SINS OF THE DAUGHTER, SINS OF THE SON
Chapter 7: Sparring
By Kurt1K
Siegfried had studied under many trainers in his short life. The harshest by far had been Gunther Bauer, who had terrorized entire classes of young nobles at the Magdeburg fighting school where Schtauffen had studied in his father's absence; the veteran trainer had had an eagerness to demonstrate his superiority, wounding and marking his students as a method of driving home his lessons.
As his feet were yanked out from under him for the tenth time in as many minutes Siegfried took a moment to speculate that Isabella Valentine would have had Gunther Bauer blubbering like a baby in five minutes flat. The Englishwoman seemed to wholeheartedly believe that the best way for him to regain his strength was through repeated battering and humiliation, and was taking conspicuous pleasure in delivering just that.
After almost two hours he had at least to admit that the desire for the revenge - the very real thirst to visit some of the pain upon her – made for excellent motivation.
Schtauffen hit the deck hard, breath exploding from his lungs and brilliant light flaring through his skull as his head bounced off the hard wood. For a moment he was aware only of the ringing in his head and the salt taste of blood in his mouth, the rest of the world a vague haze of light and muted sound.
One by one his other senses returned, the world fading into being in fits and starts: the warmth of the Mediterranean sun, the tang of salt water in the air and the faint cries of gulls far overhead; the creak of the schooner's rigging, the smooth plane of her deck beneath him and the slap of water against her hull all startlingly clear. And clearer than them all, the click, click of booted footsteps as the devil herself paced lazily around him.
He remained still a moment longer, taking the opportunity to regain every iota of strength he could wring from the moment. It was a moment too long.
The footsteps swung in close and a pointed boot flipped him roughly onto his back.
"Up."
The German gritted his teeth as he complied, determined not to give the woman the satisfaction of knowing she was getting to him. Or - at least - the satisfaction of seeing that she was getting to him.
One of the crewmen who had gathered to watch the spectacle handed him his weapon with a grin at least as amused as it was sympathetic. Schtauffen gave him an irritated scowl - which only seemed to amuse him all the more - and turned back to Ivy, hefting the heavy stave in both hands.
She was waiting for him in that infuriatingly nonchalant ready stance, whips coiled in both hands. As Schtauffen turned to her she smiled scornfully.
"Try a little harder, if you please, Herr Schtauffen," she drawled, "I doubt that you will win many battles lying on your face."
Siegfried's lip curled at the barb, but with enormous effort he allowed no other sign of his simmering anger to manifest. Hotheadedness had always been something against which he struggled; rushing in after her last insult had gotten him nowhere but laid out on his face. A simple mistake, a beginner's mistake, and one that Gunther Bauer would never have let him forget.
He had little hope that Isabella Valentine would be any more forgiving.
As they squared off she let the whips uncoil, pooling at her feet. He had been rather relieved when she had emerged from her quarters with the weapons; he had not been entirely certain that she wasn't planning on sparring with him using the Ivy Blade.
Now he was beginning to wonder if that might not have been more merciful. The heavy leather lashes might not have all of her enchanted sword's capabilities, but as Siegfried had found to his expense Ivy certainly knew how to use them. He could only imagine what new humiliation she was planning as she waited for him.
He shifted his weapon into a ready stance, blowing a few stray strands of damp hair off his face and squaring his shoulders as he set his feet.
Ivy watched his preparations with an air of strained patience, rolling her head idly before she spoke: "Are you trying to bore me to death, Schtauffen? Come, now, whenever you feel ready."
Siegfried growled and lunged at her, but while his anger was unfeigned he did not charge heedlessly; this time as the first whip slashed out he ducked low, catching it with his upraised stave. Before Ivy could loosen the coils or bring her second weapon into play he wrenched the staff back, yanking her off-balance, and drove a booted foot into her midsection. The woman folded over at the impact, but even as he stepped closer to press his advantage she whipped upright, snapping a knee high into his face. As he staggered she freed her lash, dropping its coils about his throat as she shoved him to his knees and planting one boot on his back as the leathern noose drew tight. Siegfried's fingers fumbled at the coils but he could feel the strength leaving his limbs as shadows clouded his sight.
Suddenly the coiled leather loosened, uncoiling as his captor released her strangling grip. Schtauffen took a tremendous rasping breath before collapsing onto his elbows, gasping.
"Stay down if you wish, Schtauffen," Ivy's tone was amused, dismissive: "I had hoped for better, but perhaps you have had enough… we can conclude this session if that is all you have to offer."
Schtauffen growled. With teeth gritted he forced himself to stand again, hands closing about his fallen weapon as he rose. His anger was boiling now, taking all of his will to contain.
Ivy watched him as he stood, coiling her whips in her hands; as his eyes met hers she tossed her head, the gesture beckoning.
Siegfried did not need to be told twice. Feinting right in a hope to draw her off-balance, he rolled abruptly back to the left and sprang forward.
Crack!
