The walk from the basement to the spare room was blur. Andreas shuffled up the stairs behind him, blank and dazed, and when they next registered their surroundings they were sitting on the edge of a bed in a room two floors up. That his own children could be involved in something so heinous...He tucked his face into his hands. Where had he gone wrong? He was sure he had raised them the right way. He was sure he had taught them right from wrong. He was sure-
He raised his head from his hands, cut off at the sudden weight on his foot. Andreas had sunk to the ground, legs tucked underneath him, his head resting on Andersen's shoe. The defeat in his eyes left them glazed and dull.
Where did we go wrong? Andreas echoed. I thought we had taught them about respecting dæmons.
We had. Andersen distinctly remembered the lesson he had given Heinkel, Yumie, and Enrico. It was one of the first and the same lesson he gave all the children: you dæmon was a part of you, it was you, and you were never to violate another's soul for any reason, even if it meant that Dust would collect on them once the dæmon settled. That, he said, was what they had Baptism for, and what they had Confession for. There was no reason to violate another's soul.
Had they not listened that day? Had they forgotten? Or have they chosen to ignore everything he'd taught them?
Andersen could see no other reason for his children to breach that precious boundary he had made sure to teach them not to cross. Unless, of course, there was something go on that was forcing them to cross it. If that was the case, they should have gone to Andersen immediately. They should have told him before it led to missing dæmons and one of his orphanage children dead.
Why wouldn't they have come to me, Andreas? He had always made it clear that they could come to him about the pressure building behind his eyes and the lump in his throat, Andersen found it easier to communicate mentally.
I don't know. Andreas whined. There has to be something going on they couldn't tell us about.
Wouldn't or couldn't?
I suppose that depends. If they were sworn to secrecy or if they were deliberately keeping us out of the loop. Andreas raised his head with a pale spark of life in his eyes. If they-
Stop, Andy. Andersen could feel a headache coming on as the gears in Andreas' mind worked at a rapid pace. He knew where Andreas was going and he didn't like it. But he couldn't block out the rest of the thought even if he tried: If they wanted us out of the way.
And Andersen discovered he couldn't agree more. There was no other reason for the attacks on the orphanage.
And Maxwell had let him believe Hellsing was behind it all.
Oh, yes, Maxwell had wanted them out of the way. But for what?
Andersen groaned. What he needed now, though he was certain he wouldn't get, was sleep. Sleep and time. And time was something none of them had much of.
~O~
Walter and Bentley lingered outside the door a moment longer than they were certain they should have. But it was unnerving—understandable but unnerving—to see Andersen in such a state of distress. It seemed in all their previous interactions that there was nothing that could bother the man, nothing that could damped his fighting spirit.
And yet, here they were.
Let's go. Bentley turned away first, feeling the need to give Andersen some space and privacy as he mourned and contemplated. He'll come around when he's ready.
"Yes," Walter said in a low voice. "I suppose you're right."
His dæmon snorted and shook his head. Walter knew without a word passing between them that Bentley meant to use this as a jab at Walter for his decisions, but knew better at a time like this. Integra was missing, at risk of being severed, and Iscariot was on its way to internal dissent. This was not the time to degrade their relationship further.
They went down the stairs in silence and returned to the basement, where Alucard still sat with the same even expression and Eripmav lay coiled at his feet.
"Well?"
"Distraught," Walter answered. He hadn't expected much more or less and felt a particular twinge at the irony of the situation.
But only when Integra is in danger, Bentley grumbled, less with frustration and more with worry.
"He'll need time," Walter said, resting his hand on Bentley's shoulder. "This is quite the shock."
Alucard grunted. "He'll have to recover quickly. Time isn't something we have an abundance of."
"Of course." The wires twitched inside his gloves. If Walter were still as half as reckless as he had been in his youth, he would storm Iscariot himself, cut them all down ten by ten to rescue Integra. But he was older, wiser, more experienced, and he knew better than to do such a thing. They needed a plan, not rage-induced bloodshed.
"We'll reconvene tomorrow if Andersen feels well enough," Walter said.
Alucard merely grunted a second time; it was enough of an agreement for Walter.
He and Bentley big Alucard a temporary farewell and went on their way.
~O~
The first day, as Walter expected, yielded no results. Father Andersen kept to his room, never uttering a word to Walter when the butler brought up the meal trays. Walter left him alone, and for that, Andersen was thankful. He still had much to think about.
Think and pray, and with the exception of a few poor hours of sleep, that was all he had done. He had to think about how he would handle this when he returned to Iscariot. He prayed that God would grant him the ability to handle it with patience instead of bayonets. He knew he didn't have enough patience on his own to face Maxwell.
