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Brood of a New Age

21.

The People for Interspecies Tolerance meeting had been uneventful this time. In the months before, Quarrymen, sometimes in civilian clothes and from the ranks of the participants, had tried to disrupt or hooded figures had demonstrated in front of the building, once even stormed the meeting to break it up. And what a surprise these scoundrels had had to face when they realized that the gray-haired Professor Macduff was not just a dull bookworm, but knew how to fight back. Ten minutes later the police had arrived and picked up four unconscious Quarrymen, all neatly stacked in a heap. Later, the court order that every registered Quarryman had to stay at least two hundred yards away from the professor probably helped, too.

But nobody - especially not the university authorities - wanted another riot like that and a dangerous situation for the students and P.I.T. interested people from outside. That's why an anonymous donor (it was Macbeth a.k.a. Macduff himself) had hired a security firm neutral towards Gargoyles. Two of those employees in the audience. Two outside the room. Two outside the building. At first, the participants were always frightened by the people with the dark clothes on which security was printed. But people quickly got used to them when they promised safety. And those people could quickly filter out troublemakers.

On this Monday, the twenty most fervent P.I.T. members were again there, discussing with each other. While months ago it was mainly about the nature, the physical characteristics, the activities or how comparable to humans this species could be, meanwhile it was mainly about "species protection" and which laws would have to be rewritten or drafted, should they ever get "human rights". This was not always so interesting but P.I.T. nevertheless always remained open to external listeners and the benches of the lecture hall were always filled with the usual and occasionally new faces.

Luca De Santis was unaware of all this when he recovered from the initial shock of being frisked upon entering the auditorium. He thought fleetingly that it was because of how he looked. A thug with a boxer's build and a shaved head was probably unusual even for the professor, who gave him an icy look as he entered. But other participants who didn't have student IDs to show were also patted down.

After Luca had sat down habitually and professionally preferred, completely in the back of the lecture hall and nobody looked at him any longer, as if he were an Alien, he took his notebook and his ball-point pen from his backpack.

He wanted to take notes on which of the attendees seemed like a good person to talk to privately about gargoyles.

But when the discussion began, he found the topics so interesting that he instead took notes on them in bullet points. Also at the front, a girl, presumably the minute-taker, was typing every word on a laptop, and at the edge sat a man who was also taking notes but looked rather bored - perhaps a representative of the newspaper who had been ordered by his superior to follow the meetings. In front of the blackboard sat only four P.I.T. members, who had signed up for tonight's session to contribute topics and pick each other apart, the professor being the moderator and often having the last word. Other P.I.T. members sat in the front rows and could interject questions if the topic threatened to fall asleep. Which rarely occurred, however, because obviously a young man with presumably Indian roots and a blond girl in only linen clothes with dreadlocks were both in the debate club.

"No, Debs. WHAT is your argumentative basis that gargoyle dogs should be off-leash in the biggest parks like Central Park at all times, not just between 9pm and before 9am?"

"Two reasons, Bohdi: First, the "dogs" as you call them - but in reality the gargoyles themselves call them watchbeast or just beast, we've been over this - are awake much longer in the winter months so even those off-leash times are insufficient. Secondly, their beasts are supposedly much more intelligent and understanding than a real dog. This whole fantasy that you could take such creatures on a leash is schizophrenic and much too human thought. I have never seen or heard of them on a leash because they probably SHOULDN'T be leashed. Thus, they should be allowed extended run rules OUTSIDE the parks."

"Parks and Recreation in New York is already MORE than generous if the current rules were to apply to the beasts- I mean two have been spotted so far and they are the size of small ponies and can probably knock over an SUV if they put their minds to it-"

"That's exactly why Bohdi! They are too strong and too self-determined. I say - this bill should state that if gargoyles pass a suitability and temperament test with their beasts- and it is evident that they are not only intelligent but also listen to their fellow two-legged gargoyles, then they MUST even be exempt from the leash requirement citywide. Otherwise, in the future, I can already see a beast dragging one of his gargoyle masters behind him on a leash."

There was laughter from the audience and participants, and even that Bohdi grinned at the thought. Luca loved the fact that there was talk here as if gargoyles were just one step away from strolling the streets unconcerned and unthreatened. He wished Grace and Dante could be here listening to these dedicated, idealistic people, and he glanced at the row of open windows. For a moment the light played a trick on him because he thought he saw a body move at the edge of one of the windows, but that was hardly possible because they were several stories high. Or... it was already dark for a while. Had Grace postponed her visit to the church because she was worried and was now listening outside, clawing at the wall of the building?

