A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Chapter 10.
Kenneth Irons knew the exact moment the Witchblade gave its Wielder her first vision of the day.
Sara Pezzini's shock and revulsion at the abruptness and violence of the vision was crystal clear to him through their link.
Then Kenneth waited for Ian Nottingham to call him.
And waited.
And waited.
Several hours passed, during which he sensed the Wielder's growing impatience and concern, no doubt for the safety of the boy she thought of as her nephew. Then Irons felt the brief disorientation caused by the second vision the Blade chose to share with Sara. Whatever it was she saw made her anxiety level increase, so much so Kenneth began pacing in his office until he realized what he was doing and forced himself to take a seat and relax.
And still he waited for his bodyguard and servant to call him.
And waited.
He even had time to leave Vorschlag's headquarters, make the half- hour trip to his estate in the suburbs, and ensconce himself in the library there. This was fortunate, because he had complete privacy when he felt the all-too-familiar white-hot blaze of Sara Pezzini's anger when Ian Nottingham approached her. This time, Kenneth did not have to hold back a yelp at the searing pain the raised scar on the back of his right hand dealt him.
When the discomfort faded almost as quickly as it had flared up, Irons waited by the phone for the much-anticipated call from Ian. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he sensed the Wielder's temper flare again, but the ache receded nearly as swiftly as before. Idly, Kenneth wondered what young Nottingham did to mollify Sara's irritation so quickly during their encounters.
A cold anger began to grow in him as the minutes crawled by. Another three-quarters of an hour elapsed, and Kenneth sensed the Witchblade impart yet another fleeting vision to its Wielder, the third of the day.
And still no call from his bodyguard.
Rage filled Irons as he realized that he was going to be forced to call Nottingham if he wanted an update. His body shook with the effort not to let his fury show in his voice as he dialed Ian's cell phone and spoke to his errant servant.
His extreme displeasure did not abate after he hung up. If anything, it increased.
It had become glaringly obvious to Kenneth that the usual whippings were no longer effective in reinforcing Ian's absolute obedience.
Ever since the Witchblade had chosen Sara Pezzini as its Wielder and he had been tasked with following her every move, young Nottingham's behavior had become increasingly unruly. On more than one occasion, he had even gone so far as to question his master's decisions with regard to his handling of the beautiful detective, something heretofore unheard of.
Irons remembered his shock the first time it had happened. It galled him that Ian's unsolicited advice had turned out to be correct in every instance. Kenneth did not intend to become used to being second-guessed, especially by a lowly servant. No, he was simply going to have to figure out a better way to quell this disturbing trend toward rebelliousness in his wayward employee.
He put in a call to his personal physician, Dr. Immo, whose state-of- the-art lab was located in the deepest sublevel of the estate.
"Yes, Mr. Irons?" the doctor's obsequious tones answered on the first ring.
"Please come to the library at once, Doctor," Irons bade him.
Minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Enter," Kenneth said from where he sat near the ever-present fire in his favorite chair, an ornately carved, throne-like monstrosity.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Irons. I trust you are well?" the doctor asked solicitously. As usual, the gray-haired man was clad in a white lab coat.
"Yes, for the time being, Dr. Immo. It is Ian who concerns me." Kenneth steepled his long, elegant fingers, a slight frown marring his otherwise smooth brow.
"What is the problem with the boy?"
"He is becoming more and more infatuated with the Wielder. It has started to affect his efficiency and to call into question just where his loyalties lie. This is intolerable to me," Irons told him.
"What do you propose I do?" Immo asked, unable to keep a touch of anxiety out of his voice. He had a soft spot for young Nottingham, having ushered him into the world so to speak.
"Can you concoct some sort of drug therapy that will render Sara Pezzini less attractive to him?"
"Are you suggesting I chemically castrate the boy?" Dr. Immo asked, his tone implying that this idea was repugnant to him.
"Can you do that?"
"Not without severely compromising his aggression levels, I'm afraid." Immo hesitated. "Forgive my impertinence, Mr. Irons, but since the Wielder doesn't return Ian's affections, why contemplate such a drastic course of action?"
"Perhaps you haven't been listening to what I've been saying, doctor. Ian's loyalties are shifting to the Wielder, and I will not tolerate it," Kenneth bit out, glaring at the bespectacled man.
"You must calm yourself, sir," the doctor said soothingly. "I can tell by your color that your blood pressure is elevated. You know this is not good for your health. Which reminds me, you are scheduled for a flu shot. I can administer it now, if you like."
Irons had a sudden inspiration. "Doctor, how much trouble would it be to temporarily incapacitate Ian's recuperative powers?" he asked.
"For what purpose?" the doctor asked cautiously.
"Is it or isn't it possible, Doctor?" Irons snapped impatiently.
