as unwary. Which is why he'd apparently decided to use the place as his base of operations. What was worse, was that Gray's people never had found out how long ago he'd moved in there: he'd set up a security system which made the Earth Prime East German Stasi look like amateur hour, and any agents we sent to have a look had a habit of going in and never coming back.
But that said, I was sure I would have remembered mention of it in Gray's briefing, a couple of days before.
"What of it?" I asked, "what's the little bastard done now?"
"I am reliably informed that it's dying," he replied, his tone matter of fact.
"Excuse me?"
"It's dying."
"Informed by whom?"
"The agents I have in place there. They want advice."
"Who's there?"
"Among others, Alex Gibson and Captain Auzella Blake."
Alex and Zella had been in the gossip columns lately - apparently they had been seen dining together on more than one occasion in the past few months - but that didn't negate their general competence and reliability as agents of the Crown. Alex was my grandson, most recently assigned to the Murray Navy, and a Pattern initiate; while Auzella was Royal Guard and one of the most adept users of the Broken Pattern in Sable.
"What's happening?"
"We got reports of storms in the Shadows this side of Manira, and we managed to get a White Guard patrol onto Asherton, which we haven't been able to do for quite some time. Their commander also mentioned a change in the magic there since he'd last been there."
"That's the bit which was in the briefing if I recall?"
"Correct - obviously you weren't asleep at that point," he answered, with a mischievous grin.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I replied, lightly, "go on."
"I sent a team to take a look at both the magic and the storms. The mage - JP Cooke, a private consultant - reported that he felt the balance of the magic of the Shadows surrounding Asherton had changed, which had cause the change in the nature of magic there, while other members of the group felt something was missing. They decided to see if Manira was the problem, and got onto the Shadow without any difficulties."
"Which is unusual in itself."
"Virtually impossible on recent form."
"Go on."
"They got there, poked around a bit, and reported three major developments: a civil war, as it appears that the Brotherhood has up sticks and left; moreover, the folks left behind seem to be in an alliance with the SD; and the fact that as far as they can tell, when they left, they took the Manira Broken Pattern with them."
"This is a joke, right?" I commented, incredulous, "I mean what did they do? Roll it up like a carpet? Gray, Broken Patterns are part of the scenery. They can't just be moved!"
"I'm well aware of that, Robert," he answered, "and so are they. Which is why they want a consult. And you seemed to be the person to ask."
"What's this about the SD?"
"Actually, that ties up with older information. Both Andreas Delatz and Tristan Heydrich have been seen in and around Manira in the past."
"If I remember rightly, Heydrich helped conquered it for the Reich at least once...way back when he was still Wehrmacht, rather than SD. And I'm not sure Andreas wasn't involved in one of the other spats there. Of course, it was long before he went overboard from Rupert's camp."
"My my. You really don't sleep through my briefings, do you?" he said, obviously surprised that I remembered that little detail.
"I try not to."
"Although whether Andreas was ever in Rupert's camp, looking back, is a discussion for brandy and cigars."
"Perhaps."
"However, this is more recent. Gibson's team have actually, physically seen Heydrich there. Consulting with the head of what seem to be the remains of the government forces on the Southern Continent. A local general. I believe they discovered his name was Rufino ."
"So Heydrich's there currently?"
"He certainly has been today, and a prisoner they've captured and sent back here to the Maze has indicated in interrogation that 'the blond general' has been running the government forces on the Northern Continent since, and I quote, 'the great Triumvirs went to the promised land'. They'll be back of course. They told him so."
"Oh that isn't good...that isn't good at all. Even laying aside what may or may have happened to the Maniran Broken Pattern...which currently my mental jury is out on, not least of which because I'd like to think I would have noticed it disappearing."
"This particular group of agents aren't prone to exaggeration, and I'm inclined to think that whether or not their specific interpretation is correct, SOMETHING is obviously very wrong."
"I'll give Alex a call and try to get to the bottom of it."
"That is rather easier said than done...Trump doesn't seem to be working there."
"So how have they been getting reports out."
