Reunion, September 2007
A weekend break out of Amber.
Thank God.
It's not that I dislike the place. It's actually beginning to grow on me. Like mould. And it's been an interesting experience working with Ian in quite such a different capacity. But after attacking Random's base in the Amber Islands, I felt that I deserved a weekend away from it all.
Pity the weekend didn't think that way.
I decided to go to Wittersham House, as it gave me the opportunity for a day in the open air, and spent the morning riding and the afternoon taking pot shots at pheasant with the local Shoot. I ate in Tenterden, so Carmichael didn't have to worry about catering for me (although he appreciated the gift of two brace for hanging), and then headed home about 21.00. Then I raided the library and headed up to my room to read in peace and quiet.
Which lasted all of half an hour.
The noise as they arrived found their way into my subconscious pretty quickly. Maybe it was the words "Give them to Nazi boy over there" which gave it away. It sounded like my uncle Matthew. The family had apparently come calling, and they sounded like they weren't happy. In fact, Ian sounded decidedly worried.
I threw my book on the bed and headed downstairs at some speed to find out what was going on. As I did, I thought I could sense the arcane feeling I had come to associate with Ian checking on Tenterden. I'm not sure exactly how a person can own a place, but it seemed to be the case with him and our home world, such that he could manipulate the speed it ran relative to Amber.
They were in the hallway, and as I arrived I heard him let out a sigh of relief. Obviously, all was well.
Matthew was, indeed there. As were Dave, Geran and the strange young man who calls himself Tone. And so was...Matthew. I pulled up sharply and did a double take, noting that Carmichael was hovering nearby looking equally perplexed - which is an impressive feat in itself. Our eyes met for a moment, and then Ian turned to look at us. His clothes were covered in blood - although not, I was pretty sure, his own. I glanced around and noted that all of them looked exhausted, and Dave definitely had been bleeding - ears and nose, which is never good. So had one of the Matthews.
I stared at them, and noted that Tone was walking in circles, doing something arcane and it was obviously taking a lot out of him. Geran seemed to be on a Trump call, and the bloody Matthew was collapsing into a chair, virtually catatonic.
"What the fuck?" I said, finally, although I heard Carmichael's subtle sniff of disapproval as I did.
"Your bloody Grandfather," Ian answered, with a venom I hadn't heard in his voice for some while. Then he stood straight, consciously took a series of deep breaths, obviously centring, and added "Wolf. I think you know everyone except Thorsten..."
He indicated the catatonic Matthew as he mentioned the unfamiliar name. I began to nod in greeting to the others, but stopped dead when Ian added: "He's...Armand's brother."
I looked at him, shocked rigid, and took a step towards Thorsten, before pulling up as Geran spoke again.
"Ian, Dieter planned to blow up Russia on Tenterden and wipe out the Tenterden US Military, including nukes. Matthew saved the Soviet Union, and the whole power short circuited it."
Christ. Wasn't blowing up Russia what the whole Kirishi debacle had been about? Did the pair of them never learn?
"As I said," Ian answered to Geran, "I really owe him."
Shaking my head, I continued my progress to where Thorsten was sitting. He was staring looking into space, completely unaware of where he was. I snapped my fingers in front of his face, but there was barely a glimmer in his blue eyes. He looked so very, very young and helpless that my heart went out to him. Hell, it probably would have done if I hadn't had Ian's coded warning on who he apparently was. Then I heard more consternation behind me and glanced over to see that Tone was on the floor convulsing. Geran ran to help him, with Ian closing rather more slowly, his movements betraying bone weary tiredness.
I judged whether I would be more help with them, or with the child in front of me, and decided that my generational elders were far more capable of dealing with Tone than I was. So I gently helped Thorsten, and took him upstairs to one of the guest bathrooms, grabbing a robe on the way. I helped him out of the filthy clothes he was wearing and stood him under the shower for a few minutes, then put him in one of the bedrooms to rest. I put his glasses on the nightstand, so he could reach them easily when he woke up, and then closed his eyes and cast a light sleep cantrip to knock him out. Then I stayed with him, to watch his back as much as anything else, as no-one else seemed bothered with him just then.