"I think we've exhausted this topic for today," he heard the professor say, still with cheerfulness in his melodious voice. "Do we perhaps have any questions from the audience?"

Luca hesitantly averted his gaze from the window and slowly raised his hand.

The panelists and everyone in the front tiers turned and Luca was not entirely comfortable with all the eyes on him. Still, the next question burned under his nails (with or without one of his friends in front of the window).

"Buona sera - uhh I mean, good evening. I have a question. Actually, several- but ... what think participants here ... about immigration law regarding Gargoyles?"

Professor Macduff smirked, whereas the other participants looked stunned. "Immigration law?"

Luca cleared his throat. "Sorry, if the topic has already been discussed. But ... surely by now Gargoyles all over the world have seen the TV pictures or the newspapers about the discovery of the Gargoyles here. If these now immigrate over here ... how could such a law look like? What conditions would these gargoyles have to fulfill. I mean ... fulfill at some point."

Luca swallowed, looked down at his notepad in dismay, and then up again in surprise as his supposedly stupid question was taken up and immediately more than the two debate club members pounced on it. Only Professor Macduff's gaze lingered on him for a few more seconds, with a thoughtful well-meaning expression that immediately appealed to Luca's detective instincts. THIS was his man.

.

Half an hour later, the meeting ended. Most people left the room. Macbeth was very pleased with the evening. Even that man who looked like trouble and sounded like he'd fallen off the boat not a week ago had provided a valuable new impulse the immortal gargoyle advocate had been waiting for for months. He nodded to Suzi as she left the room with her laptop. She was a wonderful, almost pedantic minute-taker, and hers packed her notes into rough drafts of legislation and sent them regularly to the city's higher-ups and even toward Washington. She could do that- she was soon finished with her law and politics degree and would hopefully fight for gargoyle rights even after she graduated. Macbeth didn't know how well this would be received, and whether it would even be acknowledged in any official place or end up in some assistant's wastebasket. But it was better than nothing.

As Macbeth talked to two new listeners who asked him questions for which he could refer to his book, he watched out of the corner of his eye as the foreigner packed up his things - obviously slowly because he had an interest in being the last one in the room. As the strange man approached him, Timothy Bord shifted into his field of vision. Behind him were three other P.I.T. members. He already knew what they wanted. Brief glances at the bald bull-necked man behind them, who was trying not to look quite so bald and bull-necked, then Tim asked his question in a pointedly non-specific manner.

"Professor. Is - is your colleague still coming by tonight?"

Macbeth looked at the door with the security guards where the young people in front of him were looking treacherously at the window. He hated to disappoint them. But the way this foreign man looked at him ... that aroused his interest more than to satisfy the contact-hungry cravings of the initiated PITs.

The former king looked apologetically at the five idealists (two of them his own students). "My colleague has to apologize tonight. He could not get free. You know his otherworldly commitments."

The glow of youthful engagement and anticipation drained from the young people's faces. "Oh- oh okay," Timothy said, looking briefly like a puppy that had been denied its treat. "If you see him before we do, tell him I thank him very much for his tip last week. It saved my butt on my dissertation."

"I'll tell him. If I see him."

Especially Lyla Hopkins, a chubby blonde who had written on her forehead that before she was invited to a student party she was rather one of those who were made fun of there, grimaced as if Macduff had personally spit in her coffee. She was almost such an absurdly enthusiastic PIT member that it sometimes made his colleague visibly uncomfortable, even though he always tried to be polite. Only last month she had the PIT initials tattooed on her forearm and it was predictable that the border between fertile interest and tolerance for gargoyles as equal beings quickly shifted to fruitless fangirl motivation. Something he didn't want to have at P.I.T. because it was inappropriate, unprofessional and simply counterproductive for the cause. Fanaticism could arise from something like that. And worse if the fantasies were then disappointed. She in particular would have to be kept in mind.

The young people departed. "Too bad," and "Gee, why not?" were still heard, making Macbeth smile. Before turning back to the beefy Italian with a more serious expression.

"You still have questions?"