"Well, as you know, the genetic enhancements that Ian underwent make him impervious to such things as the common cold, influenza, and even certain types of biologically engineered viruses. It also enables him to heal much faster than a normal person would. However, I have in my possession various toxins that would mimic the symptoms of a bad cold or a mild case of the flu and that would also severely curtail his healing ability."
"How long would it take for the toxin to take effect?"
"He would probably begin to experience the symptoms I mentioned within 24 hours."
"Excellent. I want you to prepare a dosage."
"However, sir, I must caution that an antidote must be administered within 48 to 72 hours after he begins to exhibit symptoms, or he could become seriously ill. Perhaps even fatally."
"Noted. Now, I want you to give Ian a complete physical exam first thing tomorrow morning. That will give you the perfect excuse to slip him the toxin," Kenneth told him, his mood beginning to improve tremendously.
"You do realize I gave Ian his annual physical only three months ago," Dr. Immo said.
"Yes, I do. I also know how much he hates being poked and prodded. But rest assured that he will acquiesce if I order him to undergo another physical. He will think it is part of the punishment that he is aware he deserves for disobeying me today," Irons said with a cold, cold smile.
"Very well." Again the doctor hesitated. "Might I ask exactly what purpose sickening the boy serves?"
Because Kenneth was suddenly feeling magnanimous, he decided to overlook the doctor's impudence.
"I think it is high time young Nottingham was reminded in no uncertain terms exactly to whom his loyalty belongs. His very well-being is in my control. He must never forget that. After this, he never will," he said with satisfaction. "Now, I believe you mentioned something about a flu shot."
"Yes, sir. I will return with it momentarily."
"Oh, and Doctor," Kenneth said silkily, "need I warn you that I will be very displeased should Ian learn anything of what we have just discussed here?" His cruel ice-blue eyes pinned the doctor where he stood.
"No, sir. As always, you have my utmost discretion in all matters."
"Very good." 'Oh, yes, very good indeed,' Irons thought as he watched the good doctor leave the library.
He was not troubled at all by the fact that his plan seriously jeopardized his bodyguard's chances of surviving his encounter with the attack force due to arrive in New York the day after tomorrow. Kenneth knew that even a sick and/or injured Ian Nottingham was still far more lethal than a dozen hale and hearty men. However, this would be a true test of the assassin's survival skills. If he passed, he would have proven himself worthy of service in Kenneth's employ beyond the shadow of a doubt. If he failed, well, naturally, Irons had a backup plan.
More to come. Feedback of the constructive criticism variety is most welcome. Or I'll cry.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. I'm just playing. Enjoy!
Chapter 10.
Kenneth Irons knew the exact moment the Witchblade gave its Wielder her first vision of the day.
Sara Pezzini's shock and revulsion at the abruptness and violence of the vision was crystal clear to him through their link.
Then Kenneth waited for Ian Nottingham to call him.
And waited.
And waited.
Several hours passed, during which he sensed the Wielder's growing impatience and concern, no doubt for the safety of the boy she thought of as her nephew. Then Irons felt the brief disorientation caused by the second vision the Blade chose to share with Sara. Whatever it was she saw made her anxiety level increase, so much so Kenneth began pacing in his office until he realized what he was doing and forced himself to take a seat and relax.
And still he waited for his bodyguard and servant to call him.
And waited.
He even had time to leave Vorschlag's headquarters, make the half- hour trip to his estate in the suburbs, and ensconce himself in the library there. This was fortunate, because he had complete privacy when he felt the all-too-familiar white-hot blaze of Sara Pezzini's anger when Ian Nottingham approached her. This time, Kenneth did not have to hold back a yelp at the searing pain the raised scar on the back of his right hand dealt him.
When the discomfort faded almost as quickly as it had flared up, Irons waited by the phone for the much-anticipated call from Ian. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he sensed the Wielder's temper flare again, but the ache receded nearly as swiftly as before. Idly, Kenneth wondered what young Nottingham did to mollify Sara's irritation so quickly during their encounters.
A cold anger began to grow in him as the minutes crawled by. Another three-quarters of an hour elapsed, and Kenneth sensed the Witchblade impart yet another fleeting vision to its Wielder, the third of the day.
And still no call from his bodyguard.
Rage filled Irons as he realized that he was going to be forced to call Nottingham if he wanted an update. His body shook with the effort not to let his fury show in his voice as he dialed Ian's cell phone and spoke to his errant servant.
His extreme displeasure did not abate after he hung up. If anything, it increased.
It had become glaringly obvious to Kenneth that the usual whippings were no longer effective in reinforcing Ian's absolute obedience.
Ever since the Witchblade had chosen Sara Pezzini as its Wielder and he had been tasked with following her every move, young Nottingham's behavior had become increasingly unruly. On more than one occasion, he had even gone so far as to question his master's decisions with regard to his handling of the beautiful detective, something heretofore unheard of.