God my protective instincts had been triggered, and I found myself comparing the situation to my dealings with Armand.
During my son's stay in London, four years before, I had spent a fair amount of time with him, and had got to know him reasonably well. He enjoyed his sport - I even took him shooting a couple of times, although he had a bit to go before he got to my level - and he was keen to see what London had to offer, in the way of both entertainment and culture. It was as if he believed that he may not have the chance to come back once he was back in the GGR, and wanted to make the most of it, and I was happy to share that with him. He'd done well on Ian's course, too, unsurprisingly, and had a natural flair for military history.
I'd taken my father's advice in arcane matters as well. Once Armand and I knew each other a bit better, I had raised the issue of the occult with him. He certainly had a basic understanding, although he hadn't done any form of practising, but he had the potential. On the strength of that, he let me teach him both how to put up physical and mental defensive wards, and how to stay in contact with me on the Second Road.
Since he'd gone back to Germany, he'd been posted first to the garrison in Minsk, and then closer to home in Danzig. We'd set up a regular monthly schedule for talking to each other on the Second Road, and I'd even used the Pattern once or twice to meet him for a beer. In those four years, I'd seen him mature and fill out, so he no longer looked like the skinny teenager, and his self-confidence had come along in leaps and bounds. He'd recently been promoted to Obersturmführer, and was shaping up to be a decent small unit commander.
Just now, the kid on the bed couldn't have seemed more different to him. His hair was much fairer and he looked younger even than Armand had when he first came to England. Maybe eighteen or nineteen. His eyes were the same blue though, which is why I knew that Ian wasn't wrong when he'd said - if not in so many words - that Thorsten was my son. But the resemblance to Matthew was startling. He had the Brand stamp even worse than I did.
"How is he?" came a voice from the doorway, and I looked up to see my father.
He'd washed and changed since I'd seen him downstairs, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked pale and exhausted.
"Well you look like crap, Mihai" I commented, as I saw him, not sure whether to be angry with him, or profoundly grateful.
"Thanks. I feel like crap," he answered, without missing a beat, coming in and shutting the door behind him, then taking up station on the stool by the dressing table.
"How are our other houseguests?"
"Fed and resting."
"Which you look like you should be."
"Yeah, well...in a little while."
He paused, then repeated his initial question.
"Sleeping," I answered, "What happened?"
"Dieter was trying to use him as a focus for a ritual, but it got screwed up. He had a drink with us before we attended the Great Party Jungenfest, and when Dieter first keyed him to it, it didn't take properly. Then he sent his goons for Thorsten, but got Matthew instead, as the lad and I weren't with the others. He went ahead with the ritual anyway, and then Dave decided to meddle, trying to stop whatever Dieter was doing with about as much ritual knowledge as a dung beetle, and I spent most of the next couple of hours stopping the energies which were lashing around from killing your son."
"For which you have my eternal thanks," I answered, then pointed out, "but I think you missed a bit of the story"
"Which bit?"
"Why the Hell were you within fifteen Shadows of Dieter outside of Amber, and what Great Party Jungenfest?"
He sighed, and then launched into a review of his day. Quite how he got from a barbecue in Amber, through a discussion of the Ahnenerbe on one of Matthew's home Shadows, to deciding to go and visit my other grandfather's pocket Germania and ending up up to his eyeballs in a death ritual, seemed about as convoluted as usually happens when Ian gets dragged into the shit by his cousins.
I watched him as he wound down, then glanced over at Thorsten, considering what kind of life the child had had that he'd ended up in this mess. Ian had warned me that I might not want to find out what had happened to the children Dieter had had me father, and it seemed that I'd got lucky with Armand. Not so, apparently, with this one.
"Have you ever been there?" he said, knocking me out of my reverie, and I got the impression from his tone that he was asking the question for the second time.
"Huh?"
"Germania...have you ever been there?"
I had, once or twice. I'd been Dieter's guest, and it had the advantage that there, Wolf Ulrich wasn't dead, so I could be myself in a way I couldn't on Tenterden. But did I want to tell Ian that?
"No particular reason why I would have been," I answered, "you're the one who likes to go into his territory and screw with the major rituals he's Working. Couldn't you just go and visit?"