"Yes, Professor Macduff," said the man who could still remember his name (his current official name) two hours after the round of introductions. "My name is Luca De Santis." A hand was extended to him and Macbeth grasped it. Briefly, his opposite seemed stunned at the firmness of his handshake, but then he smiled and briefly increased the pressure as well before they parted.

"It was your first time here. Did you enjoy the P.I.T. meeting?"

"Absolutely! It was so educational and uplifting."

"Uplifting?"

Macbeth frowned at that peculiar word, not quite sure if the foreigner had chosen it on purpose or if his vocabulary still left room for improvement. This one could get interesting and it did when, with a quick glance at the two security guards still loitering in the doorway, the foreigner leaned over and said quietly.

"I need to talk to you. It's really important. Lifesaving important."

For a few seconds Macbeth stared at him emotionlessly. Luca thought to himself, for the umpteenth time, that there was so much more to this man than what met the eye. It made him uncomfortable. But maybe that was the way it had to be. If he really knew Gargoyles personally, Macduff HAD to be on his guard and see anyone who approached him in a strange way as a potential threat. That's how Luca would react, too.

Then the white-haired man smiled.

"Livesaving. Lordy. Well then ... Follow me." He left the podium, raised by a step, and to Luca's surprise dismissed the guards for the week. At which they both looked wavering and displeased because they were to leave an elderly professor alone with such a dodgy fellow. Nevertheless they did it - the meeting had lasted longer now and they were entitled to their end of the day. Luca followed the man he knew as Macduff through a wide, then narrower hallway.

Then he was standing in a small office. Macbeth turned on not the overhead light but his desk lamp and instructed Luca to close the door behind him.

The professor went behind his desk, arranged some documents while standing apparently unconcerned and asked:

"Please sit down. Would you like something to drink?"

"Too kind, with pleasure," Mister De Santis returned after sitting down in one of the chairs in front of the desk and Macbeth had the impression he accepted only out of politeness. The immortal took out a bottle of whiskey and two small glasses from one of his desk drawers and poured for himself and his counterpart.

Hastily, the Italian downed the drink, frowned for a second over the burning liquor, and then set it down out of his host's reach, making it quite obvious that he didn't need a second round. Macbeth made no move to empty his glass or sit down.

"So - you're from Italy. Naples region?"

"Can you hear it that strong?"

The gray-haired man in front of him smiled knowingly, and that made Luca grin, too. Impressed that this obviously well-traveled older man could assess it so regionally, and a little ashamed, he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I've been learning English for months. But speaking it is difficult for me. In my line of work, I need remarkably little English."

"You speak it very well. I had to learn American English for years to get out of my Scottish accent a little. What is your line of work?"

The man pulled from his jeans pocket a wallet on a silver chain and pulled out a business card, which he handed to the professor. The latter raised a brow and although his words were still friendly, his tone seemed doubtful and dismissive. "A detective? With a business card? Very modern."

"It was necessary. Honestly - it was for important reasons I came to America."

"Since you said it was a matter of life and death, I took that for granted."

I read much about you in the National Library. Well, not much. But from your book. And other people told me about your TV discussions."

"So?"

"Only someone who has private contact with them talks like that. I need contact with them - or just one of them."

Macbeth looked at Luca. Now without real interest, almost disappointed but mostly resigned. He sighed and pointed to his door.

"Signor De Santis - based on your interesting question in the discussion I thought you were there for other reasons. A wrong judgment on my part. I do not know any Gargoyles and I cannot make contact. Please leave my office."

The bull-necked man made no move to stand, looking almost defiant.

"No, Mister Macduff. Please. I'm not a reporter. I'm not after a story. Andandand I'm not a danger to the gargoyles here. On the contrary."

"On the contrary. That's what everyone says. The fact that you are now already posing as detectives is a refreshing strategy but was foreseeable due to the rumors that many in the ranks of the force are not adverse to the relief efforts undertaken by the gargoyles. Nevertheless futile."

Macbeth circled his table with a deadpan expression, as if De Santis were an annoying fly that needed to be swatted away, but which also quickly ran the risk of becoming the prey of a swatter.

Luca - who had no idea what his opposite was capable of - jumped up.

"I AM a detective! It's about my friends. They're-"

"Yes - friends. There's a whole organization behind you. A facility. Or a company. A publishing house. A Television consortium. A government. You're not the first person to try to ensnare me because they think I'm going to lead them to Gargoyles. Even Castaway, that snake tried that. I have no contact but even if I could make contact with one of them I wouldn't throw them into the arms of strangers!"