They wanted us out of the way. Andersen only knew as much as he was capable of putting together. They wanted Andersen out of the way to avoid suspicion, avoid questions, avoid investigation, all to get to Integra Hellsing and let her take the blame at the same time. The answer at the center of it all it all—the why—continued to remain a mystery.
Parts of history were repeating itself, the missing children, the severings, the lost dæmons. This time, he knew for a fact the General Oblation Board had no hand in it. They, it seemed, had learned their lesson. Iscariot had not. And they needed to—as it was clear they hadn't when Andersen first taught them about dæmons.
He was torn between the urge to throw bayonets through the halls of Iscariot to avenge his lost children and the urge to let them face their punishment at a later date.
Avenging our children by harming our children? Andreas asked, voice hoarse. Are you really going to punish them or are you going to let our Father handle them?
"I don't know," Andersen said with a sigh. "I will do whatever He wills."
Andreas gave a sigh of his own. It may not have been the answer either of them had wanted to settle on, but it was the answer they came to. Andersen couldn't bring himself to harm his children, however wrong they may have been. He would talk to them, sooner or later.
And, in the case of Maxwell, the one child he wanted to avoid until this mess was sorted, it would be sooner. "I'll have to call him," Andersen said. "He'll want an update." He dreaded that, having to call the man who had taken Rafael from him.
Yes, Andreas said, but not today. Let us have this day to ourselves. Tomorrow, we will call.
~O~
And so, on the morning of the second day, Andersen decided to make the call. It was to be a short call, for his sake and Maxwell's, nothing more than a quick update to inform Maxwell of his whereabouts and his progress. It was a call he dreaded making, now knowing what he did.
And it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from berating Maxwell when the bishop at last answered the phone. "Hello?
"Maxwell." Rage spilled into Andersen's voice. There was a pause on the other end.
"Ah, Father Andersen." Maxwell sounded no less jubilant than any other day, and it only served to enrage Andersen further. The man had not a care in the world for the damage he had done, for the children he had killed, for letting Hellsing take the blame for a crime they had never committed, a crime they were now to be the victims of.
Thou shalt not bear false witness.
Andreas growled.
"I've not heard from you in two days," the bishop said. "I take it you've found what you were looking for?"
Andersen gripped the phone tighter. The pale face of Raphael and empty bed of Bernardo flashed through his mind. Raw fury turned his vision red. "Oh yes, sir," he said, nearly spitting the last word in spite. "I've found exactly what I was looking for."
~O~
At last, on the third day, Andersen emerged from his room. He was decidedly drained and feeling far more haggard than he ever remembered; Andreas went beside him in a slow shuffle, not quite bright but not quite dull. His eyes remained shadowed.
They found Walter in the lobby, shutting the door on a guard who was perhaps providing an update on the security of the estate. To his knowledge, they had not been told the nature of Integra's absence, only that she was, and it was nothing they needed to worry about that the present time. The parallel of the situation was not lost on Andersen; Hellsing was hiding from its own people the way Iscariot was, though with far different reasons.
It occurred to Andersen, for the first time in his interactions with Hellsing, that perhaps the organization wasn't as deserving of the fires of hell as he initially thought. It was a thought that Andreas tilted his head and lifted an ear at.
I'm finding I can't argue that, the wolfhound said. I hadn't expected to find so much heart in an organization considered our adversary.
Aye, Andersen agreed. What happened this day and the next would forever alter the way the two groups thought of each other. Somethings would remain as they were. Others would not. He sighed.
As he went down the stairs to meet Walter, Bentley shouldered his counterpart's leg in warning. Andreas's ear twitched. Something's wrong with them, Alexander. Something about them makes my fur crawl when I get near the foxhound. He snorted, I think they've gone bond-sour.
Andersen's step faltered. Bond-sour?
Aye. And I've never seen a pair so.
Bond-sour. A term Andersen rarely heard. But now, as he looked at the way Walter and Bentley stood near each other, the foxhound a few inches further than dæmons normally stood to their counterpart, he could see it. A black thread between them, growing thicker by the day, the longer they went without reparation.
Andreas huffed; Bentley blinked slowly. Yes, the foxhound was well aware of his bond with Walter. It was difficult for a dæmon to not be aware of it.
"Father Andersen."
"Walter." He rolled his shoulders. "I apologize for my reclusiveness these last days. There was…much I needed to think about."
"No need to apologize," Walter said. "These have been trying times for all of us."
"Yes," Andersen agreed. One dead, one missing. At his side, Andreas huffed, Trying times, indeed.