"Believe me, I wasn't planning to go head to head with him this time...it's just it didn't work out. And in my defence, I didn't do the screwing around this time. My focus was on keeping him..." he nodded towards Thorsten "...alive."
"How did you know?"
"There are a lot of people on Germania who look like they're descended from either Brand, Dad or Auntie Fi, so I had a spell running. As it turns out, most of them just have the look, not the bloodline, but he tagged up as family. And when I saw his face, I thought I recognised something of Armand in him, despite the whole Matthew thing. Geran was curious too, and got a couple of hair samples, and I ran the tests on them. As well as the Brand genetics, he had markers in common with me, consistent with his being my grandson. And as I only have one child of Brand's bloodline..."
"As far as you know."
"Perhaps, but I'm pretty familiar with your genetics as well, and you were in there too."
"Was he really trying to do another Kirishi?"
"And more. He out and out admitted it to me...after the fact."
"You've spoken with him?"
"No, this was waiting when I got home," he answered, and handed me a letter. I took it from him, recognising the handwriting, and read it through.
"Cousin Ian,
By the time this letter has reached you, I may be in a coma or worse but our enemy is destroyed. American nuclear weapons are gone and every Soviet is consumed by divine fire. We must never allow this threat to hurt both of us. England and Germany must have peace now. A new Europe, a new prophecy and I finally found a new disciple that I can train. I have my own Channicut heir that will ensure that Dworkin is foiled at long last. I can restore glory. You will not understand but I only say I will not hurt your protected England nor its colonies. However a new world order is here. Rise and ride with me.
Dieter
PS I will tell you more of the Channicut boy another time but I fear you may interfere. You have too much influence with Dworkin's Channicut boy, my brother."
"Channicut boy?"
"Over there," he answered, indicating the bed.
Oh crap. He'd kidnapped Dieter's boy messiah. My son was his last best hope for glory.
"You really fucking don't do anything by halves, do you Mihai?"
"Apparently not," he said, and I saw a wry smile cross his tired features.
"What are you going to do with him?"
"Can't say I particularly want to give him back. I'm not sure what it is about Channicuts, but it's obviously important."
"And if you did that...if you kept him here. What do you think Dieter would do to Armand?"
"Believe me, Wolf. Repercussions against him were why I didn't go there planning to mess up his ritual - although I might have felt differently if I'd actually known what he had planned. I know he let your son come to England on trust, because we hadn't pissed in his pot in the Wewelsburg, and I know this was a far bigger pot..."
"So...?"
"So while I don't particularly want to give him back, I certainly need to let Dieter know where he is, and we can take it from there. I tried to call him, but I couldn't get through. I suspect he was out cold - although if we're really lucky, he was either comatose or dead..."
He tailed off as he saw my expression, which probably indicated pretty clearly my feelings if he was dead. I could feel my eyes narrowing and the frown on my face. Then his body language became more conciliatory.
"I'll try again once I've had some sleep."
"Thank you."
"On which note...I'll see you later," and stood up and headed out of the door, leaving it ajar behind him. Once he was gone, I closed it, then warded the room, and settled down in the armchair beside the bed to snooze.
* * * * * *
The following morning, Thorsten was still asleep, but at least he looked less like death warmed over, and the rest of our houseguests had gone. I let down the wards, and grabbed some breakfast, then collected my book and returned to my vigil. Ian came in around lunchtime, looking far better than he had the night before, and gave Thorsten a proper medical check-up. His conclusion was that the lad was sleeping, rather than unconscious, and would probably stay that way for a few hours yet. Then he'd need a few days R&R.
We headed downstairs to get some lunch - Carmichael had organised an entire poached salmon and a bowl of new potatoes, which we pretty much got through between us - and then adjourned to the library.
"Have you called him yet?" I asked.
"No, but I should. I just didn't feel up to it on an empty stomach Do you want to referee?"
"I think that might be sensible. He is not going to be happy with you."
"He rarely is," he answered, with a sigh, dug his Trump deck out of his pocket and shuffled out Dieter's card, "here goes nothing."
He concentrated for a few moments, and eventually made contact.