"A Pilot they have with him."
"Anyone I know?"
"Probably not...he's Aurellian."
I looked at him blankly. What the Hell was an Aurellian Pilot doing on a Sable mission?
"He's an intelligence liaison and came in to report on Aurellis's current situation with the Machine," Gray said, anticipating the question I hadn't asked yet.
"Oh...oh that's an unpleasant possibility..." I said, almost thinking aloud. The Machine had already demonstrated the ability to duplicate people...that had been the reason why we'd blocked its influence off from Sable and the twenty-plus Veils around it. But then, Manira was within that band, so the Machine shouldn't be able to operate there...or at least Machine-based technology.
"How long has the 'blond general' been on Manira."
"If the prisoner can be believed, upwards of fifteen years. Possibly twenty."
"And with Heydrich's knowledge of the SD and policing..."
"As I said, I have no idea if Andreas was EVER onside with Bloody Rupert."
"Crap."
"And to further answer your question re the Pilot...Bond was looking after him, and ended up dragging him along when he was assigned to the Asherton group."
"You're keeping Bond busy lately."
"Someone has to, otherwise the casinos start complaining."
I chuckled, and then, ever hopeful, I brought Alex's Trump to mind and tried to call him. I couldn't solidify the link. Of course, there was always the possibility that I could just take myself physically to Manira...
"Last report I had, they were heading for Martyr's Island," Gray added, "which they thought was the root of the problem."
"Does that tie up with where we think the Broken Pattern was?"
"It does. I'm hoping to get a report back shortly. I'd really rather you waited until you'd heard from them before leaping blindly in."
I looked at him and sighed, then tried the Trump again. Nothing.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable...we can wait to see if they come back to us."
"More than an hour, Gray, and I'm going to head there myself."
"I'd advise against..."
"We might not have a choice. If the instability is beginning to spread off Manira...which if there are beginning to be storms, it sounds like it might be...well, shall we say Rensburg is still too fresh in my mind to want to leave this too long."
"Rensburg was different."
"But the off-Shadow symptoms were the same. Storms spreading outwards."
"Give them an hour...then we can decide what to do."
"Got any Scotch?"
"Did you really need to ask?" he replied, and produced a bottle of The Macallan and a couple of glasses. And with little else to do, we settled down to wait.
They checked in about forty minutes later, about half of them arriving in the Maze Courtyard with the Pilot. Alex, Cooke and a third member of the team, Daniel Carrey, had remained on Manira. The others had returned, one of them unconscious and in wolf form - which rather meant it had to be Karl-Peter Schwarzbach, one of the more... unique...agents of the Crown - and two others looked exhausted. They also had another individual with them: a local who had offered to help them, but who had had to be knocked unconscious before he did something rash. Gray had Bond, Auzella and the Pilot escorted down to his office, where they made their report.
Their helper - the called him Valerio or Valentino or something similar - had got them to the basement of the Martyr's Island, where the 'Sign' should have been (they glossed over how he knew the route, but I had confidence that Gray would fill in the gaps eventually). In the process, Alex had had to use the Pattern to protect both Auzella and Valerio, as what they had found had been trying to pull the life force out of them. Even the Pilot - I think he said his name was Jack - reported that it had even tried to do that when he had attempted a shape shift.
What they had found instead of the 'Sign' was a puddle of energy sitting in a shallow crater, which was pulling the very life out of everything around it. Nothing was still alive within 150 miles of Martyr's Island, and the effect was spreading. It sounded as if Auzella and Valerio had been particularly vulnerable, as both were better than most with their respective Broken Pattern imprints. The group also reported that when they had checked the body of the one person who had still been mobile when they arrived at Martyr's Island, although he died shortly thereafter as he'd fired at them with a machine gun and they understandably took exception, he had apparently - as far as they could tell - had a Broken Pattern imprint ripped from him when he'd died. As if the energy had been pulled into the energy pool. As a side note, they commented that they were reasonably certain he had been a Machine agent, and I felt my heart sank at the confirmation.