Swearing as Ivy's leading whip slashed across his path, he was forced to break his charge yet again. He tried cutting to back to his right, but her second lash unfurled as he did so and he backed off rather than invite its sting; apart from the pain it promised, the rules they had agreed upon meant that any solid hit would be considered incapacitating. Frustration fueled his simmering anger as he gave ground, falling back out of range.
That did not satisfy Ivy; she advanced on him steadily, whip spiraling about her as she sneered, "Running, boy? You won't win many battles that way, either. Is this how your father taught you to fight?"
Barely had the words left her lips when Siegfried hurled himself at her. This time he ignored the stinging lashes of her first whip as it slashed across his back, his entire consciousness focused on wiping that damned smirk off her face.
"Yes…" she hissed, "Yes! That's it!" Her voice was savage, gleeful: "Put your heart into it! Go ahead – hate me!"
He hardly needed to be encouraged in that regard at the moment. He was upon her now, too close for her use her whips properly; gripping the weapon like the staff it was rather than the sword it had been playing the part of, he slammed one end into her stomach and as the breath rushed from her lungs snapped the other end around into her side. As it impacted, her gauntleted fist – now empty – smashed across his face, the sharp-edged plates tearing skin and trailing blood.
The blow gave him barely a moment's pause and Ivy was still off-balance as he resumed the attack. He pushed her steadily back towards the edge of the deck with a flurry of strikes at her head and torso which she barely blocked on her battle sleeve; on the final blow she caught the staff in her right hand, but before she could capitalize he drove forward, slamming her backwards into the railing.
The impact loosened her hold and he ripped the staff out of her grip, clamping it across her throat as his weight pinned her to the railing. Ivy grabbed his forearms, trying to break his stranglehold, but Schtauffen's strength was fed by anger and frustration and his grip remained fast. Baring gritted teeth she clamped her left hand onto his bicep, the gauntlet's razored talons tearing through cloth and flesh, and raked it back towards her gouging bloody wounds the length of the arm.
That tearing pain penetrated even his fury and Siegfried released his grip, snarling. Ivy shoved him backwards and he stumbled to one knee as she gasped for breath, clutching at the nearby rigging for support. The momentary break allowed the German to shake off his rage and he blinked, disoriented. As he regained his bearings he threw the stave aside, his expression a mixture of disbelief and horror.
A part of him was exultant, but the larger part was appalled at the loss of control. Ignoring the pain in his arm he straightened, intent on aiding Ivy, but was halted by her raised hand.
To his astonishment, when she raised her head she was smiling.
"Better, Schtauffen," she rasped, her fingers brushing across the bruises already visible above her high collar. "Much better."
"Are you out of your mind?" he gasped. "I was trying to kill you! Is that what you wanted? Is that what you want to teach me?"
She gave him an odd look as she straightened. "Teach you?"
"Were you trying to make me lose control?" Schtauffen was trembling with shock and anger as he spoke. "What sort of training is that? It's not the way I was trained to fight – and it's not the way you fight, either, so why-"
Ivy cut him off: "You appear to have misunderstood the purpose of the session, Schtauffen. I am not trying to teach you how to fight."
Schtauffen blinked. "You're not?"
"I am not. You already know how to fight, Schtauffen. Even when your soul was Inferno's, the skill and the technique was your own. The problem does not lie in your skill - you are more skilled with a sword than I am.
That took him by surprise. "You believe so?"
Ivy scowled. "Yes, but don't let it go to your head, Schtauffen. I mean that your fundamental technique and battle experience are superior - as well they should be, given that you have studied or lived by the art of the sword most of your life.
"The problem is that you are afraid to use what you have. You hold back. You question your every action. You are so fearful of what you might do, what that thing within you might unleash, that you are willing to castrate yourself.
"I need you at your best - at your strongest. That is what this morning was about, and that is what all of our sparring sessions will be about until I'm satisfied that your best is what I have got. I'm not trying to teach you; I'm trying to remind you."
Siegfried stared at her, his expression disbelieving. He wanted to argue, to deny her seemingly casual assessment, but in the end he knew she was right – as far as she went. It was not only Inferno that he feared unleashing, but that part of himself that had chosen to take a path of bloodletting and betrayal before he had ever even heard of the Soul Edge.
There was, of course, no way he was ever going to tell her that, however. Instead, he reiterated his point:
"So this is what you wanted? You expect me to fight like that – without control or discipline?"
"No, of course not," Ivy snapped, "but at the moment you are holding yourself back so severely that the only way to bring out your best is to break your control. When you are accustomed to your full strength once more, we can work on your discipline."
"My… discipline?" Siegfried repeated dubiously. There had been something very unnerving in Ivy's tone.
"Yes." Her voice made the word a sibilant promise of pain to come. "Believe me - I'm looking forward to that."
*****
Agathe, Viscountess de Moys, uttered a rather unladylike curse as she dropped her sword, her fingers numb. She repeated the curse – her repertoire of such terms was not extensive – as she tried to shake feeling back into her fingers, all too aware of the troubled gaze that followed her movements in silence.