"Guten Tag, Dieter," he said aloud, and in German, slightly to my surprise, then paused...I could almost sense the shouting down the link.
"Er ist hier," Ian continued and to my surprise, offered his hand. Moments later, my grandfather stepped through a Trump rainbow. He looked bone weary and angry.
"What the fuck were you doing?" Dieter said, continuing the conversation in our native tongue.
"Honest truth? Just visiting," Ian answered in the same language.
"That's not how it turned out," came the reply, as my grandfather finally paused for breath long enough to look around, at which point he saw me, "Wolfgang, I thought you had a better leash on your father."
"I was here, he was in Amber," I said, "the first I heard of what was going on was when he arrived here."
"Where's Thorsten?"
"Upstairs," I answered, "He's sleeping."
"Is he alright?"
"He will be," Ian offered, "he's exhausted."
"He should be exhilarated."
"Perhaps he would have been if he'd actually been the one you gave the accolades to...shortly before you tried to screw with Tenterden. Again."
"Did you not get my message?"
"Yes."
"So you knew what I was doing."
"Not until well after the fact."
"Did it work?"
"No."
Dieter launched into a stream of invective that went on for a good minute. German is a far better language for swearing in than English.
Then he consciously got hold of himself before asking: "You never did see the big picture, did you, cousin?"
"Tenterden isn't your world to play big picture with in that way," Ian answered, firmly.
"I know that far too well...I was too slow in claiming it."
"It's not even the only place you have operations."
Dieter shrugged.
"So let's get one things clear. I DO NOT want everyone in Russia massacred for your greater good. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever."
"They're Untermenschen."
"They're the only reason why the Reich in its current form is tolerated at all, Dieter. Don't you get that?"
Dieter actually paused for a moment, and looked at him, and then at me.
"Politics 101," I commented, mildly.
"Wolfgang, do you have to speak in Americanisms?"
I shrugged, my expression lacking remorse for the slip, and continued.
"The Reich is tolerated by America and the Rest of Europe for one reason, and one reason only...it's the strong bastion against the threat from the East. Take away that threat, and it will be a matter of weeks until Germany is back at war with the West."
"You oversimplify."
"No he doesn't," Ian answered, "it's the way it works here."
"England and Germany are longstanding allies. We have common racial and cultural roots."
"England perhaps. The rest of Europe, not so much. And why the Hell did you try to attack the US?"
"Because they've never been truly onside with Europe - or with the Greater German Reich."
"So a pre-emptive strike?"
"They do not deserve to be equal with Germany and the British Empire."
"But they are..." Ian said, coldly, "...live with it, and take this warning. If you EVER try anything like this, I will exclude you from here for good."
"I'd like to see you try," Dieter snapped.
"Do you really want to push that one?" Ian answered, meeting his cousin's gaze with a look of cold steel, locking him in a staring match which seemed to go on for an eternity.
Dieter blinked first.
"Drink?" I offered, as I felt the tension level rack down, and my grandfather gave me a curt nod.
I went over to the drinks cabinet and poured two glasses of raspberry schnapps for us, and a cognac for Ian. Then, once I had distributed them and put the bottles on the table between us, I sat down on the settee, and waited for the pair of fighting cocks to follow my lead. Dieter sat opposite me, and Ian dropped into the armchair between us. Dieter downed his schnapps in one, and I pushed the bottle over to him.
"What did you mean when you said he wasn't the one who I gave the accolade to?" he said, finally.
"Thorsten had been drinking when your goons first came for him," Ian answered, "when he got back from seeing you, he was pretty much giddy with power...and not in a good way. That, combined with the booze, and he was almost unable to stand. He fell, and on his request I helped him to the washroom to try to get him cleaned up, maybe a bit more sober, and if possible less likely to explode with the power you'd keyed in him. When your goons came back to get him, he wasn't there...so they took you little brother Matthew by mistake."
"That Dummkopf Essen," he cursed, "couldn't he tell he'd got the wrong person?"
"Apparently not. Although to be fair, Matthew and Thorsten do look uncannily similar."
"It's their mother...they're half brothers," he answered, then sighed, "By the All-Father, it's hard to get the staff these days."
