12 - Secrets
This time the police captain did not even try for subtle. He had walked right up to the door of Harry's closed bakery and stared at the wizard inside – demanding entrance.
And Harry had figured that it was best to get this – whatever this was – over with. Because he could tell that that man had more than just confidence. He had power.
So he let Captain Renard into his bakery and, not one to break the rules of politeness even despite his slight annoyance, gracefully led the man to a comfortable chair with it's back to the wall – because this man had come to see him on his home-ground and deserved a cordial advantage for that despite the suddenness of his visit.
Neither man spoke until Harry had finished getting them both drinks. He had remembered that the man had ordered a Macchiato on his first visit and – though he never much cared for any variety of coffee – out of a polite deference to put them on equal standing, he had made the same for himself. He sipped the hot beverage as he waited for the man to speak.
He did not have to wait long.
"You fought a Mauvais Dentes… with a bread-knife."
Harry nodded. "Did Detective Burkhardt tell you about that?"
The man's voice was hard; "He does not know what I am."
The wizard was genuinely surprised. True, he did not know what the man was either – but he knew that Sean Renard was something. He had assumed that Nick knew at least that much, if not more, himself. This man was his boss, after all.
"What makes you think I will not tell him?" Harry asked carefully. There was no threat in his voice, only honest curiosity – because Harry knew necessary secrets but he also knew loyalty and he was not sure where, exactly, this information fell in that murky divide.
"This is my city." Renard informed him – no pretence or pretentiousness, just a naked fact.
The wizard pondered that in silence for a long moment: "What does that mean?"
The man across from him looked up sharply and must have seen the lack of knowledge reflected on his face because when he answered his voice had warmed, to some extent: "You are truly a long way from home, if you do not know."
And Harry smiled, a pained crooked smile that must have looked completely out-of-place on the face of a young man – because it was the broken smile of someone who had lost all. "Yes. I am."
The man nodded thoughtfully and kindly picked up their earlier thread of conversation. "It means that this city is mine to protect, mine to police and mine to rule."
Harry took a drink of his Machiatto as he thought that over. Carefully putting his cup down again, he turned his attention back to this city's ruler. "And you can do this better without the Detective knowing who you are?"
The wizard could see that the ruler of Portland was considering his answer; weighing just how much or how little to tell. In the end, the man settled for a simple truth. "It is necessary. For now."
Necessary.
And Harry did not really know this world – not as well as this man across from him did. Nor did he know this city as intimately as the man who claimed to rule it. So Harry would keep that secret – because he knew secrets. And he would drag it out in the open if he felt it needed to be told – because Harry knew loyalty.
And Nick had earned his.
(Word Count: 600)