She was tired and sore, burdened by the unfamiliar weight of armour and shield, wearied by the unaccustomed exercise of sword work, and she knew he must see it. She knew she must look a fool, a spoiled child playing at serious work, yet she would not yield to those voices both within and without that berated her for her folly. Grimacing she shut out the complaints of her body and mind and stooped to retrieve the heavy sword.
She paused then, taking but a moment to catch her breath and allow her arm another heartbeat's rest before burdening it once more with the weapon.
"Madame… you're exhausted." Christophe Bernard's voice was at once solicitous and reproving. Gathering the sword she straightened, meeting his somber gaze defiantly.
"I am exhausted." she agreed, nodding. She could not recall ever being so weary. "And yet," at this she turned to face him squarely, forcing her tired arm to raise the blade, "we shall continue."
The soldier's single eye narrowed in a mixture of confusion, concern and irritation. "Madame… this is pointless." He gestured at the sword, wavering in her grip. "You can barely raise that blade, and indeed why should you? You could train for a year and not hope to challenge my sword, to say nothing of our enemy's."
"I know that!" Agathe snapped, her temper flaring; her native German accent grew harsher in her anger. "Do you think me such a fool that I plan to fight him myself?"
Bernard drew back, as startled by the venom in her tone as she herself was - she had always prided herself on her level-headedness. You're starting to crack up, she cautioned herself. Your temper gets shorter every passing day. It took a conscious effort to regain her equilibrium; the strain of the past few months, she supposed, was making itself felt.
Nevertheless, when she spoke again her voice was calmer. "I have no illusions about besting Schtauffen in single combat, Captain; you may rest easy on that account." She offered a wan smile. "I am sorry to have spoken so harshly. I know you are moved by concern."
"Of course he is. We are all concerned for your safety, Viscountess, particularly when you insist upon playing such dangerous games."
The Viscountess started at the new voice, but mastered herself sufficiently to turn slowly towards it; Bernard's eye narrowed grimly as he did the same. A tall figure leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. As Agathe turned to face him he straightened and bowed smoothly.
The respectful gesture did not deceive her. She could feel the mocking smile on his shadowed face.
"Well. Lord Raphael." she said levelly, careful to screen the mixed emotions which simmered under her surface, "So, at last you return." Once again, she noted with displeasure, his mere presence unsettled her, conjuring a troubling frisson of sensation that shivered her recently established calm, but she kept it from her voice as she continued, turning away casually: "I had begun to wonder if you had abandoned us."
Sorel straightened, pacing slowly closer. Agathe did not allow herself to react, though she was acutely aware of his approach. "I have not," he replied softly. "I told you that I had other avenues of investigation to pursue, did I not?"
"You did," she admitted as she turned back to face him, a little startled by just how near he had drawn, "though you did not go so far as to detail them."
He smiled at that - a dangerous, arrogant smile that roused equal parts ire and… other sensations that she did not care to examine. "I have my secrets, Viscountess. We all do."
The smug assurance with which he made the assertion smothered those uncomfortable emotions and fanned the flames of her anger. "I have kept nothing from you, my lord. Do not assume that simply because you veil your motives and goals, everyone must do the same."
Sorel's smile merely broadened at her retort.
"Your forthrightness is entertaining, Viscountess," he replied after a moment, "but it is also dangerous. Reveal your hand at the beginning of the game, and the game is already over."
"I am not playing a game, my lord," Agathe replied coldly, "I am seeking vengeance. I am in deadly earnest."
Sorel bowed his head in acknowledgment. "I do not doubt your dedication, Viscountess," his eyes swept over her, sweaty, burdened and graceless in her armour, "merely your wisdom. If you do seek to challenge Schtauffen yourself, you are a fool." At this Bernard took a half-step forward, his expression outraged, only to be stopped by an abrupt gesture from the Viscountess. Sorel continued as though nothing had happened. "On the other hand, if - as you say - you do not seek to fight him, why trouble yourself with this?" Leaning closer he rapped a knuckle against her breastplate; flushing furiously, she took a reflexive step backwards to his unconcealed amusement.
"I am not such a complete ingénue as you seem to believe, my lord," the Viscountess' voice trembled with a mixture of indignation and anger at his amused contempt, "There are other dangers we might face. For instance, perhaps you are not yet aware that our quarry appears now to have joined forces with the Englishwoman, Valentine." She watched him closely, awaiting some reaction to the news.
When it appeared it took her by surprise; if anything, Sorel looked even more pleased with himself than before. "Captain Dietrich told me what you had discovered, including the Lady Valentine's apparent involvement."
"You don't think that this new alliance is a problem?"
"I very much doubt that any association between Schtauffen and Isabella Valentine merits so strong a term as alliance," the Frenchman replied, "They will use one another only until it ceases to be convenient."
Like you and I? Agathe wondered. She searched his face for any hint of his thoughts, but nothing showed through his veneer of easy superiority. Not for the first time she wondered if joining forces with the enigmatic nobleman had not been a very poor decision on her part; Sorel was clearly playing his own game, and using her finances and resources to do so.