It was obvious that I was going to need to accompany them back to Manira, and even Gray didn't argue after he'd heard what they had to say. So leaving Auzella, Karl-Peter and Valerio in the competent hands of the Maze infirmary, the rest of us, sans Gray, headed for the courtyard. I climbed into the carriage, and I felt the dislocation as the Pilot transferred us.
The moment I left the carriage, I could feel death all around me and could feel something leaching away my spirit. I strengthened my personal wards, and that at least solved the latter, although the omnipresent stench of dead fish from the sea below us kept the former at the forefront of the mind. Then they led me inside what looked like it had formally been a huge cathedral island covered in tall spires, which reminded me of Mont Saint Michel, but which now seemed to have the ruin of centuries upon it, and down towards the problem. As I got closer I could feel the energy source beneath me desperately trying to replenish itself, with the lives of those on Manira being the only way it had of doing that. A vacuum cannot exist where once there was power, and the universe was trying to right itself.
Once I reached the chamber beneath us, I had my first chance to take a good look at what was left. I quickly came to the conclusion that the Broken Pattern itself hadn't been moved...what I was looking at was the remains of it. I could see the lines where it had formally been inscribed. Perhaps they had been imprinted so deeply in the rock that they had survived whatever blast caused the crater. It was as if the Power itself had been drained away, and what remained had been trying to heal itself by sucking the life of everything else. Mostly, it was collected in the pool, although one of the outlying lines was glowing faintly.
I tried to get some feel for when the transfer might have occurred, as I really couldn't believe I was so incompetent that I could have missed what had to have been one Hell of a ritual without a really good reason, and realised it had been a couple of months. Had they timed it to coincide with the attack on Riversend, when they would have known I would have been otherwise engaged? And if so, did they know about that attack by chance, good intelligence work or because they had been behind it? It had certainly been one Hell of a diversion...and that it had dragged Rupert in as well must have been the icing on the cake.
Rupert.
I was going to have to talk to him.
I looked up and saw my people (okay, and Jack) watching, waiting for me to say something.
"You were right...I needed to see this," I commented to Alex, who it has to be said looked half dead with exhaustion, "and it's going to take some fixing. And I'm afraid I'm going to need to bring in Rupert Delatz. This one falls under his sphere of influence."
From their expressions, I had the feeling that they'd come to a similar conclusion, and that what I'd said wasn't really a surprise. Bond seemed the least happy about it...but then, he was one of the ones my brother had sentenced to death in absentia because of Rensburg.
"Hopefully, if I'm here, he'll behave himself..." I commented to him, trying to sound reassuring, "especially as he's going to have bigger things to worry about."
I glanced around the others...Cooke, Carrey, the Pilot...and the expressions ranged from resigned to unworried. The latter was Jack, who obviously had no problems with the idea of the Great Protector showing up, given the alliance between the Empire and the Reich.
"Trumps aren't working," Alex reminded me.
"I probably have a bit of an advantage there," I answered, trying not to sound arrogant about it, and he seemed to accept that without further questions.
I brought my brother's mental Trump to mind, concentrated and reached out for the contact. I'll not deny it was hard, but my own ability with the cards helped me stabilise the contact, and with the best will in the world, while he's a good officer, Alex doesn't have the strongest mind in creation. A few moments later, I felt the contact solidify.
"Robert. Short time no see," he said, surprise on his face. I could see that he was in his office, obviously working late. When I brought him through, it would have to be in uniform.
"Do you have a few minutes?" I asked.
"Any particular reason why?"
"Need a hand with something...it may be to your advantage."
As I said that I saw him smile.
"You know I can never resist an opportunity to obtain something to my advantage," he said, rising from his desk, "especially from you, Mein Bruder." And he offered me his hand to bring him through. I noticed that for once he wasn't tedious about dragging Schultz or one of his merry men along, which surprised me slightly, but as he arrived and looked around at who was there, I suspect the thought crossed his mind that he'd made a mistake.
Then he saw the mess in the middle of the chamber, and I could see the cogs in his brain working.
