The dark made promises and outlined plans. Suzaku could not hear it, he was covering his ears and humming. And closing his eyes; the combination felt good, a sort of static that deprived him of his senses. A humming in the blackness; that was it! It was a sort of buzz, a buzzing darkness, wasn't it? But though he was ignoring the dark right now, it occurred to Suzaku that it might be saying something worthwhile, so he opened his eyes and began to listen.
He still could not hear what the dark was saying, really. Because now it seemed that the humming had been all of it, that was all. Suzaku hadn't been humming, the dark thought had. When he opened his eyes he realized he was floating in a place full of stars. It was warm. Maybe he was falling. But there were stars, everywhere, all around him.
"I'm trying to get some sleep," he told them. "Leave me alone."
It was irritating, actually. Every time he closed his eyes he felt restless, wondering about all those stars. They were busy out there. He couldn't sleep, disturbed by them. They were too bright, too complicated. The stars thought too much. They were too much worried and calculating. He just wanted to sleep and they were keeping him up.
But the humming of the dark had a plan, maybe. An ingenious idea. So simple. An elegant, terrifying solution.
Suzaku watched the stars die.
One after another. They didn't explode, go red giant and then erupt into supernovas, no. They just vanished, expired, blinked out of existence. Like blowing out a candle. One after another. The stars went out.
It didn't take long. Soon in all the sky there was only one star left. And when it was gone Suzaku found his sleep.
"Suzaku."
He startled as he came awake, blinking around. He was in the back seat of a late model road-car, a luxury vehicle they'd picked up from Jeremiah's villa and fitted with some new plates. Suzaku shifted on the black leather seat, masking a huge yawn. It was night time, they had been waiting here for hours.
Jeremiah was in the driver's seat, leaning around it to stare at Suzaku. The dashboard lights shone greenish on his pale skin and made his hair glow: "Sayoko radioed, they are ready for us inside. Did you sleep well?"
"I had a strange dream. The stars disappeared." Suzaku scratched sleepily in his hair.
Jeremiah snorted and looked amused. "Troubling. Not to worry, though," his eyes lifted to the roof of the car and a finger poked upwards. "They're still there, if you'd like to check."
Suzaku said nothing.
Jeremiah sighed deeply, heaving his door open and standing up into the evening chill. After a moment's contemplation Suzaku followed suit. He thudded his door closed and leaned against it, stretching his cramped legs. They were wearing the gilded black livery of Grand Duke Weinberg's household servants. Sayoko's contact in the mansion, a Japanese woman, had procured the uniforms for them.
Suzaku's breath hung on the cold air as he exhaled to calm himself. He took a look across the canal, where at the front of the mansion limousines were crowded next to each other, each fighting for the space to drop off an ostentatiously dressed, haughtily posturing guest or two. These were received at the front doors by others in the same black and gold coats and trousers that Jeremiah and Suzaku now wore. Strict guest lists were referred to, the attendees admitted through Weinberg's vaulting gothic-revival doors. From within the mansion, a faint wavering of chamber music could be heard, dimly across the black windblown waters of the canal.
Jeremiah reached up to straighten his lapels, then looked across the roof of the car at Suzaku. "Shall we?"
Suzaku nodded in response.
They turned right and walked a short way down the path which lined the canal. They crossed over an arching brick footbridge without having seen any other pedestrians; this district of Tintagel was on the exclusive side, most of it owned by Weinberg himself. And the stars danced busily on the black waves below the bridge. Suzaku frowned down at them. He did not bother looking up at the sky.
Reaching the other side of the canal, they turned left and made for the mansion itself. This was a sprawling affair. They saw the extensive grounds behind the building, about ten acres of carefully cultivated natural landscape, walled off behind grey brick. The sides of the villa were lined with evenly spaced fir trees. Suzaku wondered whether these had been planted fully grown (the expensive way, of the newly wealthy or impatient) or planted as saplings and cultivated. But Frederick Weinberg's family was old and not merely rich; so it seemed likely that these trees had been growing here since the days of his ancestors. They had seen many things.
They entered the mansion through a large supply door on its nearest side. As they approached, Suzaku looked up warily at what he recognized as a tiny security camera nestled into the wall above the door.