Irons remembered his shock the first time it had happened. It galled him that Ian's unsolicited advice had turned out to be correct in every instance. Kenneth did not intend to become used to being second-guessed, especially by a lowly servant. No, he was simply going to have to figure out a better way to quell this disturbing trend toward rebelliousness in his wayward employee.
He put in a call to his personal physician, Dr. Immo, whose state-of- the-art lab was located in the deepest sublevel of the estate.
"Yes, Mr. Irons?" the doctor's obsequious tones answered on the first ring.
"Please come to the library at once, Doctor," Irons bade him.
Minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Enter," Kenneth said from where he sat near the ever-present fire in his favorite chair, an ornately carved, throne-like monstrosity.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Irons. I trust you are well?" the doctor asked solicitously. As usual, the gray-haired man was clad in a white lab coat.
"Yes, for the time being, Dr. Immo. It is Ian who concerns me." Kenneth steepled his long, elegant fingers, a slight frown marring his otherwise smooth brow.
"What is the problem with the boy?"
"He is becoming more and more infatuated with the Wielder. It has started to affect his efficiency and to call into question just where his loyalties lie. This is intolerable to me," Irons told him.
"What do you propose I do?" Immo asked, unable to keep a touch of anxiety out of his voice. He had a soft spot for young Nottingham, having ushered him into the world so to speak.
"Can you concoct some sort of drug therapy that will render Sara Pezzini less attractive to him?"
"Are you suggesting I chemically castrate the boy?" Dr. Immo asked, his tone implying that this idea was repugnant to him.
"Can you do that?"
"Not without severely compromising his aggression levels, I'm afraid." Immo hesitated. "Forgive my impertinence, Mr. Irons, but since the Wielder doesn't return Ian's affections, why contemplate such a drastic course of action?"
"Perhaps you haven't been listening to what I've been saying, doctor. Ian's loyalties are shifting to the Wielder, and I will not tolerate it," Kenneth bit out, glaring at the bespectacled man.
"You must calm yourself, sir," the doctor said soothingly. "I can tell by your color that your blood pressure is elevated. You know this is not good for your health. Which reminds me, you are scheduled for a flu shot. I can administer it now, if you like."
Irons had a sudden inspiration. "Doctor, how much trouble would it be to temporarily incapacitate Ian's recuperative powers?" he asked.
"For what purpose?" the doctor asked cautiously.
"Is it or isn't it possible, Doctor?" Irons snapped impatiently.
"Well, as you know, the genetic enhancements that Ian underwent make him impervious to such things as the common cold, influenza, and even certain types of biologically engineered viruses. It also enables him to heal much faster than a normal person would. However, I have in my possession various toxins that would mimic the symptoms of a bad cold or a mild case of the flu and that would also severely curtail his healing ability."
"How long would it take for the toxin to take effect?"
"He would probably begin to experience the symptoms I mentioned within 24 hours."
"Excellent. I want you to prepare a dosage."
"However, sir, I must caution that an antidote must be administered within 48 to 72 hours after he begins to exhibit symptoms, or he could become seriously ill. Perhaps even fatally."
"Noted. Now, I want you to give Ian a complete physical exam first thing tomorrow morning. That will give you the perfect excuse to slip him the toxin," Kenneth told him, his mood beginning to improve tremendously.
"You do realize I gave Ian his annual physical only three months ago," Dr. Immo said.
"Yes, I do. I also know how much he hates being poked and prodded. But rest assured that he will acquiesce if I order him to undergo another physical. He will think it is part of the punishment that he is aware he deserves for disobeying me today," Irons said with a cold, cold smile.
"Very well." Again the doctor hesitated. "Might I ask exactly what purpose sickening the boy serves?"
Because Kenneth was suddenly feeling magnanimous, he decided to overlook the doctor's impudence.
"I think it is high time young Nottingham was reminded in no uncertain terms exactly to whom his loyalty belongs. His very well-being is in my control. He must never forget that. After this, he never will," he said with satisfaction. "Now, I believe you mentioned something about a flu shot."
"Yes, sir. I will return with it momentarily."
"Oh, and Doctor," Kenneth said silkily, "need I warn you that I will be very displeased should Ian learn anything of what we have just discussed here?" His cruel ice-blue eyes pinned the doctor where he stood.
"No, sir. As always, you have my utmost discretion in all matters."
"Very good." 'Oh, yes, very good indeed,' Irons thought as he watched the good doctor leave the library.
He was not troubled at all by the fact that his plan seriously jeopardized his bodyguard's chances of surviving his encounter with the attack force due to arrive in New York the day after tomorrow. Kenneth knew that even a sick and/or injured Ian Nottingham was still far more lethal than a dozen hale and hearty men. However, this would be a true test of the assassin's survival skills. If he passed, he would have proven himself worthy of service in Kenneth's employ beyond the shadow of a doubt. If he failed, well, naturally, Irons had a backup plan.
More to come. Feedback of the constructive criticism variety is most welcome. Or I'll cry.