We gave him a rough summary of the story so far. I didn't mention the Machine at that point, but we did make sure he saw the photographs implicating Tristan Heydrich in the general Maniran mess. He considered for a little longer, then looked at me.
"Thoughts?"
"Some..." I answered.
"I can make some guesses."
Then he looked at the others and indicated the photo of Heydrich.
"I suggest you find him and bring him here," he said, almost snapping it as an order before he realised the company he was in and made it more of a request, "or failing that, the one he was talking to. Either will be useful in both finding out what's going on and implementing a solution."
They looked at me, and I suggested that the Pilot should take us back to the carriage he'd left upstairs, where we could consider what to do next more calmly. Sadly, though, I couldn't fault Rupert's reasoning, and actually, it was as important for Sable to know if the Machine had duplicated the Reich High Command - or even elements of it - as it was for Rupert himself.
After a discussion of what to do next, they decided that the best way to Heydrich was probably through the Southern Continent general, as the two were obviously in contact.
"We may need help..." Alex commented, and I agreed.
"I was thinking Andrew," I answered.
"Is that wise?"
"As long as I explain why it's important to bring Heydrich back alive, I doubt he'll do anything foolish," I answered, probably with more confidence than I felt. They didn't seem completely convinced, but no one straight out argued, "I could also probably help by making you less tired, if that would help."
That they had less doubt about, so drawing on my inherent abilities with the Jewel, I transferred energy to them in the way I would draw it from the Sable Jewel if I was holding it. Afterwards, they certainly looked better, if not 100%. Once that was done, I concentrated on Andrew's Trump, and after the usual diversion via Carragher, I reached my son and briefed him. He was heartily willing to come through. After he arrived, I decided to leave them to it and head back to my brother, as I wasn't entirely sure I trusted him not to do something foolish in my absence.
"So, Robert," he said as I returned to the chamber, "what have you come up with which you didn't want to discuss in front of your minions?"
"A couple of options. Not that I like them..." I answered, "one, a full Pattern initiate walking what's left...I'm thinking a lower level initiate than either of us, though, as we might accidentally wipe it out, but there's no guarantee that they would come out of the experience unchanged...the second involves an initiate of the original, but I like that one less as he wouldn't survive the experience, and I wouldn't want to ask someone to sacrifice themselves to achieve that method."
"Fuck sacrifice," Rupert snapped, "why do you think I asked your merry men to bring me one or both of the generals. It wasn't only to find out how long the head of the SD has been betraying me for. I have an idea of how to fix this - akin to one of the one's you've just mentioned - and I have no intention of asking for volunteers, if you give me a free hand."
"Sounds like you have a plan."
"If all else fails. Of course, if we go that route, then I'll need the other prisoner, rather than Heydrich, as I don't believe the latter is an initiate of this place. In fact, I know he isn't."
"Unless..."
"Unless what?" he said, warily.
"Unless it isn't him."
"Make sense, brother," he answered, looking at me.
"Apparently they found a Machine agent on this island when they first arrived."
"The Machine doesn't work here," he protested, but I could see concern in his eyes at the possibility.
"The technology doesn't, certainly. But what if Andreas had arranged for one or more of his creations to be initiates of this place? In that case, while a duplicate wouldn't have the automatic contacts and links back to the Machine, it would still be functional after a fashion, as it has something other than just Andreas's bastard creation to sustain it...and, of course, a Broken Pattern initiate could get somewhere else to report. So is this Heydrich? Or is it a copy?"
I could see him considering the point, which seemed as good a moment as any to ask the follow up question.
"When do you think Andreas went overboard?"
"I was certainly worried about him long before the whole sorry beheading incident," he admitted, after a moment or two, "I've mentioned that to you before."
"Why?"
"I'd seen what the Machine could do. I didn't like it. But I thought we were allied so I let it pass and continued to afford him the status his rank deserved in the hope it would keep him sweet."
"What if he just spent that early time lulling you into a false sense of security...getting to know your people..."
"Duplicating my people...that's what you're saying?" he said, and I shrugged.
