THURSDAY
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep
Stopping by woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Lee Frost
NEW YORK
MORNING
The drive to the airport the next day was quiet, with Sage and Bishop staring out of the windows. Gambit wasn't sure whether they were looking for more Marauders or just sulking. Either way, at least it was quiet. And it gave him a chance to find out a bit more about their dangerous companion.
"I'm not tryin' t'pry here, comprends? But it might help if I knew bit more of what you can and can't do. We get into trouble…"
"Then you need to know if I'm an asset or a liability?" There was no resentment in the question. There might even have been some humour.
Gambit matched the tone. "That's pretty much it."
Louisa considered. "Probably somewhere in between. I'm not much of a fighter, hand to hand I mean, but I took basic self defence classes. I can affect things proportional to how close I am to them. If someone grabs me I can probably make them let go, but if someone grabs you on the other side of the room, I probably can't."
Gambit nodded to himself. "Bien. That makes sense."
There was an unspoken agreement between the X-men not to discuss events of the previous day at her apartment. If she didn't remember what she'd done, this probably wasn't the time or place to tell her.
At the terminal, they left Sage and Bishop at the car. Four was quite conspicuous enough, and Bishop was big enough for two. Strolling towards the check in desks, Gambit scanned the area with a casual air. Rogue and Storm, who knew him too well to be fooled, exchanged a smile.
"You lookin' for somthin', sugah?" asked Rogue
Gambit grinned. "Nope. I found him."
Rogue scanned the crowd, looking for the person looking for them. She drew a blank until an average looking young man detached himself from the press of people and came towards him. If she hadn't been paying attention, she never would have seen him. Average height, average build, average looks and average brown hair. Non-descript blue t-shirt and blue jeans, he was, she thought, the perfect thief.
He smiled, coming up and taking Gambit's hand.
"Good to see you again, Remy."
"An' you David. Merci for th'assist."
"Not a problem. Everything's set."
As they talked, the five of them were slowly drifting away from the hubbub of the check in desks. Rogue was scanning the crowd for anyone taking an unusual interest in them, aware that the others were probably doing the same. Gambit and David were chatting casually about the latter's family, although Rogue suspected the people mentioned weren't related in the strictest sense of the word. New Orleans wasn't the only place the Thieves' Guild had influence, and Remy had made quite a few calls the previous evening.
They had made their way to a row of seats near the entrance. Gambit gestured for Storm and Louisa to sit down, as the girl was still looking drawn even after a night's sleep, while he and David remained standing. Rogue decided to join them, seeing David pass Gambit a small, ticket-sized envelope. Apart from it being white not brown, Rogue was not surprised.
"We had a few problems with the girl's picture," he was saying, "so I thought we'd leave the final choice till this morning."
Gambit nodded, his eyes on David as he opened the package. Rogue's guess had been right. There were four airline tickets and a selection of ID cards in it. Gambit rifled through them as he spoke.
"These are very good, mon ami. You persuade Shaker t'come outta retirement for you?" Seeing David's sideways glance, he continued in the same, chatty tone. "This is Rogue, by de way. She's wit' me."
This seemed to be enough. "Not exactly. Old man Shaker's out of it for good now, but he's son's just as good."
"Better, I'd say." Gambit looked hard at Louisa for a moment, then selected one of the cards, handing the rest back to David. The tickets disappeared into an inside pocket. "Thanks, I 'preciate your help."
"As I said, any time." David paused, choosing his words. "There anything you want to share here?"
Rogue looked at Gambit, who looked at Storm, who looked at Louisa. Without moving his head, Gambit answered, "What makes you ask dat?" He was wearing his best 'innocent little me' expression. David clearly wasn't fooled and carried on looking at the taller man, an expectant expression on his face. Gambit tilted his head to one side, and at Storm's nod, said,
"Y'know I can' go into details. But keep your eyes open."
"I usually do. It helps for not walking into things. That all I'm going to get?"
Gambit's eyes glowed deeper for a moment as he considered the options. Deciding, he said, "Names. Louisa Gavin; Jacob Gavin. A big, mean mutant, Scalphunter. Listen out f'r them. You get anythin', let Bishop or Sage know on this number."
A card appeared between his fingers and, taking a pen from his pocket, he scrawled the apartment's number across it.
"An' don' worry, we have voicemail."
David took it. "I'll keep an ear open." With a jerk of his hand, the card disappeared. He grinned back at Gambit. "I've been practising."
The tickets were for a flight leaving in about an hour and were, to Rogue's surprise, for First Class. Louisa's ID named her as Karen Bristol, the name she'd used at her apartment and was clearly also first class as they all got through security without a hitch.
Once in the departure lounge, Rogue decided to tackle Gambit on this.
"Ah thought security was s'posed to be much tighter now."
Gambit raised an eyebrow. "You complainin', chére?"
"Not really. But it's not very reassurin', is it? That someone with false ID just waltzed through security?"
"You wan' t'say that a bit louder, Rogue? I don' think they heard you in Washington." He held up a placating hand, "Seriously, we didn't jus' 'waltz' through. De guy who made the IDs works for some very hush-hush legit sources and jus' keeps it quiet that he sometimes freelances for de Guild. An' de head of de airline jus' happens to owe my friend David a favour. 'Sides, it's good for de airline t'know some of us. We keep an eye on things for him, help spot de occasional smuggler, that kind o'thing. An' he helps us wit'transport."
Rogue glanced over to where Storm and Louisa were getting coffee, well out of earshot. The explanation had been for her benefit. 'Well', she thought, 'it wasn't like I didn't know who I was getting involved with before I started this.'
He was looking at her, waiting to see how she'd react.
"Ah get it, Remy. Jus' not used t'things bein' so easy, Ah guess."
"Don' say things like that." Gambit winced. "That's askin' for trouble."
Rogue laughed and went over to join Storm and Louisa who were studying their coffees with rather more interest than they deserved. Gambit swept his gaze over the lounge one more time before joining them. He'd spotted the Guild escorts right off – they weren't trying to stay hidden from him. His instincts said they hadn't been followed so far, but he wasn't taking any chances. He nodded to one of the followers he recognized and sat down to join the others.
Rogue stretched in the large seat, luxuriating in the space.
"Bit diff'rent to de Blackbird, eh chére?"
She closed her eyes and smiled as she sank further into the soft seat.
"Ah'll say. A girl could get used t'this, Remy."
Gambit smiled back, even though she couldn't see him. Louisa also seemed to be enjoying the larger space – she had pushed the seat right back and fallen asleep again. He suspected whatever they'd given her yesterday was still affecting her and she looked like she could use the rest. Storm was watching her, face tight but controlled. Despite the years of flying in the Blackbird that had tamed her fear of the enclosed space inside an aircraft, Gambit knew she was always happier flying herself. Still, she was under control at the moment and had promised them a smooth flight south.
In truth, he knew he could really use some sleep himself; they'd hit the ground running once they got to the city. Despite the confident front he presented to the others, he wasn't entirely sure the Guild would go with him on this. His long absence meant he was more out of touch than he should have been – there were too many variables at play here. Trying to plan for every contingency last night had just given him a headache. He'd reached out for Rogue instinctively, only to remember that he was sleeping on the sofa with Bishop snoring in the easy chair across the room. That had been even worse. There hadn't been much sleep after that, so he should probably try to catch up now. There was nothing he could do, that was the problem with an unpredictable situation – you couldn't predict what would happen.
Exhaling deeply, he decided he'd just have to what he usually did and follow his instincts once he got there. That, at least, was something he could do. Pushing his own seat back, he followed Louisa's example and closed his eyes to try to sleep.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
For friend and foe were shadows in the mist
And friend slew friend not knowing whom he slew
Idylls of the King by Alfred Lord Tennyson
As they drove away from the airport, Bishop watched his companion closely. Sage's face rarely reflected her feelings, but months of practice had taught Bishop to read her better than most.
"You're worried."
The statement hung between them as Sage concentrated on moving into the stream of traffic.
"Yes. Or, at least, concerned." Sage's fingers tapped the steering wheel. "The prospect of someone like Sinister getting his hands on Louisa and her powers is very worrying. And I am unconvinced of the logic of taking her to New Orleans."
"Storm agreed."
"I believe Storm allows her emotions to cloud her judgment where Gambit is concerned."
Bishop frowned. "You think he charmed her into it?"
"Possibly."
"It didn't work on us."
"We don't have soft spot for a loveable rogue."
Bishop shifted in his seat. Slowly he said, "Do you trust him?"
"Do you?"
Bishop considered for a moment. "To always tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, not a chance. But…"
"But?"
"To watch my back? Every time." He turned to face her again. "I don't think he'd deliberately endanger the girl."
"I'm not suggesting he would, but I think his own judgment may be clouded in this matter."
"Sinister."
Sage nodded, frustration creeping into her voice. "There are simply too many unknowns here. Gambit, Sinister, Louisa, Jacob Gavin."
"Which one?"
"Both! I don't have enough data."
Aha, thought Bishop, now we're getting to it. Aloud he said, "So we'll have to improvise a bit, until we know more."