She shook the thought off, angry at herself for her doubts. The Frenchman's games were irrelevant to her; if he helped her to achieve her own goal, why should she care if he had his own reasons for doing so? Vengeance is the only thing that matters, she reminded herself. His motives are not your concern - and if he helps you achieve your own, your entire fortune is not too great a price to pay.
Her determination bolstered, she unconsciously squared her shoulders as she spoke again: "What, then, would you suggest we do next?"
"The Countess' involvement presents at least as many opportunities as difficulties," Sorel replied. "Where Schtauffen on his own requires hunting, the Lady may be baited – and while Schtauffen remains in her company, so can he."
The Viscountess frowned. "Exactly how do you mean to do that? I assume that Captain Dietrich told you that we lost their trail in Bastia."
"He did." Sorel concurred, "However, the Lady in question has a number of contacts and agents, some of whom I am aware. I have no doubt that a properly arranged… invitation will reach her."
"You're certain you have bait that will tempt her?"
Sorel chuckled mirthlessly. "That is the least of our concerns. Where she is concerned there is one particular bait that is entirely irresistible."
The Viscountess waited for him to elaborate, but it came as no surprise to her that he did not. Setting her jaw, she continued with her questions.
"And where do you suggest we lay this trap?"
"I rather thought that your chateau would be appropriate, Lady Agathe. Where better to set the stage than at the heart of your own power?"
Agathe opened her mouth to argue and then stopped short. He had a point, she had to admit - she would much rather face Schtauffen on her own ground than somewhere out in the wild world. She could not help but doubt that Sorel's consideration stemmed from concern for her comfort, however; likely he was merely making best use of his erstwhile ally's resources once again.
"It appears that you have thought of everything, my lord." Agathe bowed her head stiffly as she spoke.
"May I take it that I have your agreement, then?"
"Yes… yes. We shall proceed as you have suggested. Kindly make your preparations."
Sorel bowed smoothly. As he straightened she caught a glimpse of his darkly satisfied expression before wheeled and strode from the room.
Agathe remained where she stood until he had left, then slumped wearily. You are well out of your depth, girl, she thought - not for the first time.
In spite of her haughty final words she was painfully aware that she had not been in control of the discussion; once more, he had maneuvered her to the decision he had desired.
Bad enough that he should so easily handle her; even worse, she thought, was that she knew she had been played and yet could do nothing about it. His plan sounded reasonable, and while she was an intelligent woman she lacked any expertise in the sort of endeavour she was now involved in. She needed his aid, and they both knew it.
Worse yet was the fact that in his presence she simply couldn't seem to think straight. A part of it was fear, she admitted; another part, she supposed, was anger at his ill concealed disdain for her in spite – or perhaps because - of her superior social rank.
She sighed. If she were wholly honest with herself – as she had once prided herself on being – there was something more to it, a frightening mixture of physical and emotional attraction which defied and clouded her better judgement.
She was snapped out of her introspection by the realization that she was being addressed. Startled, she wheeled on the speaker.
"What?" The question came out rather more harshly than she had intended. "Oh… Captain. I'm sorry… what did you say?"
The soldier regarded her gravely. "Did you wish to continue training, my lady?"
Agathe hesitated. She was tired, and irritated, and more than a little unsettled by her wayward emotions; she was accustomed to keeping her feelings under tight rein. Being an emotional mess was a novelty to her, and she hated it.
She needed something to focus on.
"Yes, thank you, Captain."
She saw the disappointment in his eyes; he had hoped perhaps that she might have been dissuaded. I'm sorry, Christophe, but you don't understand any more than Raphael does.
She took up her position, hefting sword and shield uncomfortably.
"If I may say something, my lady?" Bernard had taken his position opposite her. Agathe nodded, smiling wearily.
"Always, Captain."
He nodded in acknowledgement. "If I may… Lord Raphael is not to be trusted."
Her smile became wry. "I know that, Captain, thank you."
As she spoke, though, the memory of those brilliant, piercing eyes and that mocking, infuriating smile came unbidden to her mind's eye, and a shiver ran along her spine.
"Still…" she added after a moment, "it would perhaps be for the best if you were to remind me - from time to time."
*****
Siegfried stretched, spreading his arms wide and back, and winced as his abused body communicated its outrage at the movement with a score of painful twinges. With a harsh breath he released the tension in his frame, slumping forward to lean heavily on the taffrail, his gaze skimming across the starlit sea.
The call of his name drew his attention from the sea; turning, he moved towards where Ivy knelt on the main deck. A small trunk lay open on the deck at her side and she was carefully drawing its contents forth; even in the moonlight he could see that the devices were things of beauty - elaborately crafted artifacts of polished brass and dark, gleaming wood. As he neared, she gave him an appraising glance.
"You seem to be in some discomfort, Schtauffen."
"One can only wonder why," he replied, more than a touch of sarcasm colouring his mild tone.
Ivy straightened, her own movements a little stiff. Taking his chin roughly in gloved fingers, she turned his head to examine the cheek her gauntlet had torn that morning. She raised a fine brow.
"You're healing quickly," she observed, no surprise in her tone as she released her grip. Schtauffen shrugged, rubbing absently at his chin.