"It's got to be a possibility."
Rupert broke off with a string of colourful German invective, before finally looking back at me.
"This is one of those moments when I both hope you're right and hope you're wrong. If you're wrong, then Tristan Heydrich, a man I've come to realise is a friend as well as one of my more gifted officers, has been a stinking traitor for some time and I was too stupid to notice. If you're right, then potentially the Reich has got as much of a problem with the Machine as the Empire is growing, and again I was too stupid to notice, but at least Tristan is still onside. It would be embarrassing to have to replaced the head of the SD again."
"At least we'll know the answer to that one when they get back."
"If they get back."
"They've got help. They'll be okay."
"Help you called in while I wasn't about? I'm not going to like who it is, am I?"
"Probably not, but if by some chance, we are dealing with the real Heydrich, they won't be able to take him down without assistance."
Rupert shrugged, and conceded the point. I guessed he'd realised who I'd called. We fell silent, and considered the mess in front of us once more, walking carefully round it and seeing where the lines should have been, and obviously both trying to figure out if we'd missed any alternatives.
"What about the Jewel as an option?" Rupert suggested.
"I'm not sure you can build a Broken Pattern directly with a Jewel, as the designs within it are whole," I answered, "and a full Pattern here would unbalance things. Given the way the multiverse works, it needs to be Broken to keep the power lines balanced..."
"I'm not sure you can build a Broken Pattern directly with a Jewel, although you might be able to use it to boost your own energies," I answered, "however, the designs within it are whole, and a full Pattern here would unbalance things. Given the way the multiverse works, it needs to be Broken to keep the power lines balanced..."
"And it needs to be Dark," he commented.
"Trust me, that piece of information hadn't escaped my attention, either."
"Can you even build a Dark Pattern?"
"I helped you create Sanguine," I pointed out, "and I kicked the Sable Pattern off, even if you...modified it....later.
"True."
"However, when I invited you here, I did say this would be to your advantage."
"You knew as soon as you saw what had been done that this wasn't going to end well for someone, didn't you? That blood ritual was the most likely solution, as it was instrumental in creating the problem in the first place?"
"Pretty much."
"And you decided to get me to do your dirty work for you," he stated, with a half smile, "because Robert the goody goody doesn't want to get his hands dirty performing what he considers to be Black Magic."
He looked at me, back at the mess on the floor, and then back to me again.
"Nicely played. You knew I'd be willing to do anything to protect the Reich, and this qualifies, eh? And as a bonus, Sable benefits as well. But what is the advantage to me?"
"Aside from the fact that the universe won't crumble?" I asked, "you get control of a third Broken Pattern, plus the island we're standing on...in...whatever. My people take control of the rest of Manira and try to stop the civil war."
"Of course we both know that in the case of Manira, taking control is a poisoned chalice. Look at your Francis Edwards...my Gregor Konstantin."
"Maybe the shake-up will be enough to break that cycle. We'll only find out if we try. From the fact that you aren't disagreeing with my course of action, I assume you've come to the same solution as me."
"The blood of a Maniran initiate, used and spread in ritual to refill the lines where the power no longer flows, and ending the life of said initiate to form the bridge from the life energy that it has leached in for itself in a vain attempt to restore itself, and the rest of the Broken Pattern as was. Probably bound together with elements of full Pattern from the person doing the ritual, but not so much that it unbalances the result."
"It would seem we're on the same page," I answered.
Within myself, I hated the solution. I hated the idea that I was condoning the use of Black Magic, which was against everything I believed in. But I couldn't come up with another way of fixing it without strengthening Manira too far...which would cause problems in and of itself. The balance of the nine Broken Patterns and their relationship to the TM Pattern system proper was too delicate to screw around with. And while the disruption to the surrounding Shadows was fairly limited now, it wouldn't stay that way. So I had to discard my own feelings, and consider the good of the universe as a whole.
"Do you intend to stay and watch?"
"I do."
"And your people? What's Andrew going to make of this, for example?"
"It will be their choice whether they go or stay."