"I dislike improvising, Lucas, on principle. And even that requires a starting point, something to improvise around. There are simply too may possibilities, too many variables here to know where to begin."
"So pick one and start with that."
"Which one?"
"Any one!" Her gloom was starting to annoy him. "The one that looks most promising, one at random, the first one alphabetically! Anything's better than nothing."
Bishop's outburst seemed to have cleared Sage's mood. "Do you really think that?" she asked calmly. "The wrong path could be worse than standing still."
"Do you really think that?" he shot back. Calming down he continued. "I refuse to believe that you don't have a most likely line of enquiry."
Her silence was enough of an answer. Sage hated losing an argument, and this was her second in two days. Bishop knew that she (and he) needed reminding sometimes that she was only human, however much she tried to deny it. He had reached seven in his silent countdown when she spoke.
"The balance of probabilities," she spoke the word carefully, "suggests that the Gavin side is the best place to start. We learned all we could from Louisa, that leaves her uncle and her cousin. Since she seemed reluctant to inform Jacob jnr. of her location – and I would rather respect her privacy if possibly – we should begin with Jabob snr."
"I thought that's what we'd been doing?" Most of the previous evening had been spent tracing Jacob Gavin's various business interests which were numerous and, in places, suspiciously shady. "We could talk to – damnit, let's just call him Courier – without letting on where Louisa is. To all intents and purposes she's still in hiding and he might be able to help us open up some of the dead ends we found."
Sage considered this. "Agreed. Do you want to make the call, or shall I?"
"You watch the road, I'll make the call." Bishop delved into a jacket pocket for his cell phone. They were rather stone age compared to the X-men's usual technological standards but they were useful at times. As he turned it on, it beeped at him.
"Got a message." He was surprised – hardly anyone had this number.
"From?" Asked Sage, watching him out of the corner of his eye.
"Neal. He and Heather are heading back to New York – they got our last message."
"Anything on Davis?" Sage's tone was neutral as ever.
"He doesn't say." Bishop looked across at his companion. Sage had said little about her role in Davis' disappearance but the tension between her and Heather had almost reached breaking point The departure of Neal and Heather to look for the boy had delayed, not cancelled the confrontation. Sage still said nothing. Knowing she'd talk when and if she was ready, Bishop decided to let it go for the moment. "He's asked me to let them have the address – we didn't have one when Storm last contacted them."
As Sage manoeuvred through the now heavy traffic, Bishop made the calls. 'Jackie' Gavin was out of the hotel at the moment so he left a message and the cell phone number.
The journey back to the apartment took longer and Bishop was starting to fidget by the time they got there. Sage pulled into the underground garage and they took the elevator up to the penthouse and had taken two paces into the corridor when Sage raised her hand, signaling Bishop to stop. Following her gaze down the passage, he caught a glimpse of a moving shadow disappearing round the corner and heard almost silent footsteps. Neither of them moved, not even to draw a weapon – too noisy and definitely unnecessary. Moving as one, they stepped to the corner and Bishop caught Sage's eye. She nodded, stopping, while he took another long pace that carried him into the main corridor. He had a glimpse of the figure waiting outside the apartment door and grinned. Beckoning for Sage to follow, he moved silently and swiftly up behind the unsuspecting man.
On consideration several hours later, Bishop thought that it hadn't been his smartest idea ever. Startling an already nervous X-man who didn't always have complete control of his ability to blast jets of solar heated plasma had dangerous consequences. It had, however, been a good idea for him to stand in front of Sage. His mutant cells easily absorbed the energy, although the suddenness of the blast threw him off his feet. Sage stepped swiftly out of his way as he flew backwards and as she looked from him to Neal, her expression veered away from neutral into interested.
Neal appeared to have been shocked into speechlessness, and he hurried forward, hands outstretched to help his teammate up. Bishop took the offered hand and by the time he'd heaved himself back to his feet, Neal's mouth was starting to open and close, still wordless.
"Stop doing fish impressions, Rookie, I'm fine."
"But a normal human wouldn't have been." Sage's firm, sardonic voice cut between them.
Neal spun to face her.
"It wouldn't have hurt anyone, just…"
"Blasted them away?" Bishop asked, as Sage touched the side of her glasses, replaying the scene. After a few seconds she nodded to herself and raised an eyebrow at Neal.
"Well done, Thunderbird. The blast would have knocked the person down the corridor. Aside from concussion, possible broken bones and slight singing, a normal human would, indeed, have been fine."
Neal had recovered some of his composure. "Well a normal human wouldn't have sneaked up behind me and yelled 'go for it, X-man' at me, would they?"
Bishop barked a laugh. "The boy's got a point, Sage. I accept the consequences of my actions." He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "How you doing?"
"I was fine, thanks, Bishop." Neal took a deep breath. "And once my blood pressure returns to normal, I will be fine again."
"And Heather?"
The young man looked sharply at Sage. She had asked quietly, her tone neutral, as though she had just asked if they'd had a good journey. Neal paused a moment before answering.
"She's up on the roof. Said she'd join us later. Confined spaces," he broke off, considering his words carefully, "they're not so good for her any more."
Sage nodded, almost to herself again, then turned and headed towards the stairs to the roof. Neal's attempt to follow her was prevented by Bishop's hand on his shoulder.
"Let them sort it out. They should have done it before you left." He looked down into Neal's wide brown eyes which were full of concern. "A team can't function if its members won't talk, Neal. I know you don't have a problem with Sage, but Heather has had a lot to come to terms with." He steered the smaller man towards the penthouse door. "Sage knows what she's doing."
The sun was at its full height as Sage emerged onto the roof. The city was bathed in warm light, with just a hint of haze floating over it. Catching a glint out of the corner of her eye, Sage turned. Heather was standing looking out at the city, her golden skin gleaming in the light, wings folded against her back. She looked older than when Sage had last seen her. The careless surfer look was gone and in its place was a new assurance, a new confidence. She'd had time to come to terms with how she looked, the only question was, had she come to terms with those around her as well?
Although Sage had never been one for emotional angst, she knew she had to tread carefully here. There had been an uneasy truce between them for the fight against Khan's invasion, but right now Heather had no reason to hold to that. Sage also knew that Heather was just about the only X-man who could match her for speed, her Shi'ar DNA making her movements less predictable. If she decided to hit first an ask questions later, Sage would just have to take the bruises.
As she crossed the roof, she watched the other woman carefully. Heather didn't turn, but her wings fluttered a little, settling themselves. Sage came to the low wall enclosing the roof and rested her elbows on it, surveying the city below. For a long minute, neither of them spoke.
"What do you see?" Heather's voice was soft and calm
As Sage considered the question, but before she could answer, Heather went on. "Do you see people, individuals, or just genetic potential?"
"Both." Sage looked up into the younger woman's face. "I see both, Heather. Did you find Davis?"
Heather's wings unfurled a little, although the expression on her face did not change. As Sage waited for an answer, she noted the Shi'ar body language for future reference.
"We found him." Heather's face and voice were now stony. "Briefly. He ran again. I could follow, find him again but," she shrugged, "what would be the point? I had a long chat with Kurt – Nightcrawler – and he gave me this." In one three fingered hand she held a small, grey box.
"An image inducer?"
"Yup. He said he doesn't use it any more, so I may as well have it." She pressed the button on the side of the box and the air around her shimmered. Suddenly the golden, statuesque Shi'ar was gone, replaced by-
Heather Cameron. The image inducer had restored her human appearance, almost identical to the girl Sage had first met. Her hair was a little shorter and she looked a little younger, but it was undoubtedly Heather. Shifting a little under the overt examination, Heather kept talking, her words now rushing out.
"We used an old picture of me. It's good enough, although I have to remember not to flex my wings too much – it confuses the image. Kurt advised me to use it as little as possible. He said it would stop me coming to terms with it. At least he knows that deep down he's human. Me?" She laughed bitterly. Switching off the image inducer, she looked hard at Sage. "I don't blame you know?"
Sage raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand to rub her chin. Heather's initial reaction had been considerably more violent.
Heather laughed again, the bitterness subsiding a little. "Yes, sorry about that. Guess I panicked a bit. I know you didn't do this to me. Not really. And I don't blame you for Davis either, not now." Her gaze wandered back to the busy streets.
"I don't apologise." Sage's voice was calm as ever. "Not for doing what has to be done." She paused. When she continued there was a note of something – sadness? – in her voice. "But I am sorry that doing what was necessary has caused you and your brother so much pain."
Heather nodded and she spoke in a whisper. "Thank you."
When Sage returned to the apartment, she could hear Bishop and Neal moving about and laughing in the kitchen. She'd noted before that the two men seemed to get on well, and their efforts in the kitchen were usually successful. Bishop stuck his head out of the door as he heard Sage enter. Seeing her calm face and receiving a nod of confirmation, he turned back to the kitchen.
Sage adjusted her glasses, sat down and began to reanalyse (again) everything they knew about the Jacob Gavins. Unlikely as it seemed, she must have missed something. Through the fog of concentration, she heard the shrill ring of Bishop's phone and fluent, if incomprehensible swearing coming from the kitchen. Judging by the noise, something had been dropped. She began to close down the screens and had just about finished when Bishop emerged from the kitchen.