"Yeah," he muttered, "I do…"
"Mm." Ivy turned back to her work, crouching by the trunk. After a moment she continued: "You know why that is, don't you?"
He closed his eyes. "Yeah."
For a long time he had tried to ignore it, shrugging off his body's extraordinary capacity for recovery from injury as the benefit of hard-won fitness. Part of him had known better, of course, had guessed the ugly truth: the power was not his own.
It was, after all, in Inferno's interest to keep its host healthy.
Schtauffen stalked to the railing, forcing his attention outward; while it was one thing to accept the truth, it was quite another to dwell upon it. He was determined not to do the latter.
With an effort he managed to lighten his tone when he spoke next, shifting away from the unpleasant subject to ask the question that had been nagging at him since Ivy had announced their next destination.
"So… what interests us in Piraeus?"
Even as he asked, he had a grim intuition that he knew the answer. After all, Ivy clearly knew quite a bit about Taki, whose entire life was shrouded in secrecy; it was no great stretch to believe that she could know about Sophie, whose home on the outskirts of Athens was less than half a day's journey from the port of Piraeus. He could not imagine what the Englishwoman might want from the young Greek, but he doubted her interest would be benevolent.
"Piraeus is merely where we will put ashore," Ivy replied, her tone a little distant as she concentrated on her work, "my business is in Athens."
"Athens... right," Siegfried muttered, nodding, "and what business is that?"
"From what I made of the document we found in the vault, it appears that the Fu-Ma were bound there after their business in the Money Pit. If that is so, then we may yet have a chance at recovering the fragment they took."
"Makes sense," Schtauffen agreed, "but why are they headed to Piraeus?"
Ivy took a moment to reply. "Of that… I am uncertain. I have an acquaintance in Athens who may be able to shed some light on the subject, though."
"And who's that?"
"So many questions," Ivy observed sardonically, "I can only hope that you will prove as eager to learn what I am actually trying to teach you."
"And I can only hope," Schtauffen retorted, turning to face her, "that your teaching is more informative and less self-satisfied than your usual conversation."
Though she did not look up from her work, Ivy smiled at his reply. It was, he thought, a markedly more attractive expression when it was not made at his expense.
Taking the opportunity her rare good mood offered, he pressed the question: "So are you going to tell me who this mysterious acquaintance is?"
Ivy rolled her eyes. "His name is Qasim ben-Nadir," she said after a few moments, "an occultist, scholar and alchemist. His knowledge of the Soul Edge is… extensive. He may have some information which will be of use to us."
"If he knows that much don't you think that he might be what they're after?"
He was startled to witness a flicker of real concern cross her face. Had he not been looking at her – had he even blinked - he would have missed it, so swift was she to marshal her features to neutrality.
"I do not." Her voice was perfectly calm and level; if he had not seen her reaction with his own eyes he would have believed her.
After a moment he decided against calling her on her deception – it would gain him nothing but her ire. There was, after all, at least one other avenue through which he could pursue the matter. For the time being he turned the conversation to another concern.
"Well… can we trust him?" Scholarly wisdom was all well and good, but he was inclined to be suspicious of anyone who had gone out of their way to study the demonic blade. His present company was rather a case in point.
Ivy replied without looking up. "Yes."
He frowned slightly at her response, which had come a little too quickly. "You're certain? If he-"
She straightened to glare at him coldly, her good humour now gone. "I said yes." Her abrupt, icy tone made it very clear that she considered the matter closed.
"If you say so." Siegfried's own tone made it clear that he was not convinced but merely conceding the point for the time being. Ivy glowered at him a second longer before turning her back on him brusquely and attending to her devices.
What was that about? Schtauffen wondered. The intensity of her reactions had taken him aback and sparked his curiosity, but by the same token it was clear he wasn't going to get any more out of Ivy on the subject. Indeed when she spoke again it was almost as though the exchange had never taken place, though her tone was still cold.
"We are wasting time. Let us begin." She turned to him once more, her face the disdainful mask he knew so well. "Tell me - have you any knowledge of astronomy or astrology?" Her tone suggested she had no doubt at all that he would answer in the negative.
Siegfried pursed his lips. "A little," he murmured defensively. It was not a complete falsehood, he reasoned; he had studied the stars for almost a week with an eye to impressing the pretty sister of one of his fellow students, years ago – but there was really no need for Ivy to know that.
Her mouth quirked at his response. "A little." she repeated. "Better than nothing… I suppose. Well, then - can you perhaps identify the constellation of Perseus?"
Siegfried raised his eyes to the sky, racking his memory for the answer; to his surprise it came easily. "There," he sketched the image in the air with his hand as he spoke, "The head… arm… leg…"
"Good." Ivy's voice was cool, but no longer hostile. "As I recall, you were sufficiently familiar with Greek mythology to know about Charon. I suppose it is too much to hope that you would also know anything of Perseus?"
