"Pink Champagne on Ice"

Philadelphia – 1984

He came to slowly, no doubt stirred by the mellow and grassy scent of chamomile. Ikey Boggs held his head, groaning like a sobering drunk. It took him over a minute to finally roll to his side and notice the visitor sitting in his office chair, delicately steeping a cup of tea.

He didn't know what it was about chamomile, specifically, that he liked so much. Noirbarret figured that it was just because it made him calm, and that was good enough.

Because 'calm' was difficult to manage, right now.

Boggs, still sprawled on the floor beneath him, blinked.

"Wh— who are you?" He lisped his words through a swollen, fattened lip.

"Me?" Noirbarret took a sip of tea, and when he finished he exhaled through his nose, disturbing the tranquil vapors rising off the cup. "I'm a little upset, right now, truth be told."

"You're upset!" Boggs touched his bloody forehead, wincing.

"I was expecting to pick up a package." He looked around the dingy office. "And I don't see a package..."

Boggs' face became more serious; he looked the man up and down slowly.

"You are Noirbarret (nore-bah-raaaaaht)?"

Noirbarret nodded, setting the tea cup down on Boggs' desk.

Boggs pointed at the man, his finger trembling.

"Th— that boy: he's not a boy! Somethin' wrong with 'em, 'n fierce! Somethin' like the devil, hisself!"

Noirbarret smiled and un-crossed his legs. He stood up and retrieved his umbrella from beside the table.

"So, in your opinion, there's more to the little tyke than just 'snips 'n snails 'n puppy dog tails'?"

"It was...it was impossible—"

"Yet here you are—"

"The way he— the way he fought... impossible!"

Noirbarret knelt down beside the man and sighed.

"Did I not recommend restraining him?"

Boggs shook his head, his eyes looking off into the infinite distance.

"I tried... I tried giving him a drugged drink—"

"Growing boys have an overactive metabolism," Noirbarret said. "And, ironically enough, so does Penance Cameron."

"Zip-tied him, hand and foot—"

"Might as well have cemented his wrists in papier-mâché..."

Norbarret got to his feet as Boggs stared down at the cement floor of his office.

"H— he didn't... he didn't break free right away. Not until all that rukus with Whippoorwill (weep-a-weeeeel)."

"What?"

"Whip," Boggs shook his head, teeth grit together. "Little feisty bitch c—"

"Back up," Noirbarret circled one finger through the air. "Who?"

"Girl that brought him in for me. Little bitch betrayed me; tried to free him. I dished out some 'discipline' to her, and—"

"Penance didn't like that, did he?" Noirbarret nodded. "I see. Describe this girl."

Boggs did, down to her French braid and freckled face. As he spoke Noirbarret's face went from surprise, to anger, then finally to a sinister smile. He chuckled, shaking his head at the absurdity.

"Girl's got a bigger pair than I thought," he whispered.

"What?" Boggs asked.

"I'm going to need your help in making all this right, again," Noirbarret explained, absently running a finger along his umbrella's sheath. "And I think you owe me that much."

Boggs' body heaved as he laughed, his breaths ragged.

"Not gonna happen," he sneered. "Li'l demon brat can go fuck himself. He's a monster! And I aim to have as much distance between me and him as possible—"

"I can help you, with that..."

Noirbarret's wrist twisted. The handle of his umbrella clicked apart with a stern snap, dislodging from the outer sheath. A small handle extended to either side along the base, forming a rudimentary hilt, and as the sheath of the umbrella fell away he was left with the sparkling white blade of a narrow, lethally-sharp rapier.

The umbrella sheath hit the ground.

Just about the same time as Ikey Boggs' head, in fact.

Noirbarret casually wiped his blade clean, drawing a bored breath. He re-sheathed the weapon inside his umbrella, then pushed his foot up against Boggs' now-liberated head, making the horrified man's face 'stare' up at him.

"And, for your information, my friend, Penance is not a monster."

He lazily sauntered over to Boggs' desk and sat down, grabbing the telephone. He dialed and leaned back in the chair, casually checking his shirt and sleeves for any lingering blood drops.