Jeremiah saw his concern: "Not to worry. Sayoko will have disabled it already, else she would not have radioed us."
They stood awkwardly at the door. Jeremiah flourished his right arm to clear the sleeve from his wrist. Then he removed an immaculate white glove, extended the bare knuckle, and rapped on the door. They waited, Jeremiah sending Suzaku periodic winks to reassure him. Or maybe the man was merely blinking; with his other eye cybernetically replaced, and covered in bandages, it was difficult to tell the difference.
But soon the door was hauled open, by a young woman in a white apron over what was apparently a cook's uniform. She was Japanese, small of stature. She looked back and forth between Jeremiah and Suzaku, then, suddenly, her mouth blossomed into a wide smile.
She led them inside, through a labyrinth of kitchens which resounded with hollering, sizzling and hissing. Food was being prepared, the likes of which festooned each such party that Suzaku had been to as Zero. He recognized all the most common delicacies; here were the trays of miniscule blocks of cheese each aged a certain number of months in a certain climate, there were the tiger shrimp arrayed about a cauldron of dip. He had not been hungry before entering the kitchen but he now was. The legion of cooks sweated and shouted at each other as they feverishly stirred, chopped, tossed. Most of those working in the kitchen were not Britannian. The floor tiles were slick with the humidity and strewn with waste.
She led them out, through a narrow door into a wide hallway, the lights dimmed. The garish white tile and cacophony of the kitchens was shut up behind the door, a particularly elegant piece of rosewood with the word 'Services' engraved into it. The Japanese woman gave a final impish grin at them and disappeared back into the kitchen, locking the door behind her. They were alone with the sudden darkness and silence, viewing the façade of plush ostentation with a fresh memory of what would normally have been kept from their eyes, and what the guests of Lord Weinberg's party would never see.
Jeremiah and Suzaku waited for a moment facing each other across the hallway. Then the both of them turned at a soft noise to their right, of shoes sliding over carpet. If it was Sayoko, Suzaku knew, she was intentionally making her footsteps loud enough to be heard. The figure approached them, meandering, stopping here and there to flail a feathered duster at the picture frames along the wall. Then she stepped forward , clasped her hands with the duster before her, and bowed slightly with a faint smile.
Sayoko said, "Shall I show you to the room, sirs?"
"Don't overdo it," Jeremiah rumbled.
Suzaku raised an eyebrow. "I haven't seen you dressed as a maid in a long time."
She just smiled and bowed again.
On the floor above them, in a hallway with better lighting, they found the room. It was guarded by two men wearing precisely the same uniforms that Jeremiah and Suzaku wore. Once these men were unconscious, they were dragged inside the room. Sayoko gave them tranquilizing injections and stashed them in the pristine bathroom, and very shortly Suzaku and Jeremiah were standing guard in their place outside the room.
They waited for what seemed like a long time, saying nothing to each other. Then Jeremiah turned with a slight smile. "You might be too hairy."
Suzaku looked at him mutely.
Jeremiah went on: "It's unlikely that Weinberg allows his servants to grow facial hair."
"And how about gigantic facial bandages?" Suzaku said.
Jeremiah's broad shoulders shrugged slightly. "We may be pushing our luck."
Suzaku smiled faintly, straightened his shoulders, and looked forwards with his hands clasped behind his back. They waited in this manner for some time before the ones they were expecting arrived.
Around the corner at the end of the hallway came Zero, flanked by two soldiers in black Britannian fatigues and body armour. His soldiers wore a red shoulder patch that Suzaku recognized as the unit designation for Zero's personal bodyguard. Zero came before the guards, tall with the tails of his cape floating over the plush carpet.
He stood before them, looked first to Jeremiah and then to Suzaku. His invisible stare hovered over them until Suzaku's teeth clenched in discomfort.
Jeremiah spoke graciously, not allowing time for a critique of their appearance: "Welcome, Lord Zero. Here is the room that Grand Duke Weinberg has prepared for your visit. We hope you enjoy your stay." He smiled and bowed his head. Suzaku did the same, but said nothing.
Zero spoke: "You have my thanks. I will personally relay my gratitude to the Grand Duke when I meet him later in the evening."
The voice was Lelouch's.