Walter motioned to the basement. "Our time is running short. Shall we?"
Without a word, Andersen let the butler lead the way to the basement yet again. It wasn't with anger toward Hellsing this time, but rather towards his own people, the reverse of the day before.
And the next time you enter the basement, I'm sure you'll be angry at Hellsing again, Andreas said.
I pray there won't be a next time.
Once again, at the end of the stairway, seemingly forever seated on his blood-soaked throne, was Alucard, smirking and with his cobra dæmon curled lightly at his feet. "Ah, I see you've finally joined us, Father Andersen."
The handle of a bayonet brushed the palm of Andersen's hand. Andreas growled; Eripmav struck Alucard's shoe with a warning bite. We aren't in the mood for this. Alucard said nothing, and a heavy silence persisted.
Bentley fidgeted and growled to Walter, prompting the butler to say something, anything, lest they stand there for hours and let their time run out.
"We know Iscariot has Integra," Walter said; Andersen flinched involuntarily. "We need to find her and get her out." And there he stopped suddenly, unable to bring himself to verbalize the consequences of them not finding Integra in time. Bentley, evidently poor at keeping his counterpart's emotions secret, clenched his jaw and stared down at the floor.
"I suggest we decide 'who' before 'how,'" Alucard said. "Breaking into Iscariot is far from child's play. Shall I volunteer Father Andersen?"
No. Andreas lifted his head. Andersen and I have talked about many things. In light of those things, I believe it would be best for us to remain behind. Encountering Maxwell now would have…less than desirable results. To Andersen, Andreas said, You know this is the best option. Your head isn't entirely on your shoulders, and rightfully so.
Yes, Andersen said, but I don't like the thought of an enemy organization infiltrating our own, even now.
Understandable. Though I doubt they'll be so quick to visit Iscariot.
Bentley nodded, confirming Andreas's decision, then stepped forward and said, We, too, have decided to—
And what of us? Eripmav fanned her hood, hissing. Do you really expect us to go strolling into the holiest city on earth with no issue? Have you forgotten who we are? We'll burn before we even reach Integra!
The canine dæmons bristled. Andreas rolled his eyes. Of course! What were they thinking, sending the vampire into the Vatican?
"A vampire storming the Vatican," Andersen muttered. "I should hand in my swords and hang up my cross if I allow such a thing."
Then what other option is there? Bentley asked. Do you expect us to wait until they send them back to us in halves?
Andreas sighed. Alexander, there is one way—the catacombs.
Andersen ground his teeth. I don't much like that.
It's the only way.
Now it was Andersen who sighed. "No, of course not." He paused, then said, "There is an underground route to Iscariot. A series of catacombs, leading into the Vatican from Rome. They will take you into Iscariot headquarters."
Alucard's eyebrow twitched. "And the barrier?" he asked. "How far does it extend?"
"Surface level," Andersen said. Every word that came out of his mouth, revealing Iscariot and the Vatican's secret entrance pulled at his gut. "The catacombs haven't been used in decades; they've long since been sealed. You'll be met with no resistance inside."
"Excellent." The trademark, tell-tale grin that Andersen hated so spread across Alucard's face. He set his glasses on the table, red eyes ablaze, then stood and pulled the Casull from his coat.
Andersen stopped Alucard before the vampire could leave. "Leave my people to me."
The grin on Alucard's face faded. "Then you best hope they don't stop me from retrieving Integra."
Andersen stiffened, and Andreas growled, but ultimately they let Alucard pass. Eripmav went after him, slithering up onto his shoulders, and the vampire and his dæmon disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.
~O~
Getting into the catacombs was as easy as Andersen had said. This fact mildly surprised Alucard, who had still expected the priest to lie to them to keep them away.
I don't believe that's in their vows, Eripmav mused.
Alucard raised an eyebrow. "Even for Iscariot?"
Yes. Nor would I expect him to lie to us at a time like this. We've all lost something.
Alucard grunted in agreement. As it stood, little shocked or unnerved him. He had been alive for so long, seen so many horrors and atrocities, that there was nothing more the world could place before him that would move him in any direction.
But that genuine distress—tired and earth-shattering—in Andersen's eyes did just that. This was a man who was his feared adversary, a worthy opponent, and he was so blindsided by his organization's heinous activities. There was more to it than simply that—he was surprised that his people had taken from him and broken what he loved. Alucard couldn't deny that Andersen's despair pulled at something somewhere within him.
We'll know what that feels like if we don't hurry. Eripmav fanned her hood in worry; Alucard quickened his pace.