"That was Courier. He wants to meet."
"Where and when?"
"His, er, her, hotel. ASAP."
"I think we're just going to have to pick a pronoun and stick to it."
Bishop rolled his eyes. "Fine. HE wants to meet. His hotel. Whenever we can get there."
"Fine." Sage reached for her coat. "Shall we?"
Bishop nodded and turned to Neal, emerging from the kitchen behind him. "You guys stay here for now. We don't want to scare him off."
Neal looked disappointed but agreed. "I could use some sleep anyway. Heather sets quite a pace."
Sage decided to cut off whatever comment was rising up through Bishop's mind – Neal did look tired.
"That's fine. Make yourselves at home. You coming?"
Bishop grabbed his own keys and followed her out of the door. "Keep safe, Rookie. Don't do anything I wouldn't" He pulled the door shut behind him, hearing the gentle thud of a slightly explosive tea towel hit just about where his head would have been.
******************************************************************************************************************
NEW ORLEANS
AFTERNOON
Now I am free, enfranchised and at large, May fix
my habitation where I will.
What dwelling shall receive me?
From The Prelude Book 1 by William Wordsworth
At New Orleans airport, Gambit arranged a car while Storm got them all more coffee. To Rogue's eye, Louisa still looked pale and nervous, which she supposed that was understandable. The X-men were used to knowing they were targets. To suddenly discover you were being hunted by one of the most twisted minds on the planet must come as quite a shock. Louisa looked like she was expected another Marauder to leap out from behind a pillar or for Sinister to suddenly walk into the terminal building. Still, there was nothing Rogue could do about it – maybe she'd relax a little once they got to the Guildhouse.
Gambit arrived back with the car keys just as Storm got back with the coffee. He was frowning a little and stuffing his phone into an inside pocket. Storm gave him the coffee, which he sipped gratefully.
"Belle said she'd meet us at the Nawlins safe house. She's goin' t'bring a team with her."
"And that bothers you." It wasn't a question.
"A little." Gambit's frown deepened and he scratched the back of his head. "I thought we'd be goin' out to de main Guildhouse, but I get de feelin' we ain't exactly welcome."
"We or us?"
"Yeah. Mebbe that's it. Belle could jus' be bein' wary of outsiders."
"Or of me." Rogue wondered if Belladonna would ever truly forgive her for absorbing her memories all that time ago. In truth, she couldn't blame the woman for being careful.
"P'raps. Anyway, de safe house isn't too bad, even if it's not the size o'yours."
"Now, now, sugah, don' get jealous." Rogue gave him a playful grin.
"Jealous?! O'dat crumblin' pile o'mortar? You gotta be kiddin'."
"Now children, we have company." Storm waved her coffee cup at Louisa who, Rogue was pleased to see, was smiling along with them. It was the first sign of interest she'd shown all day.
"Remy," Storm continued, "Do you have a car now?"
"Oui, Stormy, I got it. Woulda preferred a bike but I don' think you'd all fit in de side car." Grinning, he offered his arm to Louisa and led the way to the car park. They were nearly at the car and he was halfway through an elaborate and mostly true story about how he and Lapin had once lifted the Mayor's car, when she suddenly tightened her grip on his arm and gasped.
"What is it?"
She pointed wordlessly at his hand, which had started to glow gently. Swearing in French, he dropped the car keys realizing how tightly he'd been holding them. They hit the ground, releasing the charge and sending a small puff of smoke into the air. Rogue and Storm came hurrying up to see what was wrong.
"You okay, sugah? We heard…" Rogue broke off, looking from the keys on the ground to his hand, which was still glowing gently. Normally he could re-absorb the energy if he changed his mind, but this was out of control. He could feel the energy building up and no amount of concentration was affecting it this time.
He was so focused on his hand that he was only dimly aware of Louisa stepping in front of him. Then a searing pain shot through his arm and side. The air around his hand was a cloud of smoke that dissipated as soon as it appeared. Dimly, through the pain, he was aware that somehow he had charged up particles in the air, which had taken the potentially dangerous energy away from his hand. He also became aware that someone had their arm around his waist, holding him up. Looking down, he met Storm's wide blue eyes, full of concern. Rogue was also standing close, her hand on his arm. And Louisa was leaning against the car, one hand on its roof, the other massaging her forehead.
"Remy? Can you hear me?" Storm spoke quietly, but to Remy's over sensitive and pain-filled head it was as though she was shouting at him.
"Oui, Stormy, I hear you. Not so loud, okay?" He pulled himself out of her embrace and took a wobbly step towards Louisa. She didn't look up at him although her shoulders straightened as though bracing herself. He put out a shaky hand and lifted her chin, so that they were at least face to face if not eye to eye.
"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I didn't know what…I thought…" The sentence trailed off.
"Firstly, chére, I'm not mad at you. I think you jus' stopped me from blowing up m'own hand, so thank you. What you so scared for?"
She blinked back unshed tears. "I saw, I mean, I felt. So much pain."
"You felt dat?"
"Some of it."
Storm stepped in, putting her hand on Gambit's shoulder. "I think we should all sit down and Louisa can explain exactly what happened. Shall we get in the car?"
"Jus' one problem there." Rogue bent down and picked up the misshapen lump that had been the car keys.
Gambit raised an eyebrow at her. "You really t'ink that's a problem, chére?"
Two minutes later they were pulling out of the car park, only delayed by an argument over who was going to drive. Gambit conceded to Rogue on the proviso that she keep more or less to the speed limit, considering they wanted to stay inconspicuous. She'd come back with the point that to drive sensibly in New Orleans was to be conspicuous and the whole thing was about to start again when Storm opened the door and practically shoved Gambit into the back seat.
"Since I am the only other person here who can start the car without a key and without permanently damaging it and you," she pointed at Gambit, "are in no condition to drive, I do not see that there is much choice."
Resting his head back against the seat, he had to agree with her. Even the slight movement of the car was making him nauseous. A familiar tingle told him he was being watched and he turned his head to Louisa. Her face was towards him, eyes were apparently focused on the window.
"What do you see?"
She frowned and he felt a ripple pass through him, like back at her apartment only much more gentle this time. As the second wave washed over him, she closed her eyes, concentrating.
"Damage." She said at last. "With most mutants I can see how their powers work, see the connections and pathways. With you, all three of you in fact, I see a bit of a mess. Parts are missing, others damaged, others just look wrong. I could see where the power flare was coming from and that you couldn't control it. So I pushed a bit, severed the connection."
"You pulled the plug."
"In effect."
Rogue turned in her seat. "That was pretty dangerous, wasn't it? Playin' with someone's insides like that?"
"Not really." Louisa was a little defensive. "I don't 'play' with anyone. And I figured it was better that than Gambit lose his hand."
"That would not have been a problem." Storm told her. "Remy cannot charge organic matter."
Gambit and Rogue exchanged a look. There had been a time when he'd been able to charge pretty much anything he pleased, organic or not. That was not somewhere Remy was prepared to go again, not even to have his powers back. Being powerless was better than that.
Apparently oblivious to this, Louisa continued, somewhat petulantly.
"Well, it looked pretty powerful to me. And I figured all that energy would be safer somewhere else."
"So where'd you put it?" Remy flexed his hand. It was still sore and the skin was definitely reddened.
"Into the dust." Met with a blank silence she tried to explain. "I see the air, which believe me isn't always a good thing, and there's lots of dust particles in it. I just pulled a lot of them together to absorb the charge."
"How many is a lot?"
Now it was Louisa's turn to look blank.
"I've no idea. As may as were needed, I guess. I just did it, instinctively, without really thinking."
Sensing her growing unease, Storm tried to reassure the girl.
"Don't worry that's fairly normal for telekinetics. As Sage said, your abilities are only limited by your imagination – if you can think it, you can do it."
Again with the look. The only telekinetic Gambit knew who fitted that description was Jean and the power of the Phoenix definitely wasn't that of an average mutant. Louisa clearly also found this statement a little over-confident but she said nothing.
Rather than dwell on that, Rogue asked abut something that had been bothering her.
"How exactly did you know Remy was hurtin'? You said you felt it."
"I too have been wondering that." Added Storm. "Some kind of empathic ability?"
"As far as I know, no." Louisa's voice was puzzled. After a moment of awkward silence, Gambit slowly raised his hand.
"Dat would be me." Despite the questioning stares, he shook his head. "It's a bit complicated."
"I suppose that means you're not going to tell us."
"Got it in one, Stormy.
"Do not call me that, Remy."
The familiar exchange seemed to end the conversation. Storm and Rogue occasionally commented on familiar and changed landmarks, Louisa appeared to be meditating (or asleep again) and Gambit stared unseeing out of the window.