Suzaku's teeth ground painfully on each other. It was his voice, his style of speaking. Even the poise of the figure in black was theatrical, calculated--just like Lelouch. Who was this guy?
Jeremiah said, "I believe they will be serving the champagne and hors-d'oeuvres at any moment. Would you care to freshen up for the party?" He bowed slightly, stood aside, and levelled a hand palm up at the door.
" I will, thank you," Zero politely returned the bow.
Zero stepped into the room, his bodyguards following silently. Jeremiah and Suzaku stepped in behind them, already reaching into their coats. They each produced a small silenced handgun from armpit holsters and took aim. The pistols went off with a double snap and Zero's bodyguards fell into tranquilized sleep. This had been on Suzaku's insistence--Sayoko had recommended killing the guards.
Zero looked from one fallen man to the other; if he was surprised or made nervous by the new turn of events he was not showing it. Sayoko, still wearing her maid's costume, rose from behind the sofa and aimed a sidearm in two hands. "The cameras and mics are disabled. No one is watching," she said politely.
Zero's helmet tilted and he slowly looked over his shoulder at Suzaku. Jeremiah closed and locked the door to the hallway and smiled grimly. Zero said, calmly, "What is going on?"
Jeremiah answered. "Treason, on your part. Retribution, on ours."
"You are mistaken. The treason is yours. To assault Zero is to assault Britannia."
Suzaku circled about Zero with his gun drawn but not aimed, watching the exchange. The voice unnerved him. And the effortless confidence of the figure in black. Just like Lelouch.
But Jeremiah only smiled. "Exactly. Therefore, you are engaged in treason. The man standing there is the real Zero, or do you not recognize him?"
Zero turned calmly, stared at Suzaku from behind the helmet. After a long moment of consideration, he said, "I am Zero. I don't know what you're talking about. I have always been Zero."
Jeremiah scoffed. "This is pointless."
On cue, Sayoko closed the distance between herself and Zero. He whirled but not nearly fast enough; Sayoko grappled him into a fluid Aikido throw and he hit the carpeted floor hard. On his back, Zero scrambled to retreat but Sayoko was already on him. Her black skirt flared as her knee drove down on his chest, and a slim hand shot down to clamp over Zero's throat. The faintest of choking sounds emerged from within the helmet.
Now they would have their answers.
Suzaku instinctively stooped with his fingers groping, seeking the secret catch at the helmet's back. He found it, depressed it, and Sayoko did the rest. Her other hand fastened over helmet's crest and drew it up and off. She tossed it aside with a muffled clatter on the carpet.
Suzaku stared in astonishment.
The girl under the mask had to be about seventeen years of age. Her face was pale and smooth and dainty, the black fabric mask pulled up over her nose, and under wide turquoise eyes. Her hair was black and cropped short. Her cheeks were flushed in anger as she stared up at Sayoko with pale defiance.
"What the devil…" muttered Jeremiah as he stepped forwards and leaned over the now unmasked girl. Then, "Who are you?"
For a moment her eyes showed a bewildered frown as she stared up at him. She struggled against Sayoko for a moment, uselessly. Then she said, in a thin, female voice totally unlike what they'd heard so far: "I am Zero."
Jeremiah scoffed. He raised his gun and Suzaku jumped in surprise as the silenced shot went off. The girl yelped in pain and writhed uncomfortably, the tranquilizing cylinder digging into her bare neck (so as not to damage the Zero costume, Suzaku knew). A single trickle of blood ran down from the wound, and then her eyes were already fluttering helplessly. Then they closed, and her head slumped aside, and she fell into total stillness.
There was a pause. Then Sayoko said, "That was unexpected," and stood from the prostrate girl.
Jeremiah holstered his gun and stepped back with his arms crossed. "Curious that she should continue to call herself Zero, even after we unmasked her…"
Suzaku did not add to the dialogue, standing in silence, watching the sleeping young face. He was startled out of his reverie by Jeremiah, who clapped him on the shoulder and spoke. "We're short on time. We'll undress her while you write the letter. Probably better if it's in your handwriting. Remember what it's supposed to say?"