Schtauffen smiled. Greek mythology, at least, he knew enough about to reply with more confidence; the tales had captured his interest and attention more than most of his schooling. "He was a prince… a son of Zeus…" That was half a guess, but he felt fairly confident in it; half of the characters of the mythos seemed to be sons of Zeus. "He killed the gorgon, Medusa, and rescued the princess Andromeda from the monster Cetus." He paused, thoughtful. "What does this have to do with the Soul Edge?"
"Very little." She was smiling again now – the familiar, mocking expression that he found so ugly. "I was curious as to how much you might know, however."
"Delighted to entertain you," the German replied sourly.
"Pouting ill becomes you, Schtauffen." At his murderous glare she raised a gloved hand. "Perseus himself is not relevant, but within the astrological mythos surrounding the Soul Edge, the constellation is – and a working knowledge of Greek mythos may prove useful even if it is as basic as your own. Ares and Hephaestus, for instance, have a more than peripheral role in the Soul Edge's tale."
Schtauffen nodded, conceding the point grudgingly. "Yes, all right, you've made your bloody point. Can we get down to the real lesson now?" He did not bother concealing his ill humour, almost growling the last words.
"There's that enthusiasm again," Ivy's own anger had faded even as his had blossomed. The mercurial nature of her moods was bewildering, Schtauffen thought irritably; he never knew for certain how she might react. Navigating even her good moods was like sailing on a smooth sea laced with lethal, invisible reefs.
It was going to be a long night.
*****
"Ouch!"
The abrupt exclamation was cut off abruptly as the young woman remembered the absolute need for stealth. She froze where she stood, listening attentively for any sign that she might have been detected.
The house was silent. Flexing her foot, she was relieved to discover that the injury was little more than a stubbed toe. Shifting the weight of the bag she had slung over her shoulder, she picked her way across the room towards the door.
At the threshold she hesitated, glancing back across the darkened room. She was leaving everything she had ever known, and though she supposed that she would remain in familiar territory for perhaps another day or two, the next step would be the decisive one.
She focused her thoughts on what had set her upon this path, and her resolve hardened. Squaring her shoulders and brushing aside her doubts, she stepped through the door.
*****
"She left already?" Schtauffen wondered if he had misheard. Mackay nodded as he scooped a bowl of fresh water from the barrel; the Scot had been waiting for him on deck when he emerged. He had risen later than usual, the night's lesson having lasted into the small hours.
"Aye, as soon as we put in."
"Hn." As the German splashed water on his face, dispelling the last vestiges of sleep, he wondered at that. "Did she say how long she'd be?"
"Three or four days," the Scot replied, "but she said ye should catch her up at her inn tomorrow. She left this for ye." He tossed Schtauffen a small pouch which rattled as the German caught it. Glancing inside Siegfried's eyes widened as they took in the gleam of precious stones within. "Said it was a gift from the Ferryman - dunno if that means anything."
"Yeah," Schtauffen shook his head, chuckling in spite of himself, "it means something." Clearly Ivy hadn't been content to abandon all of the wealth they had found in Vercci's tomb; he was no expert, but it seemed clear that she had selected the best stones to bring out with her.
He was surprised that the revelation didn't bother him more. That woman's a bad influence on you, Siegfried. He smiled to himself at the thought.
Mackay waited a moment for a further explanation, shrugging when it became clear none would be forthcoming. "Well… if ye say so. Anyway, her ladyship said ye should see about gettin' outfitted, see if you could get some new armour and anything else ye need while we're here."
"In three days?" Schtauffen mused, frowning. That was not nearly enough time to have new armour made; perhaps he could have something refitted. He turned to look out across the narrow inlet around which Piraeus clustered, narrowing his eyes against the brilliant glare of sunlight on water.
"I know a few places – smiths, I mean, if ye're going to be lookin'." Mackay offered from behind him. Turning back, Schtauffen regarded the younger man pensively.
"No, you needn't trouble yourself," he said thoughtfully, "I've been here before." It would give him a chance to check up on the Alexandra home, assuming he could shake Mackay; there was at least a chance that Ivy didn't know about Sophie and her family yet, and he couldn't risk leading her to them. "I know a few places myself."
As he said the last he stifled a yawn. Mackay grinned at him.
"Ye seem a little under the weather, old chum. Hard lesson last night?"
Siegfried shrugged, stretching. "Could have been better." He smiled thinly. "Suppose it could have been worse, though." Ivy had revealed a clear passion for her subject matter that had actually proved rather infectious, making the session much more bearable than expected - but she had proved neither more patient nor more forgiving than she had when they were sparring. "She hates having to explain things more than once, so you can guess how things turned out…"
Mackay chuckled. "Told ye she didn't suffer fools gladly, din' I?"
Schtauffen gave the Scotsman a wry glance. "I suppose you did." He shook his head. "Probably would have gone a little better if I hadn't gotten on the wrong side of her even before we started."
"How'd ye manage that?" The Scot's tone was curious, but hardly surprised.
"Asked the wrong question, apparently." Looking at Mackay, his gaze became speculative. "Alastair… you know anything about a fellow called Qasim… what was it, Binadir?"
"Qasim ben-Nadir? Yeah, I know him. Well – I've met him. Run a few messages between her ladyship and him, and her father too. Why?"