His arm and side still ached from whatever Louisa had done to him, but that was nothing compared to the lump in his gut. The question was what to worry about first? Sometimes it seemed to him that fate had far too much fun at his expense. Just as his powers went haywire, he and Rogue hit their first really rocky patch, Louisa had been dropped in front of them, bringing Sinister and the X-men – one infinitely better than the other but both bringing further confusion. On top of that he had chosen this moment to try and sort himself out with the Guild? He felt like a juggler who'd managed to get all his balls up in the air and suddenly realized they were all going to come down again at once. The sick feeling in his stomach told him that at least one of them was going to end up falling on his head.
Shifting in his seat and turning away from the window he caught Rogue watching him. To see her green eyes so full of concern broke his heart. She had the chance she wanted – to get back to the life they both loved. Being an X-man hadn't been the plan-A career path for either of them, but it had consumed them both, body and soul. Rogue believed in the X-men and so, to his surprise, did he. If she had a shot at getting that life back, he was determined not to stand in her way.
He smiled weakly at her, all too aware that it wasn't reaching his eyes. Rather than return it, she frowned and turned back to reply to Storm. Gambit's gaze wandered across to Louisa. If she was awake she must have sensed the exchange and he wondered what she made of the situation. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with someone who could literally see him with her eyes closed. He'd never exactly been comfortable with telepaths, even when he'd had all his natural defenses. Louisa's power was as extreme as Xavier's – nothing could be hidden from her. He smiled to himself. Unless it was more than three metres away. At least she had that limit.
The scenery sped past and they were soon on the edge of the city, then in the Garden District, then pulling up outside his safe house. Like so many of the buildings here, it was an impressive three storey pile, its sweeping staircases and wrought iron railings a reminder of grander times. Gambit led the way up a wide path through immaculate gardens and up the steps to the front door. The beautiful lawn and flowerbeds were kept up by a local, rather impoverished handyman who had no idea his beer money was supplied by the most notorious and mysterious society in the city. His family had been made destitute when his father was killed in the crossfire during a particularly violent period in the Guild wars. It was typical Jean-Luc to pay attention to little details like that. Remy tried to do the same but knew he would never live up to his father's standards. Yet another ball that was about to fall on his head.
At the front door, Rogue looked at him expectantly while Storm examined the lock.
"Fancy your chances, Stormy?"
She frowned, although whether at him or the lock he wasn't sure. Without looking round, she dropped her bag to the ground and reached into her pocket for her picks.
"Do not call me that, Remy."
Rogue sidled over to Gambit.
"Would Ah be wrong in thinkin' that ain't gonna be as simple as she thinks?"
He grinned at her.
"Patience, chére. Wait an' see."
Louisa had sat down on the top step, clearly ready for a long wait. Rogue joined her and they began talking in low voices. After a while, Gambit realized he could only hear Rogue's voice, more subdued than normal and keeping up a steady monologue. He picked up the word 'invade' and guessed Louisa must have asked how they all ended up in such a sorry state. Since most of what had gone on was public knowledge anyway, he wasn't too worried and turned his attention back to Storm. She was still bent over the lock, making no apparent progress. He sauntered over and settled back against the doorframe, watching her with what he knew was his most infuriating smirk.
"Havin' trouble there?"
She didn't answer, but swapped one pick for another, trying different combinations. He let her struggle for another few minutes, then leaned towards her.
"Need a hand?"
She glared at him.
"What I need is for you to give me room to work."
Gambit held up his hands in mock apology.
"Desolé, mon amie. I was jus' askin'."
He folded his arms and began to whistle softly. Finally, after another five minutes, in which he was sure he heard her swear under her breath in a language he didn't know, she straightened up.
"Are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask?"
"I reckon if you said please real nice….Alright! Alright!" He batted away the pick she was threatening him with and reached into his own pocket.
Compared to Storm's elegant kit, his own set looked battered and ancient. Hers were the best money could buy and he should know – he'd given them to her his first Christmas with the X-men. His had been Henri's and although the case was a little worse for wear, he wouldn't have traded them for anything.
He drew out one seldom used, long and thin like the others but too fine to be much use on most door locks. Storm eyed it skeptically.
"C'mon, don' tell me you're goin' t'start judgin' books by their covers now?"
He passed it to her, then took her hand to guide it to the lock. The steady sound of Rogue's voice faltered for a moment before picking up again. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the pain on her face. A sympathetic pang passed through him, but he forced himself to concentrate. He understood the look. Standing so close to Storm, his arms encircling her, his hand on hers, his face in her hair, it would be easy to close his eyes and imagine her hand was someone else's. But she smelt of fuscias, not Rogue's gentle lavender and he wasn't getting the tingle that he always got from being near Rogue, with or without her powers. Stamping firmly on the feeling of longing rising up within him, he gently turned Storm's hand.
"You had de right idea. De tumblers got to be turned one by one. Get them in the right order an' they'll hold. Get them wrong an' you'll be here quite a while. You feel?"
"Yes, I think so. Tell me, how long did it take you, the first time?"
"Awww, Stormy, you don' want t'worry about dat. See you got it!"
The lock clicked and the door swung open. Gambit stepped away from Storm and pocketed his tools. She bent to pick up her bag then pinned him with a firm blue stare.
"How long, Remy?"
Gambit managed to look away, trying to formulate an answer. Looking back, he knew she'd settle for nothing but the truth.
"'Bout thirty seconds, give or take. Took Lapin nearly a minute an' a half though."
Without looking away, Storm said, "Rogue, how long have we been here?"
Rogue glanced at her watch. "Near ten minutes."
"Ten." Storm narrowed her eyes. "Why did it take me so long?"
Gambit sighed. "This ain't de place. Let's get inside, shall we?"
He helped Louisa up and led the way into a grand entrance hall, decorated with paintings, tapestries and objects that money definitely couldn't buy. For one thing, no-one could have sold any of them without ending up arrested.
"Place has got eight bathrooms, four drawing rooms an' more bedrooms than I care t'count." He turned to Louisa. "You still need that aspirin? Up de stairs an' second door on de left."
"Ah'll give you a hand." Rogue took Louisa's arm.
Grateful for her tact, Gambit watched them go, then turned to Storm. This wasn't going to be fun.
"C'mon. De main office is this way." He led the way into a plush book lined room that smelt faintly of leather and tobacco.
"Office? This is more like a library." Storm ran her fingers over the leather bound books.
"M'Daddy always liked this room best. Guess I get it from him." He sank down into a large winged leather armchair, waving Storm into the sofa opposite.
"Do I have to guess what the problem is, or are you actually going to just tell me for once?"
"You're not a thief, Ororo." He held a hand up to stall her objections. "I'm not denying you got de skills. You're pretty good too; I'd sponsor your tilling m'self. An' to de X-men those skills are rare an' valuable. But here, at de Guild..."
"They're less impressive?"
"Somethin' like dat. You asked how long it took me de first time. I was eleven then, it was part of preparation for the tilling. I been doin' this a long time and most o'de Guild, they been doin' it longer than me."
"Remy, please get somewhere near a point. I already knew I wasn't going to be able to show off here."
"Good. These are dangerous people, don' doubt it. You're dealin' wit' Thieves, Assassins an' some seriously dark powers here. Don' be fooled by any goofin' around or de friendly smiles. Right now they're jumpy as poppin' corn an' I need t'handle them gently. They'll respect you as leader o'de X-men but don' push your luck. Even Belle an' I have trouble tellin' them what t'do."
"I really think you are worrying too much. And I did spend most of childhood 'thieving' on the streets of Cairo. It may not have been at the New Orleans Guild but-"
"Non." He cut across her. "It wasn't Nawlins, an' your master was an exile from his guild."
"So were you, when you taught me."
"True, but, even then, I was one o'de best Thieves in de world, even if I do say so m'self." His self-deprecating smile faded. "He wasn't. You may not want t'broadcast his name. I been tryin' t'find out why he was exiled, but it ain't gonna be for nothin' good. An' if anyone here does know why, it could bring us a world o'trouble we don' need right now. De Guilds are not your ordinary Thieves, 'Ro. It's not what they do, it's what they are. None of de other Guilds come close. Stop thinkin' of them as petty criminals an' you'll be fine."
To his relief, Storm seemed to be taking in what he was saying, her face grave. "I understand. But, if I may ask? You keep saying 'them'."
"That wasn't a question, Stormy."
She opened her mouth to answer, but Gambit was on his feet before she could speak.
"That was a car. They're here."
He vaulted the sofa and was into the hall by the time she reached the doorway. She saw him take a deep, calming breath before pulling the door open.
"'Lo Belle."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Home is the place where, when you go there, They have to take you in
The Death of the Hired Man by Robert Frost
"Remy!" Belladonna kissed both of his cheeks then pulled back to look at him. "How are you?"
"Survivin' as ever. You?"
"La meme. Mais," she smiled, "it's good to see you."
"You too." Peering over her shoulder, his face broke into a wide grin. "Dis your idea of a team?"
"Dis your idea of a hello?" Emil Lapin pulled on the hand Gambit had offered and the cousins embraced. As Belle had done, Lapin studied Gambit's face for a moment before making way for the people behind him. Theoren shook Remy's hand, cool as ever; Gris-Gris simply nodded briefly. Behind them, Gambit saw Singer and Fifolet making their way round the house. Grateful he didn't have to hug them too, he ushered everyone inside.