Suzaku nodded mutely and turned away. He sat in a cushioned chair at the room's desk. There was a stack of note paper on the desk, an expensive ballpoint pen, and envelopes in a little wooden drawer, all as predicted. If the room had not been furnished with such things he would simply have used those that he'd brought with him. But the ruse was more effective if the letter were written on Lord Weinberg's own stationery with his own pen and in his own envelope.
He set a sheet of paper on the dark wood of the desk and paused in thought, tapping his jaw line with the end of the pen. Then he began quickly to write by the yellow lamp on the desk, glancing periodically over his shoulder to gauge the others' progress.
When he had finished writing he folded the paper two times and slid it into an envelope. Then (very important) he licked the seal and closed it. He flipped the envelope over onto the table and stared down at it. On the front of the envelope, in large cursive letters, he wrote: Schniezel el Britannia.
Then he got up from the desk and nodded to Jeremiah.
They had laid the girl on the room's bulbous leather couch, in her white undergarments. The Zero costume was on the coffee table adjacent, ready for him. Suzaku approached and handed Jeremiah the letter he'd written. Then he stared for a long while at the array of black clothing. He'd come to understand something about Lelouch, in his time wearing the costume, how easy it was to simply become Zero. There were times inside that helmet that he literally had forgotten who he was. Sometimes he would hear the name Suzaku Kururugi mentioned by someone, and would feel only peripheral recognition, a knowledge of who Suzaku had been, his attributes and contributions, his history before his death. Not a personal familiarity with the name.
He could still feel that namelessness. Looking down at the helmet, he could remember that there were times he had felt the punishment he'd wanted. It was true he'd forgotten what it was like to be Zero. It was being someone else, some thing, not human. It ceased to even be acting. When the mask was on one could simply stop being who they had been and instead be Zero, this other thing. This nothing. One could lose themselves in the mask, the symbol.
Suzaku looked slowly over at the unconscious girl. Then he bent to pick up the helmet, stared down at it in his hands. His teeth ground hard on one another. Then Sayoko was before him, ready to help him dress himself as Zero once more.
When it was finished, he left the room alone. Descended plush stairways with his cape trailing behind him. Servants and nobles alike bowed to him as he made his way to the ballroom.
Zero strode between the arching marble pillars and into Weinberg's party. The stretch of shimmering wooden floor was covered with people, many of whom took immediate notice of him. Some gave him smiles, some dirty looks. Some looks of awe or curiosity from the ones who had never seen Zero before. Behind the mask his eyes could dart to and fro, never revealed by the tilt of his head. He could look into the eyes of the ones who watched him, yet they could never see his.
A string quartet was playing on a platform across the room. Staircases swept down elegantly from upper levels. Glittering chandeliers hung heavily from the ceiling. Some of the guests were dancing already, most mingling and drinking. The most famous and important of them were surrounded by scrums of lesser Britannians each jostling for a chance to be noticed; pretending to be part of the conversation, laughing when the others laughed, nodding when the others nodded. Very soon Zero would have his own crowd of bootlickers, he knew from experience.
Zero did not like the nobility.
He identified Weinberg and began to excuse himself through the party towards the man. He moved without hurry, attempting to emulate the commanding grace that the girl had been able to pull off. It came naturally, he found. Zero had a way of walking which Suzaku Kururugi did not.
He approached Weinberg, pushing easily through the crowd about him. In the inner circle were several of his closest confidants and bodyguards. Zero recognized one as Baron Urien Trevain, a quickly rising star amoung Britannian nobles. At the time that Zero had been imprisoned, Trevain was little-known. Now it seemed he curried a large amount of favour with the Grand Duke.
Trevain pleasantly blinked his golden eyes and bowed at Zero. At a gesture from Weinberg, the bodyguards loomed forwards to move the other guests back, allowing a measure of privacy for Zero, the Grand Duke, and Trevain. Zero was interested to note that Trevain was allowed to remain. he had indeed come a long way up the ladder.
"Lord Zero," Weinberg offered a curt bow. He levelled a hand at Trevain. "I believe you know the Baron."
"We've met. A pleasure, Baron Trevain," Zero offered a much slighter bow at each of the lords and then suddenly felt a hesitation. His own voice had emerged as the girl's had, making him sound exactly like Lelouch. A disturbing sensation. But he moved on smoothly. "I wanted to thank you personally for the room. Your accommodations are superb," then he added with some irony, "and your staff excellent."