"Sobeit," he answered, pensively, "let's hope they bring us some material to work with, or we're going to have to find an alternative."
He paused a moment, then added.
"I don't suppose you happened to bring a bottle of The Macallan with you did you, brother?"
"I could probably get one. But do you often perform Black Magic intoxicated?"
"Fair point. Perhaps that pleasure had better wait. Now, I need to prepare."
And he drew away to one side of the crater, and went quiet, and I could feel him working through various options of how he was going to handle the sheer logistics of what he was planning to do.
The others returned about half an hour later, and brought with them a pair of bodies: Heydrich and Rufino. Thankfully none of them looked the worst for the experience. Andrew wasn't best pleased as Rupert rejoined us from out of the Shadows the other side of the pool, but then, neither was Rupert, who stood a cautious distance from my son.
"Do you want to check or shall I?" I asked him, indicating Heydrich's unconscious form.
"Allow me."
I felt him bring up the Pattern and concentrate, and whether or not he meant to show it, I saw relief on his face.
"It's a copy," he declared, firmly.
"You're sure?"
"Check for yourself...Tristan Heydrich has a Pattern imprint. This doesn't."
I followed his lead and checked, and sure enough, no Pattern imprint. It wasn't even quite of the blood: real, certainly, but that was probably as much the fact that it had the imprint of the Maniran Broken Pattern as anything else. Maybe Andreas hadn't got his duplication technology perfected twenty years before. For good measure, I checked Rufino, but he wasn't even as real as the Heydrich clone.
Then Rupert glanced at the assembled company.
"I imagine some of you are going to be squeamish about what happens next. Feel free to leave if it's likely to offend you..."
I saw Andrew glance across at Alex, and then back at the others.
"It would seem wise for someone to be upstairs watching out for trouble," he said, his tone neutral, and the pair of them headed for the stairs.
To be honest, I could completely understand his view on the matter. He'd seen far too much of Rupert's blood magic and I could imagine it would pain him to be present. And in fairness, he had a point about watching our collective backs. As for Alex...well, his departure made sense as well, albeit for different reasons. That's not to say that I didn't see Rupert relax slightly as he watched their retreating backs.
Everyone else obviously decided to let curiosity get the better of them, and for my part, while I had some idea of what was coming, it seemed wisest to stay behind and make sure my brother didn't do anything stupid, rash or downright treacherous.
"Everyone ready?" he asked brightly, "Marvellous."
He took charge of the Heydrich clone and carried it as close to the centre of the ruined Broken Pattern as he obviously thought was safe. Then he drew his SS dagger, obviously intending to use it in its secondary...or perhaps primary...purpose as an athame and set to work. I'd never seen it drawn before, except in the memory Andrew had inflicted on me the previous spring, and I could both see and feel the Pattern tracery on the blade: black on silver.
He worked quickly and efficiently, but that didn't stop me feeling uncomfortable from the darkness he was weaving into the ritual. I know they say it's a pleasure to watch a professional at work, but believe me, it isn't. Not when their profession is quite so black. His actions were assured and firm, but as he worked the argument Andrew had long been trying to knock into my thick skull - that black magicians aren't tame, and that Rupert was the blackest of the black - was rammed home to me in a way it never had been before, and I realised I really had made a deal with the Devil on this one.
Tea was going to be uncomfortable next month.
I watched as he distributed the Heydrich clone's blood into the various gullies and lines where the Broken Pattern had formerly burned, saying a few words on each occasion in a language I couldn't catch, but which was probably one of the Norse Germanic derivatives, and which incantation set up links to the pool of life energy in the middle. It took him about half an hour, and then he crossed to the pool itself and crouched beside it, almost looking to be in prayer for a moment. Then he rolled the body forwards, so that its head was almost touching the pool, and with the dagger, cut its carotid artery. As the blood poured into the pool, he put his dagger blade into contact with the point where blood and energy met. As he did, I could feel the energy leaping out from the centre to the lines, down the arcane connections formed by using the dagger to butcher...there really wasn't another way of describing it...the body of the clone.
