XXIV. In the end, I'll say: what is private is political (3)

V. Jean D'Aubigné

I thought the Slovenian magicians wouldn't last more than three days. Though, in fact, they had been given only a few days left of existence for years. What was the First Nome doing? I wondered. I admit that I did not understand much of these magicians' quarrels. They were weird guys. Already, at the colony, I had sworn never to deal with them. (You should never swear, it doesn't work!)

The thing is, they were everywhere around the world. It was impossible to walk two feet without running into them. Their Nomes meshed the whole earth. Since Olympus and Rome's departure, faced with the global disinterest of the Nordics, and the political break-up of the Celts and Slavs, they were the only structured authority present on the whole of European territory.

The other problem was that they were hopelessly opaque. Celts also had the cult of secrecy, in particular with regard to their magic or their religion, but for the rest, it was possible to discuss with them. And then they were speaking on their own behalf. Admittedly, they were not centralized and the agreements which one made with them generally committed only the person who took the oath, but at least they did engage.

Magicians would settle everything in intern, and then some of them would come out as the Per Ankh's only face to impose mind-boggling conditions. Their specialty was observation. They were watching over the land. Anita had tried to reassure me: though they saw everything, they hardly ever acted, but the idea of their eyes attached to each of my steps still made me shiver.

Anyway, the Slovenian magicians were in great shape: they had just defended their Nome against a mass attack from the Austrians. They had even won a new man, a deserter from Vienna who had stayed to lend them a hand. The Slovenian Nome, the only army in the world that goes to war with 7 men and returns with 8.

Moreover, I really knew only one magician, and he was quite an odd guy as well. Even as a child, Michel was rather contradictory. One day taciturn and silent, the other extroverted and excited. He had an amazing memory, the habit of hiding in his books, a way of always sitting in a corner and watching the surroundings with a dark eye. I knew his reputation in the Parisian nightlife scene, and I knew from my own experience, that he could be graceful and charming when he wanted to. It depended on days, even hours. He was prone to rapid mood swings.

Everyone had a different version of him: for some, he was an ambitious young climber and a charmer, for others, just a peaceful man who collected paintings and tended to his flowers, for some he was an intellectual, and an aesthete, enamoured with literature and humanities, for others still, he was a party animal, with his histrionnesque and eccentric side, for the rest, someone stubborn and emotional.

For me, who had known him in the trenches, he was a dangerous guy, with an overdeveloped survival instinct and some serious anger issues. He had as many neuroses as he had facets. Sometimes calculating, sometimes impulsive. Concealed, then all of a sudden disarmingly frank. Homebody, yet passionate about languages and travel. He had a terrible temper, a kind of volcanic disposition that sometimes played tricks on him.

Well, he was someone you shouldn't mess with; who would stay quietly in his corner, but who would smash your head as soon as you started annoying him. He had done all he could to put some kind of symbolic "Do not disturb!" signs around him. He was not lonely, though. Usually, he'd retire to his ivory tower from where he'd study the surroundings and choose the people he would allow to approach him, people whom he always ended up charming and taming in no time. He seemed to live in pure chaos, but he was actually a control freak.

In short, he was a great actor, and the living proof that you could both be a nerd and have a pretty crazy social life. How did he manage to do it all at once? Well, the days had many hours, and the last thing that characterized him was his phenomenal energy. He did everything intensely, exhausted those around him constantly taking up new projects, meetings and books, in a kind of constant bulimia of life and knowledge. Lastly, sulking and pouting were for him, just like the sleep they replaced, a tender and soft bubble in which he would withdraw for a while to refuel, before setting off again. He was the same stuff his great-grandfather was made of, and the latter had died of exhaustion at age 41.

If I'm making his portrait, it is so that you understand that what follows is not entirely my fault. Michel and I were used to violence. He had killed two of my men during that cursed evening at the Baronne de Paname. They had met an ill fate, but hey, we had done much worse things during the war. Then, it was Michel, and, as I said above, you shouldn't cross him. And there was indeed a motive for self-defence.

Most of my troops dreamed of revenge, but I didn't want to alienate the House of Life. They finding out about us wasn't a part of the plan. Those damn crocodiles had been a request from my Celtic druid, Leno. I knew then that this bullshit was going to backfire. The most annoying thing was that because of the magicians' brigade intervention, Alice had escaped me. She would have been a great help to us, she was huge source of information. I suspected she was hanging around magicians, in addition to the Norsemen, but I couldn't be sure. She was good at disappearing, and there was no point waiting for her when she came out of her concerts. Heroes, sometimes gods, always accompanied her.

Anyway, we met that day in an inn in Ljubljana, a neutral territory. I had mentally prepared myself for a difficult discussion. We settled in a secluded corner, and he attacked directly by referring to the recent events in Venice. Of course, he was aware of the smallest details and knew full well who Orsini was. The famous eyes of Per Ankh. I had heaved a deep sigh:

"I don't understand how come you know about all this, but okay.

- An unstable Italy will inevitably cause a stir in my region. It is only natural that I know this." He explained very calmly. "

It instantly drove me nuts.

"It's not the why, it's the how that worries me, I replied.»

He shrugged his shoulders, "Let's leave it there. I guess you were there in person. "

I stifled a groan. At first I thought I could make an alliance with Michel, but he had changed. He had always been wary, he was now paranoid. Moreover, he treated me like I was some kind of unstable dynamite who could explode at any time.

"How do you intend to act? He asked me bluntly.

- Gods, we are friends, Michel. Once in your life, couldn't you just trust me?

- And could you start to build this trust and act in a reasonable way? He replied."

Could he react like a human being and not like a book for once? Why was it always so difficult to deal with him?