"So the ritual kicked off, but Matthew, not Thorsten was the focus, and thank the gods, he short-circuited your attack on Tenterden."
"And then what happened?" I asked, curious what had happened next. Ian hadn't discussed this part with me in that much detail.
"I was so close to actually getting your son stable, when the ritual hit. And then I was trying to protect him, and all the while reliving Prinz Albrecht Strasse...both times...jumbled in on each other. Thanks a fucking bunch for that, by the way, cousin."
I glanced worried at Ian, hoping he wasn't about to do something stupid, but he was just clutching his glass until his knuckles were white, and trying to get control of himself. Then I glanced at Dieter.
"Emotion is a powerful force in ritual magic. You know that. But I was trying for ecstatic hysteria, not torture."
"I got torture. I wasn't pleased."
"You rarely are, Mein Kusin."
"Usually with reason. And what really pisses me off. I almost did it, too. I almost protected the pair of us. Then wave two struck, and somehow I was reliving what you did to Wolf in the Wewelsburg."
"How is that even possible?" I asked, fascinated, if a little concerned about how much he'd seen.
"Maybe it was in my subconscious from when I was with you," he answered, which got a surprised look out of my grandfather, followed by a nod of confirmation.
"So you were there...I had wondered."
"I know you shot Wolf in the chest."
"And you also know that if I hadn't, I would never have been able to get him out of Germany and back to you alive."
"You'd already slit his wrists...wasn't that enough?"
"My subordinates could still have had doubts until he was too far gone for me to save. As shot in the right place was quick, effective, obvious and irrefutable."
It was the first time he had actually confirmed what I had suspected that long-ago evening over brandy and cigars with Ian, and I finally knew he hadn't betrayed me that night.
"You should thank me for that, Ian, not curse me."
Ian took a deep breath, a number of emotions playing over his face, and then eventually nodded.
"I do. As I thank you for letting him meet Armand."
I could have kicked him for mentioning my son at that moment.
"Which was because you had played me straight..." Dieter answered, pouncing on the slip with the speed I had expected, "I am no longer sure that is the case."
"I swear to you by the gods I revere that I didn't screw with the ritual, Dieter."
They locked eyes again for a few moments, and then Dieter nodded.
"But you know who did. Are you going to tell me?"
"I can't."
"Wolfgang? Will you tell me?" he said, glancing in my direction.
"I wasn't there, Grandfather," I answered, "my first knowledge of any of it was when they arrived back here on Tenterden."
"Hmm," he said, obviously trying to decide whether to believe me, and then he looked back at Ian, "Continue."
"As the power built for the second part of what you were doing, that's when things went wrong. At that point, I guess Matthew had absorbed as much of the energy as he could, and it started feeding through Thorsten. Then the flow was interrupted, and it began feeding back on him. And from that point on, my entire being was focused on keeping his heart beating and his soul in his body."
"But you managed it?" he asked, and for the first time I heard genuine concern in his voice.
"Yes."
"And you brought him here."
"I wasn't convinced that his own apartment and an SS captain on the end of a phone were sufficient protection for him for the state he was in. And to be honest, by then I knew you'd tried to hit Tenterden, and I wanted to get back here and see what you'd done."
"Nothing, apparently."
"Not for want of trying...but I didn't know that until I got here."
"May I see him?"
"Perhaps you should ask his father that," Ian answered, and glanced at me. Dieter followed suit.
"Wolfgang? May I see my great-grandson?"
I'd half expected him to frame it as an order, and was pleasantly surprised when he didn't.
"I'll take you up to him."
"Before you do, I'd like to ask a question," Ian said, as my grandfather began to get to his feet.
"What?"
"What is so important about having a Channicut heir?"
"You should ask Matthew...you and he seem to get on well enough."
"I'm asking you."
"And I do not feel inclined to tell you."
"You're my guest."
"And you've tried my patience considerably in this last twenty-four hours. Look to your own before you push me any further."
Ian actually shut up, but the look of distaste he threw at Dieter chilled me to the bone.
"I'd rather neither of you took this out on my son," I said, quietly but firmly, looking at both of them with a determined expression on my face, "either of them."