Weinberg smiled. His blue eyes were Gino's, but the hair was black and severe, cropped short. His voice was rumbling. "I am pleased to please you, as always, Lord Zero. I hope you enjoy the party."
"I'm sure I will. Now I must excuse myself," Zero bowed out of the conversation and pushed back into the crowd as Weinberg turned to Trevain.
Once Zero had moved off, Weinberg whispered closely, in Trevain's ear. "She performs as marvellously as usual. Have you yet told your men that I am pleased with their work on her?"
Trevain stared up into the cool eyes of the larger man. "I have. They are glad to be of service." Then he smiled. "Geass is passé. There is no height to which technology cannot take us."
"So it seems," Weinberg rocked back contemplatively and took a sip of brandy. Then he turned with the glass in hand, an index finger jabbing from it. "You know, Trevain, I would like to send my people in to have a look at your laboratories or whatnot. Your work in conditioning is quite beyond my scientists and they've been dying to know how your people do the things they do."
"Well now," Trevain said slyly, fully aware that he could only get away with this next comment because Weinberg was drunk. "If you knew my secret I wouldn't be very useful to you anymore, now would I?" And he laughed it off.
There came a dangerous pause, and then Weinberg's face contorted in mirth, and he gave a great booming laugh and the two of them moved on to other things.
Now Zero approached Prince Schniezel el Britannia. The First Prince was surrounded by people but unlike Weinberg and Trevain he seemed to be engaging pleasantly with them. Zero noted that among them were a large number of attractive young noblewomen. Schniezel was, of course, still unmarried, and charming and attractive and all those things. He was usually surrounded by a gaggle of such women, at parties like this.
The crowd parted reverently for Zero, as Schniezel looked up with unnatural pleasantness in his expression. His pale eyes twinkled as he smiled, stepping forward to greet Zero. The white-gloved hand went firmly into the black-gloved hand, shook once, and Schniezel clapped Zero affectionately on the shoulder.
Zero found himself smiling in return, though no one could see it. He and Schniezel had always got along well while he was Zero. Of course it was because Schniezel had been brainwashed to follow Zero's every whim, yet, still, it was difficult to keep this in mind. As Zero sometimes he had even felt that Schniezel was a friend. The First Prince was witty, pleasant, interesting--and now, perfectly loyal. Zero had always enjoyed interacting with Schniezel. It was impossible to think of him as a mere slave to Zero. He seemed so... intact. So undamaged. Yet the Geass was still there.
At least, Zero hoped it was. Otherwise this would be a disaster.
For now, however, Schniezel continued to involve the other guests in the conversation. Zero resolved to await a better opportunity. He stood by listening to the conversation, adding comments where appropriate.
Schniezel sipped champagne and said casually: "You were saying, my dear?"
A blushing noblewomen eased in closer. Schniezels pale eyes glimmered down upon her and she looked self-consciously away for a moment. "I, um. I was wondering if there had been any word from Princess Cornelia."
"Not for a long while," Schniezel briefly seemed pensive, then popped an olive in his mouth with a flourish. "Not since our dear sister Nunnally had her accident, at least." Then he turned to Zero and indicated him with a nod. "Just the other day Zero and I were discussing that, in fact."
Zero had, of course, not been present for the discussion Schniezel was referring to. He opted to nod knowingly and not say a thing. This worked and Schniezel went on: "In fact nobody knows where she is. Most mysterious. We have people looking for her." Schniezel lifted a white finger and posed it at his lips, leaned in confidentially. "Very secret, of course." And he grinned.
The women loved it. Started giggling, gloved hands to red lips. A genteel argument started amongst them about who should ask the First Prince to dance. But at that moment Zero's patience broke and he said: "A quick word with you, alone, actually?"
Schniezel nodded, waved his hand, and the crowd wafted away like smoke--to a respectable distance, where they waited anxiously for a signal to move back in. Schniezel turned to Zero. "Not a bad party. The Grand Duke buys good seafood and olives. The music, though," the Prince waved a hand negligently.
Zero shrugged. "Not to your liking?"