"Entré, entré." He gestured for them to go into the study, saying as they went, "I think most o'you hear would recognize Ororo Munroe, better known as Storm."
Storm was still standing in the study doorway and stepped to one side to let the new arrivals past. Theoren and Lapin nodded a greeting, while Belle shook her hand.
"Good t'meet you."
"And you. I will leave you to catch up. Remy, I believe I will check on Rogue and Louisa." As she left, Gambit put a hand on her shoulder.
"Merci, mon amie."
She smiled in answer and carried on into the hall. Gambit shut the door behind her and stood for a moment, eyes fixed on the solid wood. Steeling himself, he turned and chose the seat he'd had before. It was the one his father had used and the others seemed to have left it vacant for him. Belle and Theoren sat at opposite ends of the sofa, Gris-Gris in an upright chair to Gambit's right and Lapin was leaning against the mantelpiece. All four examined him in silence.
"You guys want t'see de scar too?"
If this surprised them, they showed no sign of it.
"Non." Lapin seemed to have elected himself spokesman. "But we do want t'know what happened. The truth. You owe us that much."
Gambit supposed he did. So he gave them an abbreviated version of what had happened on Madripoor, leaving out only what he felt Storm would prefer didn't become public knowledge.
"This homme, Vargas, where's he at now?" Lapin asked when he had finished.
Gambit caught the flash in his cousin's eyes. "No-one knows. Ain't been hear of since. An' you, none o'you," his glare took them all in, "are to go after him, you hear? Non of us are a match for him."
"'Ceptin' you an' Rogue."
"That was diff'rent. He let me go – think he knew 'bout de Madripoor set an' was happy t'let me have it. An' Rogue only beat him cos she managed to absorb his abilities. There ain't none of us who can meet him on equal terms, an' I don' want ANY of you tryin'. I hear of any T'ief or Assassion goin' after him an' Vargas gonna be de least of their problems. We clear?"
"As crystal, boss." Lapin subsided but Gambit sensed the matter was far from settled,
"So what did you leave out?" Belle was still studying him as though she could get at his secret by staring. The woman knew him too well for Gambit to put her off. Giving her a smile – number 11, 'don't feel sorry for me cos I don't' - he spoke quietly.
"You always know, don' you? I lost m'powers."
His statement was met with silence so he risked glancing up. The others looked grim and serious but there was no shock in their eyes. Even Gris-Gris seemed to understand rather than pity. Encouraged, Gambit flicked a card out into his hand, turning it between his fingers.
"No more charging?" Lapin asked.
"Nope, not a thing. Get flashes of power every now an' then, but no control." He laughed humourlessly. "Thinkin' o'havin' them steel rimmed, like Oddjob's hat."
Belle and Lapin smiled at his feeble attempt at humour, while Theoren seemed to processing all the possible consequences of this news. Wanting to finish this conversation Gambit flicked the card in his Harvest Master's direction, catching him on the forehead.
Theoren barely reacted, turning the card in his own hands.
"It changes nothing." He said finally. Meeting Gambit's eye, he went on, "You're still master o'de Guild and dat's dat."
"Really?" Gambit raised an eyebrow. "No vote o' No Confidence?"
"Non." The firmness in Theoren's tone surprised Gambit. "Look, I don' like you very much but I respected your father. An' I respect your abilities, though it kills me t'say so. I t'ink you could do a much better job than you have done – you got it in you."
"An' you don't?" Gambit challenged.
"Not sayin' dat." Theoren smiled a little. "Jus' sayin' at de moment de Guild needs stability, and dat means we need you. We need you here, doin' your job."
Aaah, thought Gambit, now we're getting to it.
"Jean-Luc thought you had something. Can't see it m'self, so far as I'm concerned, it's up t'me to prove him right. De Guild could be great again, but it's gonna take a lot of work an' more commitment than you've bin givin' us. I guess now, wit'out your powers tyin' you t'de X-men you might actually have de time."
Gambit took a moment to compose himself before answering. He hadn't expected this at all and it had thrown him. Looking at Belle, he guessed she'd been working hard to produce this result. Now she was watching him, waiting for his reply.
Turning back to Theoren, Gambit nodded his understanding.
"Merci, mon brave. I'm makin' no promises yet. We both got de best int'rests o'de Guild at heart an' that's what matters. Speakin' o'which," he addressed Belle, "why din't you want us at de Guild house? I get de feelin' it's more than jus' not wanting outsiders there."
Belle and Theoren exchanged an uneasy look and she shifted a little uncomfortably before answering.
"We got a bit of a problem. Or at least we think we do."
Gambit sighed. "When don't we? Jus' tell me what's goin' on."
Belle frowned. "It's not that simple. We're not even sure there is somethin' goin' on."
Circles within circles, same old story, thought Gambit, settling himself down for a long story.
"It's de Antiquary's clan." Belle began. "They've taken to de east wing o'de house, shut themselves up in there. Hoard and Tome come out every now an' then for clan meetings an' de like but they won't let anyone in."
"I thought de east wing was derelict." The Assassins' Guildhouse was massive, with parts that had been abandoned for decades. It had been useful for a young thief and assassin who'd needed somewhere a bit out of the way and private, especially when it was wet outside, but there were whole floors that even Gambit and Belle hadn't explored.
"They've repaired most o'de roof an' windows. An' it's got its own cellar that you can' get into from de rest o'de house."
"Not for lack o'tryin'" Lapin put in.
"I'll bet. Any idea what they're up to?"
"None. They're not sayin' an' I've been reluctant t'force it. There's been enough trouble holdin' de clans together wit'out borrowin' trouble."
"An' since they're – or they were – a thief clan, you figure whatever needs doin' would be better done by me."
"Pretty much." Belle shrugged. "It might not be anythin'. You know what they're like wit' their secrets. But that's de problem – we just don' know."
Gambit had rarely heard Belle sound so helpless. Seeing the tiredness in her eyes, he realised just how heavy a task he had left her with, holding together people who'd fought each other for centuries.
"I'll see what I can do when get there. What else?"
Theoren was next. "We've had some…disagreements…over de trainin' o'new apprentices."
"We've actually got some then?"
"Five. Trouble is, de Assassins want then trained one way, de Thieves another. For everything we think we can agree on, there are about ten other things we argue about. When it comes down to it, we don' know what we're trainin' them t'be."
Gambit had thought this might be a problem. The position in New Orleans was unique. While there were Guilds of thieves all over the world, the Big Easy was the only place the Assassins Guild existed. With their lengthened lifespan, there tended to be too many thieves for the city to hold, so Guild members had taken Biblical approach to the problem; they had gone forth and multiplied. Assassins on the other hand had powers that Candra had needed close to hand, so she'd kept them on a short leash. There wasn't as much call on them as for the thieves so they tended to commute to their work, using the city as a sanctuary to retreat to. Gambit knew they had links to various mobs around the world but there simply wasn't as much call for the elite of their elite. Still, they had training that would be useful for any thief and skills that it would be a terrible waste to let die out. Aloud, he asked,
"Who's responsible for their trainin'?"
"At de moment? Claude Poitier and Marcel Dupont. They've only been at it a coupla months an' already they're havin' problems."
"An' where do de kids come from? What clans?"
"Three Assassin, two Thief."
Gambit nodded, almost to himself. "An' what do they say?" At the blank looks he tried again. "Have you tried askin' them what they want t'learn?"
Gris-Gris looked shocked. "De Guild trainin' has been set for centuries."
"Oui, so has de Guild war. Mebbe it's time to shake it up a bit, neh? See what de kids are good at, where their strengths are. Let that decide what you train 'em in. Even before unification we allowed for that. They're not exactly children so don't treat 'em like they are. Ask them what they'd want t'learn and teach 'em. We may be all one Guild now but I'm not interested in turnin' out a load o'clones." He stopped there, realizing he'd let his feelings carry him along. The others were watching him with a mixture of surprise and respect. Slightly embarrassed, he grinned a little sheepishly. "Anyways, that's what I think."
"Looks like all de time spent wit' de X-men wasn't such a waste after all." Belle spoke, and even Theoren looked vaguely impressed.
Gambit shrugged. "It rubs off on you. That all?"
"For now. There's bound t'have been somethin' while we've bin here."
"Isn't there always?"
Belle shook herself a little and Gambit could see her refocusing on the present. "Getting' back to de point of us being here, not that we're not pleased to see you, what's going on wit' dis girl? She here?"
"Upstairs. Apparently she doesn't travel too well." Gambit gave them a brief outline of the past few days, skating over the X-men's involvement as far as possible and finishing with the all important matter of payment. He produced the diamond from an inside pocket and tossed it to Theoren, who held it first up to the light, then against his own black sleeve, examining every facet and sparkle. Even Gris-Gris looked impressed.
It also shone in Belle's eyes, but she was too canny an operator not to see the catch.
"These Marauders, how bad we talkin'?"