Dieter glared at Ian, and then turned back to me with a slight nod of acknowledgement.
"You were going to take me to see him."
"This way," I answered, emptying my own glass and getting to my feet. Dieter fell in beside me, and we left Ian to finish his brandy in silence.
My grandfather held his peace until we were upstairs in Thorsten's room. I waited by the door while he took great pains to check the boy over, both physically and on an arcane level, and as he worked, I could tell from his body language that he did actually care for him, and as more than just a useful asset. It took him several minutes until he was satisfied, at which point he stood up and looked at me.
"Did you have anything to do with this debacle, Hauptsturmführer Ulrich?" he asked, quietly.
"No, Oberstgruppenführer Ritter."
"Are you willing to swear that on your Honour?"
"I am."
"Do you know who nearly killed your son?"
"I only know what Ian has told me," I answered, carefully.
"I could order you to tell me."
"Yes, sir, you could. But does it really matter? He's alive, as you can see, and Ian seems convinced that he's going to be alright."
"I agree with his assessment."
Dieter paused for a moment, then asked: "Does he know?"
"Sir?"
"The boy. Did cousin Ian tell him he was his grandfather? That you are his father?"
"I don't know for certain, but I don't believe so. What does he know about his parents?"
"He's Lebensborn. Nothing."
"So was Armand, but you told him who I was."
"Armand serves a different...purpose in the scheme of things. However, I would rather you did not confuse the issue with Thorsten, so at this time, I would take it as a personal favour if you did not tell him the specifics of your relationship."
"Yes, Herr Oberstgruppenführer," I said, quietly, but I couldn't help feeling disappointed.
"The time will come, Wolfgang. I promise you that."
"Might I at least respectfully request that you allow him to remain here for a few days, until he has recovered? So I can get to know him a little?"
"If I have your word as an Ahnenerbe officer and my subordinate that you guarantee he will be returned to me. That your father will not try to detain him."
"I rather doubt detaining him would be on Ian's agenda," I answered, "persuasion perhaps."
The moments the last couple of words were out of my mouth I saw a look of disapproval cross his features, and I realised that they were too flippant, and bowed my head in deference.
"Your word, child of my child. On your Power...on your Honour."
"I swear that I will guarantee he is safely returned to you as soon as he is recovered."
"Then, as I suspect it would be unwise for me to say my personal goodbyes to your father, my business here is complete."
"I will convey your greetings to him."
"Thank you," he answered, and reached into his pocket for his own Trump deck, "until we meet again."
"May the gods guide your homeward steps, Grandfather."
"Fare well and good fortune, Wolfgang," he answered, and disappeared into a Trump rainbow.
"You actually like the son-of-a-bitch, don't you, Wolf?" Ian said quietly, from the doorway, as he pushed it open and I moved out of his way.
"He's my grandfather, Mihai. There's nothing either of us can do about that. And if I choose to treat him with courtesy and respect, isn't that my business?"
"He just tried to kill thousands, if not millions of people."
"But he failed."
"Thorsten's still here?"
"Dieter is willing for him to remain in our care until he's recovered, at which point I have sworn to return him," I answered, taking his arm, steering him out of the bedroom, and closing the door behind us, "But he has requested that we don't tell him that he's my son."
"And why should I listen to his request after what he did yesterday?"
"I'm not asking you to listen to him. I'm asking you to listen to me. I am asking you that while Thorsten is in our care, you do not tell him that he's my son...or your grandson."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not sure that doing so would help him just now, not after what it sounds like he's been through. I've been there - it takes a lot of processing. And I would rather not risk Dieter finding out and punishing Armand for it."
"Do you actually think he would?"
"I honestly don't know. Thorsten is certainly more important in his grand plan than Armand, and Dieter might just be callous enough to sacrifice the one to keep the other."
"Then I will respect your wishes."
"Thank you."
"Wolf, can I ask you a question."
"Of course."
"How are you coping with this?"
"With what?"
"With having your son dumped on your doorstep like this, and then not being able to acknowledge him for who he is?"
"Ah Mihai," I answered, with a chuckle, "life is never boring with you around."
And with that, I left him standing looking rather startled at my response as I headed downstairs.