Chapter Eleven
Author's Note:
School has been fairly stressful (hence lack of updates). Currently (while typing, that is) babysitting at the mo' and I'm cold. And hungry. And finding it very hard not to fall asleep. Could this be the remedy? (I apologise in advance for lines and lines of random characters caused by my forehead when I eventually fall asleep).
It's my birthday! I feel old :)
There's a cookie for anyone who catches the Harry Potter reference. Here's the eleventh chappie!
The trio of faces stared at him.
They were all pixelated of course, so he couldn't make out any details. But that didn't matter. Valentin had heard enough tales of their exploits to know that if he stepped over the line-
"Obolensky?"
He focused his attention back on the screen, "All is proceeding to plan. We have captured over 80% of the targets."
The woman in the centre seemed to frown. "Exact percentage?"
"81.5," he bluffed.
Valentin tried to stay impassive but couldn't stop the shiver running down his spine.
All three faces tilted their heads to the side, eerily in sync. Did they practise this? The command of the Renaissance Initiative knew everything about him but he knew nothing about them. All he did know was that on the day Nero ousted him from the council, they contacted him. Commanded him to move to Siberia. Gave him information on the Hunt. Told him who to target. Gave him every last detail and resource he would need.
The truth was he was bankrupt. He could barely keep afloat each month. His grandmother's emerald necklace was sold to pay off the Mafia. His uncle's gold watch to pay the monthly G.L.O.V.E. settlement. His mother's prize Fabergé egg to keep up appearances. His permanent residency in the red was no doubt a key reason why he was chosen…
Business had been going well until about a year or so after the Initiative was founded.
Valentin's elevation to the council had demanded better suits, more expensive cars, a new house on the continent and a complete renovation of the Paris apartment. He had even tried to tread old waters, finding out after several declined invitations to the opera or theatre that the water was stagnant.
Then a successful bank robbery (hey! It may be old fashioned but it's still done for a reason!) was raided while the goods were being stored at a warehouse. Doctored reports at an oil rig had led Valentin to believe the reserves were empty. He eventually found out (thanks to the Initiative) that the oil was being siphoned off out of sight of the rig. A thief stole all of his paintings from the Paris apartment. He had had to get fakes (very expensive fakes).
So when the Initiative had come knocking he had thought: why not, and convinced himself that he could walk out of such an agreement whenever he wanted to.
Fool.
After what seemed an eternity, the woman in the centre addressed him again.
"This isn't enough. We want to see results."
A beat of sweat inched down Valentin's spine.
"I can send more reports-"
The man to the left slammed his fist down. "Emphasis on see, Obolensky. Have you even caught the B-Specials yet?"
"Most-"
It was amazing how even a pixelated face could make Valentin want to cry for his mother.
The woman in the centre seemed to become somehow denser and more threatening.
"This is not acceptable. I will personally come to oversee your operation. I will reach Siberia by dawn. Do not fail us a second time."
Running off to Tibet and becoming a monk had never seemed so appealing.
"Yes, Madame."
Nigel Darkdoom trudged through the snow, trying to remember the last time he had felt so vulnerable and weak.
Perhaps at age six when his uncle left him in a forest and told him to make his own way out. "Time you learned to carry the family mantle, boy."
Or maybe when his mother grasped his shoulder tight enough to draw blood at his father's 'funeral.' Of the many that had turned up to pay their respects, there were those who kissed his mother's cheek, gave unfeeling condolences and silently judged him. He had almost heard them say "You'd think with parents like that…"
No, no, it was probably now.
As he slowly made his way through the thick snow, he could clearly understand the vibes his companion was emitting.
Nigel and Vivienne had made their way through the forest, occasionally wading through streams to throw the dogs off the scent. They had heard wolf howls to the south and had just climbed a tree when a pack burst through the undergrowth and stopped right under the tree.
Their yellow eyes had seemed to look straight through him, seeing his fear and pain.
A scream from the west had caught their attention and they slinked away into the darkness, ears pricked in anticipation. Fifteen minutes later the screams were replaced by howls.
Using the meagre supplies in the bag, they had spent the night in the tree, trying not to freeze.
"Any ideas?"
He scowled at the snow. "Since the last time you asked, no. Have you any plan?"
Vivienne mirrored his expression. "No."