Gambit considered this for a moment. He wasn't sure how much they knew about the period of his life when he was exiled from the Guild and wasn't too keen to go into details. On the other hand, he didn't want to withhold information that could save their lives.
"You guys ever here of a doctor called Essex? Or Sinister?"
He saw Theoren's eyes narrow and it suddenly hit him. Theoren's father had been in New York a century earlier when the Guild had first encountered the evil scientist. He had probably heard the name from Guild legend. To his surprise, it was Gris-Gris who spoke.
"Just once. Not a dude you want to play cards with."
"Or any other kind of game where you can lose body parts." Lapin's eyes were dark. "I heard rumours 'bout stuff you wouldn't believe and a white faced devil wit' glowing eyes and fangs only Dracula could love."
"Who from?" Gambit was surprised the description was so accurate.
"Jus' people I know."
Gambit hadn't really expected an answer. They all had sources that they played close to the chest, even someone like Lapin.
"Whatever you heard, double it an' you might get close to de truth. De Marauders themselves are just mean ol' mutants, nothin' I don' think de Guild can handle. Sinister himself, we don' want within a hundred miles o'here."
"He scares you, doesn't he?" Belle's voice was soft, as though talking to a frightened child.
"Down to my boots. An' he should scare you too." He held up a hand to stall their questions. "Look, we don' have time for this now. Someday I'll give you the whole sad story. For now, I jus' want to get Louisa out to de Guildhouse an' see what we can do about the Antiquarians. OK?"
There was general nodding and Gambit had a vague sense of unease. That had been far too easy, all of them giving in to his authority with far less argument than he'd expected. Either he was getting better at this or there was something going on he didn't know about. Knowing the Guild, he suspected the latter, although they'd never answer a direct question. All he could do was brace himself and wait.
Belle recalled Singer and had her let the Guildhouse know they were coming. She and Fifolet then agreed to take the rental car back to the airport, in order to maintain good relations with that particularly useful company. As Gambit helped Louisa into one of the cars, he saw that she was still too pale with large dark smudges forming under her eyes. She didn't seem to notice his scrutiny, concentrating on getting settled into the plush seat and putting her head back into the soft cushions.
"You ok?"
She held a hand out flat and tipped it from side to side in the universal gesture for 'so-so'.
"Oh." There didn't seem to be much else he could say and she clearly didn't want to talk. So he settled himself into the opposite seat and drew Lapin into conversation. By the time they reached the Guildhouse they were swapping extravagant claims and arguing over the credit for adolescent adventures. Rogue listened with unconcealed amusement and even Louisa had perked up a little.
The Guildhouse was just as he remembered it, a large, low building, sitting in a clearing, apparently oblivious to the encroaching greenery around it. He knew the Assassins had to do monthly sweeps to keep the lush vegetation at bay. No building could survive long in this kind of terrain without constant care. The house seemed to be an intruder in the landscape, imposing itself on the trees and plants who barely tolerated its presence. It was this that made it so valuable – no one had ever thought that even the most ardent naturalist would live out here, let alone the world's most secret society.
Looking up at the grand pile, Gambit felt the lump in the pit of his stomach return. This had been both a house of horrors and delights for most of his childhood. The place of his greatest enemies and danger as well as holding well-cherished and passionate memories. In the past few years it had been his home and hideout in the South, old memories replaced with new ones. He could see some recent work that had been done to rebuild the derelict parts of the massive building and suspected it would be even more changed inside.
Louisa demanded a description, which Lapin was only too happy to provide. Grateful to have a moment's breathing space, Gambit stood looking up at the main door. It wasn't much used, only for important events, which he guessed this must be. Rogue came up and took his arm.
"Penny for them."
"Not sure they're worth dat much." Gambit squeezed her arm, continuing his inspection. "Hard t'believe I'm s'posed to be master o'this."
"More like prison governor?"
Gambit pulled a face. "Don' use words like that 'round here, chère. Zoo-keeper might be a bit closer to it. C'mon." He started up the steps. "No use just standin' looking at it, we got to…"
He broke off as they came into the main front porch. Lapin and Louisa had stopped just outside the door and the young thief was arguing with someone in a long red robe that Gambit recognized as belonging to the Antiquary's clan. Releasing Rogue, he joined the conversation.
"There a problem?"
Lapin turned, his face flushed and angry. "This doorkeeper," he spat the word, "won't let us past. Says we haven't got the authority t'bring outsiders into the Guild sanctuary."
"You're kidding." Gambit turned to the figure blocking the doorway. He didn't recognize the face, not that he had expected to. That branch of the Guild had always been secretive. "You really want to pick this fight?"
The red-robed man, also red in the face and, Gambit realized, younger than he'd thought, swallowed hard and tried again.
"I'm sorry, Guildmaster, there are rules and procedures that even you have to follow. An' one o'those is that you can't let just anyone into the Guildhouse. They have to be properly vouched for."
"I vouch for them." Belle had taken the steps two at a time and now stood beside Gambit. "C'mon, Pierre, move outta the way before you get moved."
"I'm sorry, Mistress Bordreax, I have my orders." 'Pierre' was looking even more nervous now. Lapin had let go of Louisa's arm and was holding his hands loosely by his sides, ready for a fight. Belle's hand had gone to her belt, where one of her knives would have been, if she had been carrying them openly. Gambit wasn't about to have blood spilled on his first day back and tried to get control of the situation again.
"Who gave the orders?"
"I did." The voice was cold and imperious, coming out of the darkness behind Pierre. The man who stepped into the light always reminded Gambit of a reanimated corpse. His face was lined, with sunken cheeks and eyes, while the hands that emerged from the sleeves of his blood-red robe were thin and skeletal. Minister Hoard wasn't tall but he made up for it in sheer terrifying presence. One of Gambit's earliest memories was of this cadaverous figure stalking the corridors of the Antiquary's hideout, ice-blue eyes looking out for anything out of place or of interest. He had taken a particular dislike to the Antiquary's acquiring a small boy-child with red on black eyes, and Gambit had to admit the hatred was entirely mutual.
He felt his own eyes narrow in instinctive hostility to the man before him. For the sake of peace and in the hopes of retrieving what was turning into a horrible mess he stamped hard on his anger and met the cold blue stare.
"I hope you got a real good explanation for this. Last time I checked Belladonna and I were in charge here."
"That is as it may be," Tobin sniffed, "but you are both still bound by Guild Law. And that clearly states that all visitors, all strangers, must be vouched for by the head of the Guild before they are allowed to enter."
"And you decide to start applying that rule today?"
"Why not? It's never too late to start doing the right thing, as I'm sure you are only too aware, Master LeBeau."
Storm, who had come up in time to hear the end of the conversation, put a hand on Gambit's shoulder.
"If it is that big a problem, we could stay in the city."
"No." Gambit's voice was firm and he fought the urge to ram Tobin's teeth down his throat. "I will not be dictated to in my own house." An inspired idea floated to the top of his mind and he grinned at the Antiquarian, who riled at the sudden gesture. "But, Minister Hoard has a point."
"Remy," Belle began
"Non, Belle. S'okay." He turned and looked into her eyes, urging her to follow his lead. "D'accord, mon brave. You want t'do this by de rules, we do it by de rules. Is everyone gathered?"
"What?" Hoard looked confused but judging by Belle's gasp, she'd just got it. Gambit could only hope he could remember what he was supposed to do.
"Now, now, monseigneur. Don' tell me you don' know your own rituals. We got t'have de whole Guild gathered for this. You there, Pierre," the boy started at the sound of his name, "go tell everyone to get down here, now. That's an order, for them as well as you."
Pierre nodded and hurried off, to scared to spare his own master a glance.
"Better go with him, Belle. Make sure everyone gets a call."
Whatever she may have thought, Belle held her tongue and followed Pierre into the shadows of the hall, her blonde hair shining for a moment in the darkness before she disappeared. Hoard gave them all one last hard stare then he also was gone.
Lapin turned to Gambit.
"I hope you know what you're doin'."
"Me too. Here." Gambit shrugged off his coat and handed it to his cousin. Under the cover of the heavy duster, Lapin grasped his hand.
"You watch yourself. These hommes don' play nice."
And with that he too vanished into the house. Gambit put an arm round Rogue's shoulder.
"You girls are gonna have to trust me on this. Just go with it, no matter how strange it gets. I'll explain it to you later."
None of them looked happy and he had to admit it wasn't his most encouraging speech ever. Before he could add to it, Belle reappeared in the doorway.
"We're ready. Be careful, Remy."
Gambit grinned. "Where's the fun in that?" Over his shoulder he said, "Wait out here for the time being. I'll let you know when you should come in, comprends?"
"We've got it." Rogue appeared calm but Gambit knew that expression. It said that she hoped he had a hell of a good explanation for this. He hoped he did as well. Lifting his head he stepped across the threshold and into the gloom.