I could feel him moderating the energy with his own, and the pain it caused him to do so, and watched almost unable to breath as he drew on his abilities as a creator and used them to edit out any possible Machine influence that using a Machine clone as his raw material might have left. Within moments the lines of the new Broken Pattern were burning in the ground. I felt for the nature of the universe, and knew that what he'd built had replaced what had been taken. Nothing more. The balance was restored. Moreover, it was a reasonable guess that an initiate of the original Maniran Pattern could probably use this one if they had to. Far from ideal, but probably inevitable.
I watched as he stood, the body disintegrating at his feet, and then he made his way back to us, cautiously and rather gingerly.
"It's done..." he said quietly, and I could hear exhaustion in his voice.
"So I can see..." I answered, my tone more neutral than normal. In response he just tutted slightly and shrugged.
"You wanted to stay," he answered, then turned to the others and asked brightly "anyone fancy trying it out?"
I was expecting resounding nos from all present, but to my surprise, Jack, the Aurellian, stepped forward.
"Why not?" he said brightly, "what do I do?"
Before I could say anything, Rupert indicated for him to cross to the new Sign, and gave him the instructions, and sure enough, Jack set his feet on the path to initiation. I couldn't believe what he was doing, and as I looked around the faces of the others, I could tell I wasn't the only one who was surprised at his actions. But technically, I had no right to stop him. He didn't work for me - he worked for Sirius - and to him, Rupert was the Great Protector, not the Reichsführer-SS. I just hoped to God that his rash decision wasn't going to kill him.
The interaction between the Broken Pattern and the Pilot Logrus was interesting, but certainly not fatal. After all, both are inferior copies of the two Primal poles. And Jack made it to the centre alive and well, if obviously tired. Time alone would tell what effect being the first being to walk a reconstituted Broken Pattern would have on his long-term future, however, especially one built by Rupert.
My brother guided him back to the group, and then looked at them again.
"Anyone else?"
This time, no-one else stepped forward.
"As you wish."
"What should we do with Rufino?" Cooke asked.
I'd noticed that during Rupert's performance he'd probably been less bothered by what we were watching than I had been, which was slightly disconcerting, given he was supposed to be a mage in good standing in Sable. Or maybe I was doing him a disservice and in truth he was as disturbed as I was but had a different way of coping. Bond, of course, had just kept his poker face on the entire time, while Carrey had watched with the usual distaste he has at anything arcane.
However, before we could answer, Rupert had bent down smoothly, picked up the body and tossed it neatly and accurately to the centre of the Broken Pattern, where it fritzed and burned, and was gone.
"Interrogating him might have been useful," I commented.
"Don't worry about that, Robert..." he replied, with a cold smile on his lips, "I'd already learned everything I needed to know from the Heydrich duplicate. I'll make sure to write you up a full report."
At that point I realised I needed to get out of there. Seeing Rupert like this - charged with the energy from the ritual and almost euphoric as a side-effect of what he'd done, his eyes colder and deader than usual - was disturbing to say the least. Especially as he'd been far more mellow of late.
"We should go," I said to my group, and waited a moment as Jack gathered us together and jumped us back upstairs where Andrew and Alex were waiting. I was interested to note that Rupert tagged along for the ride.
"It needed to be done," Rupert said, sotto voce to me and almost gently, "however...I think I may stay awhile, just to make sure everything's stable."
I looked at him and nodded, not really trusting myself to speak.
Jack disappeared briefly to collect a carriage, so that those of the group who weren't either shape shifters or Aurellis initiates could get safely back to Sable using the ATS, and while he was missing, I noticed Alex cross to Rupert and speak quietly to him. I didn't catch what they said, as to be honest I was too surprised that my grandson would willingly speak with him at all, but whatever he said, Rupert acknowledged his words with a quiet response of his own.
Then the carriage appeared, and Jack loaded the others into it.
"Until our next meeting, Mein Bruder," Rupert said as I joined them.
"Until then," I answered, neutrally, not trusting myself to say more, and got aboard for the journey home.