Scratch.
They both wheeled around, back to back. "What was that?" the girl whispered.
Scratch.
The knife felt strange in his sweat-slicked palm. "Maybe it's an animal."
Scratch. Scratch.
The Alphas slowly moved to the roots of a huge pine, the topmost burned by frost.
"It's a bear!" said Vivienne, visibly relaxing. "Thought it was a G.L.O.V.E. operative."
The grizzly bear cub peered up at them, baring his teeth. It seemed to be caught in a plastic net. Nigel sighed and began sawing at it with his knife. "After all we've seen, you're worried about Raven?" The bear watched him warily.
She shrugged, nonchalant.
Equally wary of the bear's teeth, Nigel gave one final slash to the plastic and the bear was free.
His companion smirked. "Considering changing professions?"
He ignored her (the same way he would tune out Franz's "If you will being come with me to the kitchens, I would do your homework, ja?" (a lie) or Otto's general chatter). If there was anything his (sometimes) monotonous and (otherwise) disappointing childhood had taught him, it was that trust is earned. Suspect everyone. Therefore he didn't trust Vivienne Beauregard at all. As one who spent (most of) his time being silent, he had come to notice the other silent ones. The ones who would not tune out everything and everyone but instead watch and learn.
Vivienne had done nothing but watch since she came to H.I.V.E.
He had noticed.
She turned to look at him and he got that unsettling feeling again. That he'd seen her before.
"Where will we go now?"
Nigel sighed. "Well it's not as if we have a plan, do we?"
They walked in silence through the woods, side by side. "Any water left?" The empty waterskin that he threw at her answered that. More sounds from behind caused him to turn around. And scowl. For a second he had thought there had been something else…as in more than one person something else.
"The bear's following us."
Vivienne also used the 43 facial muscles necessary to frown. "Well done, genius. whose fault do you think that is?"
The bear (who Nigel had decided to call Otis) suddenly put on a burst of speed and snatched the waterskin from Vivienne's grasp. Which then resulted in Otis being chased for his prize.
Trees were run past, logs vaulted over until finally Otis stopped on the edge of a cliff, looking so cute and cuddly that butter-couldn't-melt-in-his-mouth. There was a slight noise behind them but Nigel focused his attention on the water skin.
"If y'all don't find water, you gonna die!" Colonel Francisco would have been proud that something sank in.
"What do we do?" Nigel whispered.
"Give it food?" Vivienne countered.
Nigel rolled his eyes. "We don't have any–"
Vivienne pulled some smoked beef out of a packet.
"Please tell me you're not going to-"
Otis relinquished the waterskin as he munched happily on the meat. Nigel gave Vivienne his Franz-why-did-you-copy-my-homework-and-get-me-dete ntion-again look. "Thanks," he muttered sarcastically. "Have you anymore food?"
The look on her face stopped him. He turned slowly, staring at the 550 pound, seven foot tall grizzly bear.
All four heads turn to the group of white clothed individuals that then stepped out of the forest. Nigel didn't know what was worse: their bad timing, the fact that they might be the cavalry or their imminent death at the paws of Mamma Otis.
The bear growled.
The possible salvation squad removed the safety lock from their guns. Maybe they were not friendly.
Vivienne looked at Nigel.
Nigel looked at Vivienne.
Otis continued to gnaw at the beef jerky.
Then he looked up at Nigel for more. "I is dying here," his Franz-esque eyes seemed to say.
Then everything seemed to blur together.
One of their would-be kidnappers seemed to think that Otis was a danger and shot him. Mamma Otis howled and pounced on his unfortunate colleagues. One broke free of the scuffle, blood trickling down his chest. Nigel stepped back to find nothing.
Only air.
He sailed through the air, crashing through the churning river water beneath and Vivienne whacked him on the head, trying to put on a helmet from the bag.
He blacked out to the howl of a bear cub, the snarls of its mother and the high pitched screams.
Throb.
Throb. Throb.
Throb Throb Throb.
Laura groaned slightly and Otto gave her a sympathetic look. Her head was killing her.
As was the behaviour of whichever supervillain/wise-ass/narcissist that had attacked them this time.