The first thing he was aware of was a hissing sound. At first he thought he was getting a really bad reception, then he realised it was the sound of seventy people all whispering at once. This gradually died away until the hall was still and silent. The Guildhouse had been designed for grandeur rather than comfort and there were only a few high windows lighting the main entrance. Most of these were on the North wall behind him, with only a weak and pale glimmer managing to get through. In front of him a wide staircase swept up into the house, splitting into two at the mezzanine level. The builders had done themselves proud here, with a massive, clear window facing south and catching every ray of the bright sunlight. It dazzled you as you came through the front door, unless you were expecting it. In fact, he thought, it was perfect Assassins' interior design. He blinked a few times to clear the afterimage and looked round.
He could see some faces he recognised and more that he didn't. They were in a loose circle around the entrance, the crowd spilling up onto the bottom few stairs. They were dressed in everything from the Antiquarians' red robes to Mercy LeBeau's leotard. Judging by the small group in similar clothes, they had been summoned from the gym. All eyes were on him now, waiting to see what he would do. He grinned to himself. This was an audience now, just waiting for the grand performance. And he knew how to work an audience.
He took another step inside, into the patch of sunlight, letting everyone get a good look at him. For most of them, it was probably the first time they had seen their nominal leader and he was in no hurry to break the spell. The hushed silence that had fallen lasted for another minute, without as much as a cough or shuffle to disrupt it. At last, letting his gaze sweep round the room, Gambit decided it was time to get going.
"Mes amis. It is good to be home, en famille again." Sensing he had them, he continued, unable to resist the urge to exaggerate his accent to make the point. "I was reminded by Minister Hoard dat we are all held by a network an' history of tradition an' ritual, stretchin' back to de dawn of time itself. He also reminded me dat we have very strict rules as to who can an' can't be here, an' asked me t'vouch for dose I would bring in from de outside."
A ripple ran through the crowd. Gambit could see several of the Clan Heads exchange looks. Technically, even members of the clans were supposed to be vouched for before they were allowed to enter. Gambit wanted Hoard to realise how far the road he had started down really went. Not willing to let the muttering take hold, he pressed on.
"I'm happy t'do dis, because I know dey are honourable people. You may even've heard o'two of dem, Storm and Rogue from de X-men. The third, Louisa Gavin, seeks our protection." The muttering had graduated to murmuring now so he raised his voice. "Yes, an actual paying client. I don' need t'tell you how unusual dey are." That got a laugh from some and several new conversations broke out. He raised his hands for silence. "First, de Guild law mus' be obeyed an' the rituals followed. Dere are few among us who know de words now an' even fewer who can understand dem, so I trust you'll forgive my translatin'."
He could feel their attention now, like another presence in the room. Closing his eyes, he began to recite the old tongue words, phrases rising up in his mind from a place even he had forgotten. As he gathered confidence, he opened his eyes again, still speaking slowly and with confidence in a language he hadn't heard for twenty years. The Old Tongue was a mixture of French, English, Spanish and who knew what that had been passed down from the Immortal Candra. The last time he had heard it he was ten years old and he even surprised himself at how much he remembered. When he had finished, in the absolute hush, he took another step forwards. This placed him in the centre of the loose half circle formed by the other Guild members. As he began his translation, he turned his head, taking in every face around him, speaking clearly now so that there could be no misunderstanding
"As Master of these Clans, as patriarch of this Guild, as overseer of this place, I vouch for these strangers. I swear that the Guild will not be harmed by them; that they will not divulge its secrets or tell its tales; that they will honour our ways an' respect our laws. I swear to them that they will not be harmed by the Guild; that we will not divulge their secrets or tell their tales; that we will uphold our promises to them an' protect them as our own. I promise that should these sacred oaths be broken on either side, the full penalty will be exacted, in spirit and in blood."
On the last word, he held his hand out in front of him. There was a collective gasp as two small droplets fell to the dark wood of the floor. Apparently by magic, a red slash had appeared across his right palm and a thin silver dagger in his left hand. He held the pose for about thirty seconds longer than he should have, playing the moment for all it was worth. Then he let his hands drop back to his sides. Surveying the captivated faces, he knew the gamble had paid off and that he had won this round. As his fire-red eyes met Hoard's ice-blue ones he fancied he could hear the hiss of steam. Judging by their cold stare, round two was just about to begin.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
NEW YORK
AFTERNOON
Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are
Crossing Brooklyn Ferry by Walt Whitman
Jacob Gavin jnr. was not what Bishop had expected. For a start, 'he' was definitely a 'he' from his Gucci shoes to his Ivy League tie. Also, by Gambit's account, 'Jackie' Gavin was quite the looker. Jake was...well, not unattractive exactly, but certainly nothing to write home about. Waiting in the hotel lobby, only a shock of blue-black hair distinguished him from all the other 'suits' coming and going, briefcases in hand. The moment Sage and Bishop walked through the entrance, he strode across to meet them.
"Well I was going to suggest coffee here, but you two look like you'd be more comfortable at Secret Agents Anonymous. Have you even heard the word 'inconspicuous'?"
Bishop looked down at him.
"You really want to start a conversation about how we look, Jackie?"
Jake bristled. "Fine, fine, whatever. Shall we go?" Without waiting for an answer, he led them out of the hotel and to a small cosy coffee house about 5 minutes walk away. Once ensconced in the far corner, away from prying ears but in full view of the door, Jake finally asked.
"Where's Louisa?"
"Safe." They'd decided on the way over that telling some of the truth couldn't hurt. To Bishop's surprise, instead of asking more questions, Jake sagged with relief and took a long draught of coffee. Finally, he looked up at them.
"And you're not going to tell me where she is." It wasn't a question.
"What makes you say that?"
"Oh come on! I may not be an X-man, but I'm not stupid. If you were going to tell me you would have come out with it by now. And since you called me, I guess you need something – I hardly think you're concerned about my state of mind."
"True."
"Now, do we have to play Twenty Questions, or are you just going to tell me?"
Bishop shrugged at Sage. She was better at concise explanations than him.
"Fine," she said. "We rescued Louisa from Sinister's Marauders. She ran away because your father tried to hire her, and her powers, out to various agencies, including the government, and, we suspect, Sinister."
"Come on Sage," Bishop put in, "Hire her out? Sell her to the highest bidder would be closer to it." The grin he turned on Jake had little to do with humour. "Best to get these things right."
Jake had paled visibly. "Sinister? Dad? Hang on a sec. Are you saying my father tried to sell my cousin, his ward, to Essex?"
"Pretty much. Although he may not have known it was him. The successful bidders were the government – or at least a government agency. Louisa wasn't too keen to work for any of them."
"I'll bet she wasn't." Jake contemplated his coffee foam for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were dark and hard. "What do you want me to do?"
"We need to know who was in the bidding. If you could get us access to your father's files, maybe even your father himself. Get us some names and codes…"
"No."
Bishop raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to help?"
"I mean there aren't any. Dad's computer is isolated completely. Most of his files are on paper anyway, I think he just uses it to type letters. The kind of people he deals with prefer to be able to burn the evidence."
"Figures. Well there goes one lead."
"Hmmm" Jake considered. "He does keep some files at the office. I can't exactly just walk you in there, but…" he smiled slowly, "I know a man who can."
The offices of Gavin & son were in a large, shiny office block, and the outer reception area was certainly impressive enough. Jake pushed open the door and walked confidently towards the receptionist.
"Hello Grace."
"Mr. Gavin! We weren't expecting you for another two days! Is everything alright, sir?"
"Everything's fine. I have some important clients coming in this afternoon. No need for you to worry about it – they'll be coming in the back way, but I really couldn't miss them."
"Very good, sir. Would you like some coffee?"
"No it's fine, Grace, we'll look after ourselves."
He shut the office door firmly behind him as always. A little while later, she heard the faint noise of a buzzer and the other door open and close. Satisfied that all was well, she checked her watch and answered the next call.
"That was easy enough." Jake ushered Sage and Bishop into the office and closed the door behind them. Turning, they saw a fifty-ish, active looking man with a shock of blue-black hair and piercing blue eyes.
"You know," said Bishop, "you look a lot like your father, if you see what I mean."
"I think so. Makes it easier to copy him. Well, this is it."
He flung out his arms in gesture that took in the whole room. The office was elegantly if sparsely furnished, with a few comfortable looking armchairs and the compulsory huge mahogany desk in the window. Besides the one they had used, there were two other doors. On examination, one led to a small bedroom, complete with wardrobe and sink. The other was locked tight and instead of a keyhole, there was a small white panel.
"Electronic key?" Bishop asked.
"Bit more sophisticated than that." Jake pressed his thumb to the panel and a thin green strip of light scanned down. The door clicked open and he led them into a small room with the atmosphere of a vault. Filing cabinets lined the walls, four drawers high and Bishop counted at least fifteen of them.
"It's all here," Jake was saying, "Dad's complete records. If you've go any ideas where to start, I look forward to hearing them."
Sage opened a drawer and flicked through the tabs.
"I suppose it's too much to hope that there's one there labelled 'Louisa'?"
"Probably. We won't know until we look."
Groaning, Bishop opened the top drawer nearest the door. As he too began flicking through file names, Jake excused himself, saying he need to change. Bishop was on his sixteenth drawer when he returned.
"What?" he asked at their stares.