"You underestimate me," he said.
I overestimate Iscariot, she countered. How are we to know Maxwell hasn't grown impatient and done it already?
"We don't." And that worried him.
Eripmav, ever the more emotional of the two, squirmed on his shoulders. Faster, you fool. Time is short!
And his did move faster, all while trying to catch a trace of Integra's thoughts while Eripmav did the same with Illiad's until she directed him, That way. He turned one corner, than another and another, all while feeling the sharp buzz of the religious barrier above him. Eripmav shrank into his coat collar with a hiss.
They carried on, corner after corner, dark hallway after dark hallway, until at last two things happened: Integra and Illiad's thought trails became more apparent, and a doorway at the end of the hall greeted them.
Iscariot, Eripmav confirmed.
Alucard phased through the door and emerged in yet another hallway, this one with stone brick walls instead of bones, and lined with a series of torches and small cells. Eripmav slithered down from his shoulders and surveyed the area with a wave of her body.
There—an opened door. Alucard followed her an as she slithered toward it. He stopped in the doorway while Eripmav went in to investigate, tongue flicking over every surface she went over. She climbed up onto the wooden plank bench and huffed immediately after scenting.
Oh yes, they were here, she confirmed. I can smell Integra's cigar smoke in the wood.
Alucard grunted. How very like his master to smoke even in the face of certain doom. Now, however, Integra and Illiad were no longer here, but somewhere above them, becoming well-acquainted with that certain doom. He frowned.
"Andersen hadn't given us very clear instructions had he?"
No. Eripmav stood up, fanning her hood. I suspect he knows nothing of Iscariot's severing mechanisms, other than their responsibility. We're really in the dark, aren't we? She returned to Alucard's shoulders as he began to move off toward a door at the other end of the hall.
"Perhaps not," he said. "I have a feeling Iscariot has long been harboring a severing mechanism within its walls. What better place to hide a machine that should have died with Bolvangar and Coulter all those years ago?"
In a rare moment that Alucard felt anything from Eripmav, her excitement rushed through him. Her eyes flashed, teeth in full view. How fitting! she crowed. And then with a hiss and another flash of her eyes, she said, And what irony that an English woman sponsored its creation?
And now that it would be an Englishwoman was going to suffer because of it.
"What irony indeed," Alucard said. In spite of Andersen's demand, he brandished the Casull. Now that he was here, no one was going to stop him from retrieving Integra. And he positively grinned knowing that not even the holy barrier was going to keep him out. "What a surprise Iscariot will get." He cocked the gun, and they set off.
Eripmav hissed as they came to the second floor, No, not here. I can't hear Illiad. Can you hear Integra?
Alucard listened, really listened, and while he could vaguely sense Integra, he couldn't hear her. "No."
His dæmon spat. This was worse than the ambush. This time, there was a complete and utter absence of Integra's voice, not even a faint whisper. But, as they skipped the exploring the second floor and went to the third, there was something else, coming in waves.
Fear.
Pure, unadulterated fear.
Alucard! Eripmav launched herself from his shoulder and bolted down the hall as only a snake could. He didn't hesitate to follow her.
Here!
He could hear the last remnants of Integra's voice on the other side of the door, calling her dæmon's name. Alucard had never felt such cold fear of his own before.
With one shot he blew the door opened. The paladins on the other side gasped collectively and abandoned their stations, reaching for their weapons. In a brief moment of clarity, when time paused and the scene before Alucard became clear: Integra and Illiad, on the brink of unconsciousness in the guillotine; Maxwell, ordering the paladins to fire. Alucard, with one easy move, through them all against the walls. Whether they survived or not was not an issue at the forefront of his mind. The second shot he fired was not meant for Maxwell, however much he wanted, but for the Silver Guillotine.
Glass and metal poured onto the floor, sparks flew into the air, smoke poured from the guillotine and the control panels. Alucard returned the Casull to his coat and went into the wreckage of the guillotine. As the smoke cleared, he found Illiad clutched against Integra's chest; Integra herself was pale.
Alucard couldn't suppress a shiver. This call was too close. He had come too close to losing his master, Hellsing to losing its leader, Illiad to losing her counterpart, Integra to losing her dæmon. All far, far too close. He took the pair in his arms and left the room.
WHAT'S GOOD LADS GUESS WHO'S UPDATING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST THREE YEARS
I'm sorry it took this long to get this chapter out but here it is, after such a long time.
AND, just to make it up to you, THERE WILL BE ANOTHER CHAPTER COMING IMMEDIATELY AFTER THIS.
TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE! Happy holidays!