"The string quartet is an aged and dusty tradition," Schniezel complained. "For aged and dusty men. We've looked to the past for too long. Stagnation is part of Britannia's problem--we've talked of this long ago--"
"Yes," Zero nodded, smiling beneath the mask. They had talked of it. Schniezel remembered.
Schniezel went on. "They should look to the future. Remember Duke Medoc's party? Last year?"
"Of course," Zero chortled.
"Electric strings," Schniezel said importantly, cocking a thumb back at the ensemble. "And those wild drummers from China. Nunnally loved them. He had Japanese food--sushi--for appetizers. He made a speech about the end of war and the beginning of understanding between all peoples." Now Schniezel's eyes were narrowed, troubled. "Now where are the Duke Medocs?" He jutted his chin at the room in general. "He wasn't even invited, nor the others who think like him. Last year we were plotting eternal peace."
Schniezel's eyes swept coldly over the party. "Now what are we plotting?"
Zero stared at him in astonishment. "Schniezel, I--"
"It's not that I doubt you, Lord Zero," Schniezel said warmly, taking another sip of champagne. "You know best, obviously. But do you really think supporting Weinberg's ideologies is a good idea? It's plain that he would rather have never abandoned the Areas. The sessions of the House, lately," Schniezel shrugged, "have been going to uncomfortable places."
"I know," Zero nodded sadly. "I know."
Schniezel cocked his head wanly. "You used to be committed to making the world the kind of place that Nunnally always wanted it to be. Free of war, violence, poverty. Was that all an act, only because she was the Empress? Now that she is incapacitated will we forget our old intentions?"
"No," said Zero, waving a hand in dismissal. "No. Something is happening here that I can't explain right now. No one can be trusted."
Schniezel's eyes slowly widened as his chin elevated. He smiled faintly. "Good," he said," and finished off his champagne. "Trusting people wearies me. Who has betrayed us this time?" There was a whip-like vigour in his voice.
"Can't speak of it," Zero said softly. "Here, listen." He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the letter he'd written earlier. Schniezel looked down at the envelope curiously, then back up to the mask.
"I am Zero," said Zero slowly. "Correct?"
"Of course."
"This letter," Zero gestured with it, "was written by me. This letter is in Zero's own writing. Got it?"
Schniezel shrugged, nodded. "Of course."
"Take it," Zero said, and Schniezel did so. "Keep it on your person, and out of sight." Schniezel nodded, took a clandestine look around, and stuffed the letter into an inside pocket of his white dinner-jacket.
"Read it alone, and let no one else see it," Zero said. "After you've read it, destroy it. And remember: I--Zero--wrote it!"
"I understand," Schniezel nodded and patted Zero's shoulder reassuringly. "I trust this will explain recent events?"
"It will. But do not speak of it again. Follow my instructions as I've given them to you."
"I will, Lord Zero," Schniezel offered a short bow. Then he smiled thinly. "And now on to better things. Let us invite the lovely ladies back." He beckoned to them, and with an instant flurry they fought their way over to the two men, pitch-black and snow-white.
Hours later, Zero knocked on the door to the upstairs room, was permitted entrance, and wearily lifted his mask from his face. Sayoko and Jeremiah had been in the middle of a card game at the room's coffee table, and now they were standing, holding weapons, gazing at him expectantly. The girl who had been Zero was still unconscious on the sofa.
"Well?" Jeremiah asked, crossing his arms. "Did you give him the letter?"
Suzaku lowered the mask to the table and sighed, slumping into a chair nearby. "Yes. He seems very cooperative. Looks like everything went according to plan."
Sayoko came to him and began unfastening the catch of his cape like a mother undressing her son. "Good. Now let's get out of here before our luck fails. Quick."
Suzaku stood and let her sweep the cape from his shoulders, then shrugged off the white scarf and unbuttoned the gilded purple jacket. They packed all of the Zero costume into an attaché case and put him back in Weinberg's colours.
Jeremiah paced the room as Suzaku was getting changed. Now he said: "One step is complete. We have Zero. Now we draw plans." And the Margrave grinned. Suzaku only nodded glumly and glanced out the window. The night had grown cloudy, and the stars were masked again.