"Hello? Pierce? Yeah: Noirbarret, here. Listen: remember when I warned you that the 'Headsman' was going to strike again here in Philly? Yeah, well, I know how much you hate to hear me say 'I told you so', but..."

X

X

X

Penance stared down at the tacky square of carpet visible between his crossed legs, his seawater eyes ineffable.

"I figure that's about it," he muttered. "The worst thing I ever did in my life. There might be something worse, but..." the boy swallowed a lump in his throat and shook his head. "But if there is, it doesn't really come to mind."

The pair sat in their little nook between arcade machines, the surrounding noise of squealing children now long-gone. Only the chaotic blips of the machines surrounded them, and for the moment they were as distant as the moon.

Whip only stared back at him, knees curled up against her chest as she leaned against one of the machines. She didn't speak right away.

What was there to say, really?

"Hey, guys," one of the teen wage-slaves pointed at them with his broom as he walked by. "Gotta clear outta here; we're closing up, soon—"

"'Soon' ain't 'now'!" Whip glared at the man, baring her teeth. "We'll be gone in a minute."

The employee shot her a dirty look, but he kept walking.

Whip turned her attention to Penance, her voice much quieter.

"What happened to Struana, and her mother?"

Penance shrugged.

"The obvious, I'd assume."

"You don't know, though?"

He shook his head.

"After all that I left Scotland and I didn't come back for... well, for a long time. I looked for their graves when I did, but I couldn't find any. Of course that'd make perfect sense if... well, you know..."

Whip held her legs tighter.

"And what about that 'Nicnevin' woman? What became of her?"

Penance shook his head and looked away.

"Never heard anything more from her. Not over the centuries, at least. It doesn't matter: she has to be dead, by now. She couldn't hope to keep her little pagan cult worshiping her forever— they had to eventually figure out that she couldn't give them what they wanted— and she's no match against other Immortals in the Game without the muscle to protect her."

Penance got to his feet and dusted a few crumbs from the carpet off his shorts. He moved for the restaurant exit, Whip following on his heels.

"Listen, Pen," she said, "that Uallas guy said it himself: if was either you, or him, right? You didn't have a choice about it: killing him wasn't wrong—"

"If I killed him to save myself, you mean?" The boy looked back at her.

Whip nodded.

They left the restaurant and stood outside on the sidewalk for a moment, Penance with his back to the girl. When he turned around his eyes were cold, narrow slits.

"But I didn't kill Uallas to save myself," he whispered. "That's not why I did it."

"Why, then?" Whip asked.

Penance looked out across the Olney neighborhood; night was fast approaching, and the sun already setting, leaving a dirty amber streak in the twilight sky.

"Uallas hurt me, doing what he did, and so I hurt him back. That's why I took his head." He looked back at Whip. "So, you see, self-defense doesn't really come into the equation, does it?"

Whip didn't appear to have an answer for this, not that Penance expected her to have one. He drew a breath and looked back out across the neighborhood.

"I've been a killer for a long time, you know, and after a while it's not so bad. Doesn't really bother me at all, to tell the truth. Mmm-mmm." He shook his head emphatically. "But what I did to Uallas? That's worse than just being a 'killer'; it's being a different kind of killer..."

Whip stepped in front of the boy and turned his chin up to face her with two fingers; she looked him in the eyes.

"You don't look like a stone-cold murderer to me, Pen."

"Looks can be deceiving," Penance pulled away from her. "After all, I 'look' like a 12-year-old boy, don't I?"

"That's 'cause you are a 12-year-old boy." Whip smiled and turned her attention to the street before them. "Just a very 'special' breed of boy." She motioned to the street. "Where to, now?"

"Wherever you want," Penance shrugged. "We can't keep palling around together, Whip; I'm basically on the FBI's 10 most wanted list, right now—"

"—as a witness. And as a matter of fact, kid, yes: we can keep palling around, together. Thanks to you I'm homeless, now—"

Penance cocked his brow. Whip waved a hand in the air.