Siegfried's eyebrows rose. "He was an associate of her father's?" he asked, ignoring Mackay's question.
"Aye, even before I came into the picture- ten, fifteen years maybe."
"Were they friends?"
"Don't know if I'd say that exactly," Mackay replied, "Far as I know they only ever met a couple of times. Wrote each other quite a bit, though. Guess they were friends, but not really close, if ye know what I'm sayin'."
"Yes," Schtauffen murmured, "I know what you're saying." He remained silent a while longer, drumming calloused fingers on the edge of the water barrel. A part of him was hesitant to pursue the matter further, but he quashed its objections. "What'd you make of him?"
"Who, ben-Nadir?" At Schtauffen's nod Mackay shrugged, "Dunno. Seemed okay – younger than I thought he'd be. Spoke English pretty well. Polite." He noticed Schtauffen's deepening frown. "Well, what do you want me to say? I just ran messages to the guy."
"What about Ivy? She friendly with this ben-Nadir?"
"I suppose," Mackay replied dubiously, "- As much as she ever is, I guess."
"Meaning…?"
"Well, ye know…" The Scotsman's brow furrowed, "What do ye care about 'im anyway?" His eyes narrowed in realization. "Damn it, if her ladyship wouldn't tell ye about him, she wouldn't want me tellin' ye either."
Blast. Schtauffen sighed inwardly; he had hoped to get more before Mackay realized what was going on. "I'm not trying to get you to betray her confidence, Alastair," At least, not without reason, "but there's a lot at stake here. I don't know anything about this ben-Nadir fellow, but Ivy was… adamant that he could be trusted."
"There ye go, then," Mackay snapped, "that should be enough for ye. She don't trust easy."
"She doesn't trust at all," Schtauffen retorted, "and you know it. So what makes this man special?"
"How the hell would I know? Maybe nothin', maybe she don't trust him and didn't want ta tell ye!"
"I thought of that," Siegfried admitted, his voice lowering, "but why would she bother lying about it?"
Mackay, his own flare of anger subsiding a little, shrugged. "Look… he's been a friend of the family for years. There… why shouldn't that be all there is to it?"
Siegfried nodded slowly. Perhaps, he mused, he was making too much of it. In any case, it was clear that Mackay wasn't going to tell him any more. "I don't know…" he nodded, resignedly. "I don't know. Maybe you're right."
"Ye don't have ta sound so surprised," Mackay said, smiling. "It does happen now an' then."
Schtauffen chuckled. "By all means keep believing that, Alastair."
Mackay's only responses were an upthrust finger and a smirk. Siegfried smiled, a little relieved; he had no desire to alienate the Scot, whose usual good humour was a welcome change from Ivy's company.
Abruptly, the Scot straightened, scooping up a traveling bag from the deck. "Well, if ye don't need a guide I've things ta be getting' on with."
"'Things'?" Schtauffen inquired.
"Aye," Mackay grinned, "Things. I'll be gone a couple o' days, I reckon. See ye then, right?" At Siegfried's nod he turned and trotted towards the gangway, pausing briefly to turn back. "Oh, her ladyship'll be stayin' at the Three Pillars, on Omonia Square, if ye're lookin' for her. Nice place - bit pricey though. If ye want somewhere a little-"
"Thank you, Alastair, I'll find it myself," Schtauffen replied a little hastily. After hearing several tales of the Scotsman's travels and Rousseau's description of the Albatross he had reached the conclusion that Mackay's taste in accommodation was a little too lowbrow even for him.
Fine words for a man who lived in a leaky shack two weeks ago, he admonished himself.
Smiling at the thought, he turned to the stairs, descending to his cabin to collect his few possessions.
If he hurried, he reckoned he could reach the smithy by noon. At which point… at which point he would have to make a decision, he supposed. The thought was sobering.
Whichever choice he made, he thought glumly, he would not enjoy the experience.
*****
Khalil ibn Haji stared at the empty room.
Nothing.
There was nothing, no sign of what had transpired here, no hint or clue as to the fate of the six men and women who had made this house their base of operations as little as a week prior.
"Not a trace," Jibril muttered behind him. Khalil nodded agreement, turning to face the older man. The lack of evidence was in itself diagnostic, he knew, though he did not like what it told him.
"It's the Fu-Ma," he growled. He could feel the old anger rising within him and marshaled it carefully, focusing its energy on his task.
"You believe so? It has been years since we have heard anything of them," Jibril replied cautiously. Though his words suggested doubt, his tone did not - he knew, as Khalil himself did, that there was no other likely explanation.
"I am certain," the younger man replied. "Who else could do this? No, there is no doubt."
It was bad news, to be sure, but a part of the young man rejoiced at the revelation. The Fu-Ma were opponents worthy of his best, and such challenges were few and far between. The chance to prove himself and his assassins against their longtime enemies was something he welcomed.
"You do not seem overly troubled by this discovery," Jibril observed grimly, "Don't allow your eagerness for a challenge to supercede your duty to the order."