«I asked you a question. You plan to join them, right? "

I avoided answering. Instead I say to him, with a little bitterness:

"Anyway, I guess you'll just stand back and watch, as usual…"

- Who's talking about staying behind? Do you have any idea what's going on?

- The revolution, I smile. Revolt, freedom no doubt. They are on your side Michel, they are democrats and anarchists. "

He rolled his eyes like he always did before calling me an idiot.

"That's bullshit, Jean. They talk about opening books, yet they slaughter a man. They castigate the fascist regime's theatricality, yet put together a bloody show. They are pagans, not avant-garde, not innovators. They are theocrats, not democrats.

- They're the best we have. They are the best possible option. At least admit it. Admit that they are right on many points. "

He made an effort to try to calm down and think.

"Yes, he admitted with a sigh, they are quite right about one point: Rome. Its behaviour towards creatures and other peoples had to backfire at some point. All humans are good at being assholes with nature spirits, but they excel in it. And so do we, actually. "

Is he kidding me? He's completely missing the mark! I went back to shouting involuntarily:

"I am talking to you about the fight against fascism, you are talking to me about satyrs and dryads!

- You asked me a question, I'm answering you!

- Are you dumb? Doing it on purpose?

- Can't you see that they are using you! You are already an outlaw, they will attribute all their misdeeds to you.

- Who tells you that I'm not using them as well?

- You're fucking around with Celts but you don't even know them!

- Because you know them?

- Also, do you understand that you're doing business with the Bellini family? And that they don't give a shit about your stupid principles or fascists? Their only interest in the affair is to go and massacre some Sforza in Naples, to take control of the Nome. Oh, and to get money too, because they went broke!

- Of course, the only thing that interests you in your damn shack is to kill each other.

- I never said I was okay with that.

- Ah yes? You don't give a lot of disapproving signs.

- What are you accusing me of? It is you, who are planning to set the powder on fire, who are driving a whole country into shit. A civil war is not a war like any other: it's dirty. It leaves marks.

- All wars are equal Michel, except total wars.

- It's good, I'm done! Why is everyone acting like a bunch of freaks? What is your problem at all?

- Because we lived the fucking war! Because we don't want to relive one, so it's better to nip the branches in the bud.

- The war is over Jean! Stop now, stop it!

- Not for me! Not as long as one guilty party...

- Stop now with this bullshit! It happened because that's how it is. Stop projecting on your gods what only happened because of us. It is coward move, to get rid of humanity's problems by sticking them to others.

- Why don't you ever listen to me? Why is...

- Because you are spreading your bullshit all over my territory, and then we only get problems. Fuck! I have a dozen pantheons in the Balkans, if they don't calm down they'll kill each other. You have to stop hassling people!

- Let me talk for fuck's sake! "

He stopped dead. I caught my breath, then explained:

"I'm trying to tell you something, to make you understand that the risks now go beyond a civil war! We lived through a world war! What if it was just a moment's respite now? Between the wars? You know where nationalism leads, all nationalisms! If we act now, we can avoid it.

- By waging civil war we can avoid total wars? Are you kidding me, Jean? Can you even hear yourself? Are you kidding me old man? You're full of shit!

- You're a moderate, I realized. You always have been. You do not understand.

- But you're not even Italian, you psycho! This is none of your business!

- Do you think it's an Italian problem? It's a European problem, it can happen in Germany, it can happen in the United Kingdom and it will happen in France. But, of course, you don't care, because you abandoned your country!

- Call me a coward while you're at it! "

Suddenly anger exploded and my resentment came out.

"Perfectly, you dirty coward!" Even in the war you did not get wet! You should have given us a hand, with your magic and everything. We could have stopped more monsters, we could have saved more lives. But you're like the rest, all your shitty Nome out there, your fucking House. You just watched, you didn't do anything. You are no better than Olympus! "

I finish screaming. My whole body was pulsing with this fucking rage that I couldn't shake. Desjardins then spoke very slowly, with cold anger.

"I don't mind being called a murderer. I don't mind people saying that I was useless, or that I messed up, or that I was cruel. But I don't want people to say that in the war, I did nothing. Because you know it is not true. "

I stayed silent for a while, then began, more gently:

"Listen Michel, I didn't really meant to…

- No, I'm sick of hearing you talking shit. Here is what's going to happen: I don't give a fuck about Olympus and your little quarrels, and I don't yet have permission to act on Italian or Austrian territories. But, one word from my Chief Lector, and I will come and get you. So watch what you're doing. Also, if you put a single foot on my territory, I will bury you, you hear me?

- Do you think you can beat me? I hissed.

Magician versus demigod? Alright, let's see.

"You're not up to the task," I added. You are not a warrior.

- Well, there is only one way to find out, he grinned. "

And his damn smile angered me more than anything else. Alright, I'm gonna do him. A kind of remorse came to me though, so I kept screaming so it wouldn't come to blows:

"I don't want to kill you. So don't make me do it!

- If only you were able to!

- I'm twice the man you'll ever be.

- Jean D'Aubigné, son of Zeus, the bane of Olympus!

- Shut up now, shut up! Shut the fuck up!

- Someone was mean to me, so I'm going to smash people!

- You want to play that fucking queer? Alright. Some of us have been training while others were putting cocks in their asses!

- Now, it's gonna be a bloodbath! "

Then we blew up the inn.

It was the Slovenian magicians who came to physically separate us. They ordered us then to mess around on another territory. The Viennese man was with them, it was he who dragged Desjardins away from me. The other gave him a blow, called him a bloody Fritz and then left. I also got the hell out of Ljubljana, before the others in the House of Life finished me off. It was more or less the end of our relationship for quite a while.