"Homeless-er. I can't go back to my own neighborhood now, after that mess with Ikey, and that means my deluxe apartment in the sky is off-limits, too. Seems I gotta find me a better place to crash, and it also seems that you're handy to have around, in a pinch. Mean streets can be kinda rough for a girl, after all—"

"I'm not your bodyguard, Whip—"

"Escort, then. Whatever." Whip pointed at the boy. "And, if you don't remember, I've lived in this city my whole life, and having me on your side wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, if you're looking to make it outta here under the radar."

Penance sneered, looking away from the girl.

"I am familiar with the city," he protested.

Now it was Whip's turn to cock her brow, making that constellation of freckles dance. Penance looked down at the ground.

"I mean, I was."

"When you say 'was'..."

"I think the last time I was in Philly all the newspapers were talking about the Mexican victory in Texas, down at the mission in San Antonio; that was really big news at the time."

Whip blinked, and then her face twisted with a terribly mischievous smile.

"So, wait: you saw those newspapers? You can recall that?"

Penance nodded.

"Then," her comically-large smile widened, "would you say that you 'remember the—"

"Don't." Penance held up a hand. He sighed. "I really should never have come up here from Baltimore; I always have bad luck when I'm in Philly."

"Do tell?"

He shrugged.

"Well, that last time I was here I kinda accidentally broke the Liberty Bell, so..."

Whip's smile turned into a frown.

"See, I can't tell if you're makin' a fib, or not."

A heavy-set man passed by the pair and got into a nearby truck in the parking lot, leaving the door open so he could hock a huge wad of chewing tobacco onto the pavement. When he finished he pulled out a radio from under the dashboard and spoke into it while wiping his mouth:

"Dispatch? Just finished the Olney route. Gonna wrap-up the day with those Bristol deliveries, then head for home."

Whip smiled and looked over at Penance.

"You've got about thirty seconds to decide, Pen, 'cause if you're willin' to 'pal around' with me a little longer, well, it'll start payin' dividends right about now."

Penance sighed and stared at his shoes. This was not, he knew, a good idea, and he should say 'no' immediately. He didn't need to check with Galabeg to get that opinion. Nope: he damn-well knew exactly what he needed to do.

But instead he nodded.

Whip smirked, taking the boy by the hand. She led him to the delivery truck and crept into the open back, hurdling herself silently and gracefully over the tailgate. Penance was far less graceful, but just about as stealthy, and a few minutes later the truck jolted into gear and left the parking lot, awkwardly lurching into the city streets.

X

X

X

The diesel engine churned with a hypnotic rhythm as the truck wobbled like a pendulum. Penance stared out the back, watching the streetlights come on as the last rays of the sun faded. He felt like a baby rocked asleep in a cradle, and after twenty minutes he was lost in a tranquil doze.

Naturally that was about the time the truck took a hard turn and hit the brakes.

It stopped with a rusty squeal and the creak of the parking brake sounded up front. Penance was still in his half-daze but Whip took the lead for him, herding him down the tailgate and to the ground just before the driver reached the back of the truck. He stopped upon seeing them and stared at the odd couple, brow furrowed.

"What?" Whip put her hands on her hips. "You got a problem, buddy?"

His eyes moved between her— a 16-year-old black girl— and Penance— a 12-year-old white boy who could easily pass for 10— and the man clucked his tongue, shaking his head.

"Don't know, don't wanna know, don't got the time to care," he muttered, shooing the pair away from his truck.

They crossed the street and Penance took in their new surroundings. It was greener here, with tall, leafy trees spanning the sidewalk before a modest one-lane street. The buildings spanning the street were mostly colonial houses and they were spaced by respectful distances, not choked together like the row-houses in downtown Baltimore where he lived with Martha, or Whip's neighborhood in the heart of Philly, or even the buildings in Olney.

Penance wrinkled his nose, sniffing at the air. A bittersweet breeze caught his attention, thick with must and mold.

"I smell open water," he said, looking at Whip. "Where are we?"

"That'd be the Delaware," Whip motioned to the other side of the street, beyond the houses. It was too dark for Penance to see, but a large gap in the city lights yawned beyond those houses like a stretch of black grease on a canvas.