The H.I.V.E. students had been left in the holding cells for hours and had been unceremoniously dragged out at dawn (or what she thought had been dawn) and dumped in a grandiose briefing room. With plush chairs and salted beef jerky. Franz was out for the count, sprawled on the table, snoring loudly.
She envied his child-like ease at sleeping. Laura herself had spent the night leaning on Otto and poking him repeatedly whenever he snored (which was often). Her Romantic notion of love had been well and truly quashed.
The new students seemed none the worse for the wear. Adeline Yen Li was gazing around with fear and looked as bone-weary as she had the night before. Her American companion had been complaining loudly about the lack of food and how tired he was and how his father would hear about this.
Laura's sole British companion (she wasn't certain about Otto anymore) was the only one looking refreshed and ready for whatever the world might throw at him. Stephen was so ready that he threw beef jerky into Arthur's open mouth to stop him from talking.
The subsequent Heimlich manoeuvre was worth it.
Throb went her head as the doors were flung open and a tall, well built blond man swaggered in.
"Welcome students! It's always a pleasure to meet alumni and current students alike from my alma mater. You lot weren't as sloppy in my day! Nero's brain-washing prison must have fallen in standard."
His smile faltered slightly when he noticed how unfazed his audience was.
"Well whoop-de-do," said Otto. "As to that little speech, I give exactly zero f-"
The knife hurtled past his temple. Maybe he would broadcast his indifference another day.
The blond glared. "My name is Valentin Obolensky and personally, I have nothing against you all. You are all merely the means to an end." He smirked and flexed his knuckles threateningly.
Franz snored.
"Oh why don't you just get it over with," drawled Stephen, "put them out of their misery."
Laura and Otto exchanged looks as a shiver ran down her spine.
Obolensky smirked and walked behind the Brit's chair. "Ever wonder how I found you all?"
Franz dove towards the knife behind Otto and waved it threateningly at the blond. "You. I knew it was being you. You was too slimy and slippery form the start, ja?"
Laura's head was ringing, but whether it was from the head wound or the revelation she couldn't tell.
The Russian nodded and a red dot appeared on the H.I.V.E. student's forehead. "Sit down, boy. I'd heard your wits were slow but really, are you as dull witted as your father says?"
A vein pulsed in Franz's temple and he dropped his knife. "You is lying."
Metal shackles rose out of the chairs and entrapped the students' wrists. Obolensky motioned to Franz to sit down and his armrests did the same.
Stephen's smirk grew louder. "Apparently he tells the same story of your confusion between chocolate and human faeces all the time. I read it in your file."
Franz's bewilderment was mirrored on his comrades' faces. "File?" he questioned.
Obolensky proudly ruffled Stephen's hair. "My nephew and his companions were given every bit of information we could find on you all. He used it to send a series of encrypted messages from the Island which told us all we needed to know about the location of the Hunt, the security detail, and even the names of each and every student coming here."
Laura's stomach tightened.
Throb.
Throb.
Otto shook his head in disbelief. "Wait, companions? You had more spies?"
Stephen smirked. "Oh yes, you moron, I couldn't possibly have pulled it off on my own. Of course I had help. We all had to be rather stealthy."
Adeline jumped as Franz slammed his fist onto the table in anger.
Otto glared at the Brit. "You mean I spent that long helping you settle in for nothing? That you used us all to attack Nero?"
Obolensky looked livid. "He deposed me from the ruling council even though I went to his cult of a school. The others, his favourites who had been my classmates, were kept while I was culled along with the wretches who had little to do with his precious Island. I already said you were means to an end."
Arthur cradled his head in his arms. "I thought I could trust you, man! You've ruined everything."
Franz slammed down his fist again. "So you be thinking that ze student can suppress the master, ja?"
"Franz I think you mean surpass-"
"You is ruining my speech Arty. But no! Silent Death lives on and he shall destroy you!"
The Russian tapped his nephew on the shoulder. "As fascinating as your diatribes are, we must get going. A few of your friends are out there and I intend to find them before the bears do."
As they neared the door, Stephen turned to give a parting shot.
"Do any of you know how got the information on the Hunt?"
Otto scowled. "Oh please, put us out of our misery."
The Brit paused and his smirk grew.
"Ask your girlfriend, Malpense."
Author's Note
…and that's just the first.
See y'all.
Cairdiuil Paiste