Khalil smiled under his mask; his second knew him too well. "Don't worry, old man. I can enjoy this challenge without neglecting my responsibilities." He cast one final glance around the empty room. "Gather the others. We ought not to linger."
Jibril bowed sharply and strode from the room, leaving ibn Haji to consider his options. At the moment, he knew, his people were vulnerable; they did not know where the enemy was and there was a slim possibility they themselves might already have been spotted, though he had confidence in the scouts who had reported the area clear earlier. It was more likely that the enemy, having eliminated the order's established presence, had already moved on to their real target
He had little doubt as to what that target might be; the primary responsibility of the Athens team was to keep an eye on the hated champion of Hephaestus who dwelt less than five miles away. That was the next logical place to look, but he would need to proceed carefully -
His ruminations were interrupted by the crash of a door being flung open and the excited chatter of voices from the next room. Though he did not react outwardly he was instantly alert, fingers resting on the hilt of the curved sword that hung by his side as he listened to the clamour. He recognized Fayiz' voice, eager and filled with urgency in sharp contrast to Jibril's calmer tone.
A faint smile touched his lips. Fayiz was new to his group, having finished training at Alamut only a month before, and his eagerness to serve refused to be contained by the discipline that training should have instilled. Jibril had commented disapprovingly on the matter on more than one occasion, but Khalil had decided to allow the younger warrior some leeway; he too had been young once, while it seemed sometimes that Jibril had been born to middle age.
Fayiz' voice calmed as the two spoke, while the older man's acquired an edge it had previously lacked. The change drew Khalil's attention more than the previous outburst; it took a lot to unsettle Jibril's even demeanour. Grasping his sword-hilt, he turned as their footsteps approached.
He met them at the door, acknowledging their deep bows with a nod. "What brings you back so early, Fayiz? Have you made contact with the alchemist?"
"Forgive me, Seif al Din," Fayiz bowed so deep Khalil wondered that he did not topple over, "but we have not. When we arrived at his workshop he already had a visitor – the Lady Valentine."
Khalil exchanged grim looks with Jibril. "You are certain it is she?" he asked, though there was little chance of error.
Fayiz nodded sharply. "She is exactly as she is described, master, unmistakable."
Indeed, Khalil thought wryly. She had never been one to blend in with the crowd. More importantly, she was not one whose appearance at this time and place could be considered simple happenstance – there must be some connection between her arrival and the Fu-Ma's reappearance. Could they be working together? It seemed unlikely, but not impossible; he had come across stranger alliances.
"You say she met with the Alchemist?"
"Yes," Fayiz nodded, "She was at his workshop when we arrived."
Khalil nodded, thoughtfully. ben-Nadir had been under the order's watchful eye for years, though even at his exalted rank he was not entitled to know exactly why. His connection with the Lady Valentine - and her father before her - was long-standing but the Order had never attempted to interfere with it.
"They are still under watch?"
The young man nodded once more. "Riaz remained while I came to report."
"Excellent. Jibril, return to our ship and dispatch a bird to Master Nadijah in Istanbul. Tell her what we have discovered and that we shall need reinforcements - everything she can send. Send word also to Alamut and the Temple."
Fayiz looked up, startled. "Master, she is but one. Why send for aid?"
Jibril frowned at the question, and on this occasion Khalil concurred with the veteran's implicit disapproval. "You forget your place, Fayiz. These are my orders and it is not for you to question them."
Admonished, the youth dropped to one knee, lowering his head in apology as Khalil turned his attention back to his second. "Ready the others before you go – I want close watch kept on the Countess from now on. She must have something to do with what happened here, and if she is now working alongside the Fu-Ma we will need to proceed very carefully."
Jibril nodded curtly and strode away, Fayiz following in his wake. Khalil closed the door behind them, his face a mask of concentration. He had much to consider.
*****
AUTHOR'S NOTES…
Hello, again.
I should probably be more apologetic for the tardiness, but my sense of guilt is considerably outweighed by my pleasure at FINALLY finishing this chapter. It's been hard, it's been fun… it's been incredibly frustrating… but here it is.
A couple of notes…
One reviewer quite rightly pointed out that there's not been a lot of romance in this fic… and (s)he has a good point. I considered removing 'Romance' from the classification, but have decided to retain it since it is, in the end, the reason I'm writing it. If you've been lured here under false pretences, I apologize and feel obliged to warn you – it's still a ways away (further away every chapter, it seems).
Okay. Point two – OFCs. There're quite a few of them, I know, and more to come – and I know that I, for one, read fiction on ff.net for the canon characters and not OFCs. I hope to keep them interesting, but they're there to support the action, certainly not overshadow the canon cast. Let me know if you think I'm slipping in that regard.
Point three – my author's notes are too long, but you already know that. Sorry.
I'm optimistic about turnaround on Chapter 8 - but then you've heard that before, haven't you?
All my thanks, and apologies, go out once again to my reviewers, without whom God only knows how long this would have taken to write. You're the bee's knees.
Well, that's it. It's goodnight from me, and it's goodnight from… well… me… (will anybody get that?). Till next time!
Oh, and remember: ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US!!!!
Ahem.