"We're in Bristol," she explained, "Northeast of Philly proper, as the Delaware flows. Quiet little place, mostly full of quiet li'l houses and people minding their own quiet little business. Best hope so, at least."

The boy looked around, his face skeptical.

"Not so easy to 'disappear' around here, though. We can't just take a nap on a park bench, can we?"

"Of course not," Whip said. "Cops would be on you in no time, flat. But at least the cops around here aren't as likely to be looking for you, are they?"

Penance considered her logic, his face still skeptical.

"Just c'mon," again she gripped his hand and led him down the street.

They walked for about ten minutes with no incident, save for a passing police cruiser they had to hide from. The truck driver may not have wanted to question the curious-looking pair, but a bored cop just might be a little too suspicious for his own good, so they ducked into some bushes to wait for the cruiser to pass.

Soon after this they reached a four-story house situated directly beside the Delaware. It was an odd place: a Queen-Anne style home with two green wraparound porches on its lower levels and cherry red upper levels graced with small windows beneath a series of odd slopes in the roof. A couple large bay windows jutted from the waterside part of the house, gazing out across the Delaware like bulging eyes.

Whip led Penance onto the lower porch level, skulking to the rear of the house.

"What is this place?" Penance whispered.

"Home used to be owned by some bigshot businessman, way back in the day. He ran a mill here, or some such thing. Nowadays, though, it's some kind of museum. Supposed to show people how the wealthy folk lived back in olden days."

"'Olden days'," Penance scoffed. "Right..."

As they crept toward the back of the house Penance noticed construction equipment and a chain-length fence around part of the structure; boards covered some bare spots in the house's exterior wall.

"They're renovating part of the place," Whip cocked her head at the equipment as she scaled the fence, "and you can bet your bottom dollar they ain't gonna be back again until Monday."

"What's with all the construction in this city, anyway?" Penance grunted as he struggled over the fence. "Don't you have any buildings that aren't tear-downs, or in need of repair?"

"Makes things more convenient, though, doesn't it? Good place to hole up, at least for the night."

Penance dismounted from the fence and shrugged; he motioned to the place with his head.

"Think we can get in?"

AS it turns out they could. Barely.

They found a gap in the boards along the outside of the wall, but it was ungodly narrow. Whip and Penance were both rail-thin, but not even Whip could manage to wriggle through the space due to certain anatomical differences between herself and the boy. The blush on Penance's face when she complained about the problem must've been priceless.

It certainly amused Whip, at least.

Penance eventually managed to navigate the space and make his way into the home; he crept through darkened rooms, found the rear door and unlocked it for Whip. Once they were safely inside Whip wrinkled her nose, scoffing.

"Smells like a hospital ward in here," she said. "All 'medicine-y' and the like."

Penance wandered into the next room of the house: it was a dining room, well appointed, with formal place settings, including china plates and exquisitely-polished silverware.

"Cleaning products," the boy said. "Helps in preserving everything." He looked back at Whip. "How'd you know about this place, anyway?"

"Newspaper," the girl said.

Penance cocked his brow, smirking. Whip gave him a small punch in the arm.

"What? I do read, y'know."

"Now, when you say 'read'—"

The girl sighed.

"Well, yeah, the comics page, mostly. But the comics page is in the 'Arts 'n Life' section of the paper, and I remember seein' a notice about all the repairs being done, here." She motioned all around the room. "Now, I couldn't tell you anything 'bout the place itself, but—"

"Late 1800s," Penance motioned to the table. "Ifall of this stuff is original to the house." The boy motioned to one of the place settings. "That filigree on the silverware was really popular near the turn of the century." The boy squinted at the row of forks, spoons and knives flanking the plate in front of him and shook his head. "Whoever set this up did it wrong, though; it's all supposed to go inward, based on the meal's courses..."

He rearranged the silverware, and when Whip gave him a strange look he held up one tiny fork as an example.

"See: this little guy was on the outside, so it's supposed to be used first. But it's a fish fork, not a salad fork. And the salad course always comes first." Penance held up another fork which, to the untrained eye, might have been a dead-ringer for the one in his other hand. "So it has to go after this salad fork, but before the dinner fork."