"How long have we known this guy, Sage?"
"About three hours."
"Right. And this is the third version we've seen."
'Jackie' Gavin shifted unhappily. "It takes effort to maintain those other appearances. I figured if we're going to be here a while, I should be able to concentrate." Despite the suit and shirt which curved rather differently on Jackie than they had on Jake, Bishop had to admit Gambit had been right – Courier was definitely easy on the eye. Tiring of the unashamed interest, Courier opened a drawer.
"Find anything yet?"
"No, but there's still a way to go."
Half an hour later, they still had nothing.
"Sage? Any ideas?"
"I think," she said to Courier, "your father is rather cleverer than we expected. I've been looking through some of the papers themselves, and while they're not in code as such, there are at least ten code names for various projects not to mention all the clients, and the amount of cross referencing is fiendish. I imagine your father has a book of some kind with the plain-text names in. I also imagine he is not careless enough to leave it lying around here."
A brief but thorough search of the office and computer files proved her right.
"So we're stuck then?" Courier sank despondently into a chair. "No code book, no deciphering."
"All codes can be broken. It is usually just a matter of time."
Hearing something in her voice, Bishop turned to her.
"Sage?"
"All the information is here. We just have to analyse it correctly."
Catching on, he took a step towards her.
"You can't be serious! There must be hundreds of files to go through."
"Care to explain to those of us who don't speak superhero?"
Bishop answered him without taking his eyes from Sage's face.
"She's going to go through every piece of paper in that room in the hopes that she will be able to break the code. Sage that's going to take forever, even assuming you can do it."
"I don't see why not. The human mind has a far greater capacity than even the most powerful computer."
"There has to be a better way."
"Now is the time to suggest one."
They locked stares for a long moment. Knowing he had lost this one, Bishop threw up his hands.
"Fine. But if your brain starts dribbling out of your ears, don't come whining to me."
"Fine." She turned to go back into the file room.
Bishop followed her, not willing to leave it there. "Why is this so important? We're all pushing ourselves so hard here you'd the think the world was going to end if we didn't. What's so special about this girl?"
"Apart from the fact that she could probably blow half the country up if she put her mind to making an atom bomb? I'm not sure. I think the minute we start thinking the big, world saving things are more important than people is when we stop being X-men. And I'm not willing to see another megalomaniac get his hands on exactly what he wants."
"Sage, Sinister is not Bogan."
"No? In his own way he's worse. Cloning people to turn them into his own genetic slaves? He's perverting what we are, Bishop, using mutants as tools. I thought that's exactly what we were fighting against. Bogan does it for the pleasure and the power. Sinister does it because he thinks he can create a better world. At least you know where you are with the selfish motive."
Bishop traced a finger down one of her tattoos.
"Emma made it out alive and in one piece. He won't take her again, not without her knowing."
She batted his hand away. "I know that. But what about Jeffrey? He's stuck with the memories of what was done to him for the rest of his life. And what about Gambit? You saw the fear in him at just the mention of Sinister's name. I can't just sit by and see that happen to someone else. If we can keep Louisa out of Sinister's hands long enough, we might find a way of putting a more permanent stop to him. It's about time someone did."
"Is he next on your list of super-villains to be defeated?"
Sage relaxed a little at the teasing. "Not exactly. But if I had one, he'd be on it."
"The man hasn't been heard of in months!"
"You think that's a good thing? Bishop, this is the best option, in all ways. Charles trained me to be a spy, trained me to absorb and analyse information. This is the first time in a long time that I've been able to stretch them a bit. And I can never resist a challenge."
"I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"
"No." The corners of her lips twitched, the closest she ever came to smiling, "But you could make me some coffee."
Shaking his head, Bishop left her to it.
Two hours later, he looked in on her. She was sitting on the floor of the small room, a massive pile of files on one side, a much smaller stack on the other. Each file was opened and the pages turned methodically before being moved to the new pile. It seemed even Sage realized she couldn't read every single page, rather she was simply looking at them, relying on her photographic memory to take in enough details to analyse later. He was still convinced it was insane, but it was her call, not his.
Jake had gone out for dinner and more coffee and the two of them were talking in hushed voices on the far side of the office. In his own mind, Bishop had decided to stick with 'Courier' and 'he'. For all that his prime form was now female, Courier clearly still thought of himself as a man. Right now, he was casting skeptical looks in Sage's direction.
"Can she really do this?"
"I've no idea. In theory, yes. Her mind is better than the best computers, but she's still only human. At some point exhaustion has to kick in. Although if it's a choice between Sage and exhaustion, I'd back Sage every time."
"Fair enough." Courier brushed his hair out of his eyes and stared out of the window. Whatever was wrong, was going to take dragging out. Bishop sighed inwardly – Storm was good with people, he generally wasn't, unless they needed interrogating, which probably wasn't the best option here and now. As they constantly reminded themselves, they were supposed to be pushing their limits. Time to stretch some new muscles.
"Look, Courier, you don't have to get more involved than this you know? You've done your bit."
"I know. But I'm supposed to just step back and watch you tear my family apart? OK, it's not much of a family but I always trusted my father, more or less. And I never thought he'd try to hurt Louisa. The fact that the X-men have got so involved suggests that you think there's more going on here, right?"
The thought had occurred to Bishop. If Jacob snr. had contacts all over the world and knew exactly who'd be interested in Louisa there was a distinct possibility that he'd dealt with other mutants in the same way.
"I think so, yes. But we've no proof as yet. And even if we get it, this can be our call, not yours."
"No!" Courier spun to face him. "Because Louisa means more to me than she ever could to you. Because if you want to get anywhere near my father you will need my help. And because this is my family you're talking about I will not just stand by and watch while the whole thing goes to hell!"
They were both silent for a long moment.
"So, how many times did you see the Matrix anyway?"
"About twelve. Does it show?"
"Only a little. Impressive speech though."
"And right now I'd look great in a pvc catsuit."
Courier dropped into the plush desk chair and put his hands over his face. Bishop let him sit for a minute and pull his thoughts together. He was saved from having to move the conversation on himself by Courier.
"It's all my fault."
Confessions were something Bishop knew how to handle. He sat on the desk and gently but firmly pulled Courier's hands away form his face.
"How exactly is it your fault?"
"This is where it gets complicated. I don't know where to start."
"The X-men practically define complicated. Start at the beginning."
"I knew there'd been some tension between Dad and Louisa but I thought it was just normal parent-teen stuff, you know? But I've been thinking. Even before we went back to the 1890s, we went to see Sinister in South America. Remy made a deal with him, gave him my finger and had me kill the cells so that Sinister didn't get his hands on anything he could use. Then, when we went back in time, Sinister took them from me, used them on himself. It's thanks to me that he can shapeshift. So I was thinking, maybe when we saw him again last year it reminded him of the woman he met all those years ago. Maybe it was because of that visit that he went after Louisa."
Bishop listened carefully, untangling the convoluted tenses – he understood better than most how time-travel complicated things.
"So basically, you think Sinister looked for Louisa because of you?"
"More or less."
"And this, rather flawed reasoning I might add, makes you feel duty bound to try to do something about it?"
"Wouldn't you? Besides, I had to stand by and watch while New Son used Remy. I didn't have the guts to do anything about it then."
"But now you do?"
"Probably not." Courier sighed. "But I've got to try."
It was two in the morning when Bishop took Sage her sixth coffee. She seemed to be about half-way through and to his eyes didn't look too bad. She accepted the coffee with barely a nod or break in concentration. Apart from slightly slumped shoulders and the beginning of shadows under her eyes, there was little change. Bishop returned to the seat looking out of the window. He'd sent Courier off to sleep in the tiny bedroom but hadn't been able to settle himself. Instead he ran through his head all they knew about Sinister, determined to be as ready as possible to meet the man himself. He agreed with Sage that they had a responsibility to stop people like him; he only hoped they were able to. By Gambit's own testimony and obvious fears, the evil scientist had more bolt holes than you could find in a lifetime and had more than mastered the disappearing act. Trying to catch him was going to be like trying to catch a shadow but, Bishop grinned to himself in the dark, there was no way that would stop them from trying.
In the file room, Sage took a sip of coffee and turned another page. She was only vaguely aware of Bishop somewhere around; her focus on her work. Despite her growing fatigue and aching muscles, part of her was relishing the challenge. What she hadn't told Bishop was that this wasn't her first attempt at absorbing large numbers of files. During her early days at the Hellfire club she'd thought to get a head start by reading through Shaw's records. It had cost her a week's worth of sleep and more than a few near misses, but she had done it. Unfortunately, her mind had struggled to cope with the sudden influx of such a large amount of information and, like any computer asked to run a program too big for it, she'd more or less shut down. In her half-thinking state she'd returned to the mansion and it had taken her and Charles a week to put her mind back together. At that stage, the low ranking Tessa hadn't been missed and the information they gained had been useful for her rise through the ranks. Still, she had thought it wise not to mention the incident to Bishop. That had been a long time ago; that had been Tessa. Sage was a different woman who could and would do this. Barely missing a beat, she turned the next page.