Whip blinked.

"Uh, when'd you learn all about fancy forks? I thought your expertise was in knives..."

Penance smiled as he rearranged the place setting.

"I'm not always a street urchin, Whip. I mean, yeah, usually I am. But not always. I've slept in everything from caves to castles. Matter of fact, for a really long time I once lived in Achnacarry Castle, right off the waters of Arkaig. Heck, I was even the Lochiel for a time. Well, technically, at least."

"Are you speaking English, right now, or just making up words as you go? What's all that supposed to mean, anyway?"

Penance stared down at the silverware, watching it shine with cold brilliance in the pale moonlight. He shook his head.

"It doesn't mean anything," he whispered. "It was just another life."

The boy pulled out a dining chair and sat in it, resting his head against the hard back.

"Do you really think we can sleep here, tonight?" He asked.

"Not in the, uh, 'exhibits', maybe. But I'm guessing the attic's cozy. I'm hoping, at least..."

Whip walked over to a grand mahogany staircase and started tromping up the steps. Penance merely stared down at the plate in front of him. The girl looked back at him, and in the wan moonlight Penance could barely make out her smirk.

"It must be nice, though," she said, "reliving the old times, when you were a 'high-roller', and all that. You know, the whole 'champagne wishes 'n caviar dreams' thing?"

Penance shook his head.

"It always came with too high a cost," he said. "Lack of freedom, fear of exposure, you know. Being homeless is easier. A lot easier." He toyed with one of the spoons. "It's usually easier, anyway..." He looked up at her. "And, besides: caviar is disgusting."

Whip's smile widened. She wordlessly resumed her journey up the stairs. Penance stopped her.

"You never told me what the worst thing you ever did in your life was, did you, Whip?" He asked.

The girl stopped, not bothering to look back down at him.

"I guess I didn't," she mumbled.

When she didn't say anything else Penance shrugged, looking back down at the table.

"So why are you really coming with me, anyway?" Penance asked. "I deserve to know that much, don't I?"

She looked down at the boy and drew a slow breath.

"'Cause I don't think you should be alone, right now."

"Why not?"

Whip hesitated before answering.

"Because I think you're suicidal, kid."

Penance scoffed.

"Yeah, right. Even if I was, it's kinda hard to cut my own head off—"

"But it's easy to make bad decisions, right?"

Penance was about to rebut this, but suddenly he lost his voice. When he didn't answer Whip continued.

"I think, well, I dunno. Maybe a part of you's been trying to die for a while, now, whether you even know it or not—"

"Yeah, what part?" Penance growled.

"I said that I dunno." Whip shrugged. "Maybe it's the part of you that's tired of listening to your stuffed fox's advice?"

Again Penance didn't answer; Whip merely tromped up the stairs without another word, leaving the boy alone in the dark parlor. He resisted the nagging urge to reach into his backpack and pull Galabeg out for a little 'chat'. His pearl-white teeth ground together, highlighted by the light of the moon.

He knew what Galabeg would say, anyway: he should ditch Whip altogether, maybe start hiking up the street and find his way up north.

It was really important to go north, after all, wasn't it?

Penance relaxed his teeth and drew a breath. He tilted his head and thought about that for a moment: why was 'north' so important, exactly? It was important, and he knew it was important, but why?

He blinked, and then he shook his head.

He didn't know; these days he didn't know the reason why he did anything he did half the time. He didn't trust himself, that's for sure, at least not directly.

He did trust Galabeg, for what it's worth.

Mostly.

He slumped in the chair, eyes distant and dreamy, and he thought about Whip. Did he trust her?

Penance shook his head; he couldn't answer that question. Not directly, anyway. He did know one thing, at the very least.

Penance slowly got up, taking his backpack in hand, and he gently pushed the dining chair back into place. He sauntered over to the back door of the house and put his hand on the knob, staring down at it for a long time. With a sigh he locked the door and then shuffled off for those mahogany stairs.

He didn't know if he trusted Whip or not, but right now he trusted her far more than he trusted himself.