"It's not about me. It's about my friends! They have to meet the Gargoyles!"

"Everyone has to meet Gargoyles. The reporters. The police. The criminals of this city who want revenge. Quarrymen."

"We're not part of those. We arrived here less than two weeks ago, but we can't make it on our own."

"There's a reason gargoyles don't glide through the streets waving like it-girls and it-boys. Anyone can be a potential threat. Anyone."

Luca, like the Italian he was had inadvertently grown louder and more desperate. "I know! But I ain't. We aren't! With what can I convince you?"

"With nothing at all. Either you walk out of here on your own two feet. Or I'll make you."

Macbeth tried to push him out the door, and on impulse Luca grabbed his wrist. That was a mistake. The man who was supposedly about to retire made an abrupt movement with his arm. Luca threw up his hands because he got the whiskey from the glass that was still on the table into his eyes, was grabbed by the collar, spun around and thrown to the floor. When he opened his eyes, blinking, he had a knee painfully in his neck, and an iron grip held his wrists together behind his back that no one could master who hadn't practiced such moves for at least a decade.

"All right, young man," said a still melodic but unemotional soldier's voice.

"I've had enough of the likes of you. Fiends who think they can threaten people, who try - just try - to change things for the better. I don't dance to anyone's tune, I won't be persuaded, and I certainly won't be forced to."

Luca De Santis managed to breathe deeply, even though the Scotsman's grip was painful and his knee in his neck was even more painful. His impulse to free himself from the grip of an opponent was not stronger than the desire to explain himself to the other - perhaps the only hope for his friends. That's why Luca let the tension flow from his muscles, closed his eyes and spoke as long as the man who was literally sitting at his back listened.

"I've known Grace and Dante for eight months. They say they're about forty but they look like they're half that age. They don't look alike at all- but they're brother and sister. A ... hunter found them when they were just toddlers. A mob of peasants must have killed their whole family during the day when they were stone. Only these two he could save. He raised them like humans and they know nothing, nothing at all about life as gargoyles. Dante is rough and sharp-tongued and thinks he is a mobster but has a good heart and would do anything for his sister. He was abused by a relative of the hunter for years to protect his sister and he should hate people abysmally but he does not. Otherwise he wouldn't have saved my life. And Grace - Grace is - she's a red-skinned angel. Smart and forgiving and beautiful and her skin doesn't feel like a human's but her lips do. I -."

Luca bit his own lip because he had realized what kind of craziness he was spouting. Towards a stranger. But suddenly the pressure disappeared from his neck and hands. Luca turned around, but remained sitting on the floor, rubbing his wrists and looking at the man who had just brought him down with ease. The so-called professor looked at him with an expression of deepest pity and that somehow hurt more than the knee in his neck. Luca eyed the man, looking for disbelief or some sign that the man thought this was a joke. But there was only pity and ancient grief in his features.

"You love her, don't you? Your Grace?" he asked gently.

Luca smiled bitterly and shook his head.

"She's not my Grace. I am not enough. She needs something else. She ... she's lonely. She needs to find others of her kind. They both have to. Her foster father is dead, his property no longer exists. They are alone. I have searched all of Italy for others but they are the only ones - I think. They're certainly smart and capable enough to survive- but it's not just about surviving."

"No, it's not just about that," Macbeth muttered as if he knew exactly what Luca was talking about.

"They need to know who they are - and who they can be. They must have a chance for happiness. Just one chance! And I can't give them that chance. Please Professor Macduff. I-I CAN'T prove to you that I'm not lying. But I'm not. I really don't. I can't come to them without a new lead. Yesterday, Dante ran into Quarrymen. He survived and his stone sleep healed him. But when they get more desperate they take more risks. They are both SO stubborn."

Macbeth laughed softly and rubbed his beard. " Must be specific to the race. They're all a stubborn independent bunch in their own way."

Luca looked up at him with wide eyes as if he were his personal savior. His desire to have people look at him like that had expired a long time ago. He sat down in his desk chair, picked up the receiver of his landline telephone on the desk. "Oy, Lad. Get up. I'm going to ... make a call. And if my contact agrees, we'll see further. Go outside for a minute. I need to discuss this first."

Awkwardly, as if the arm Macbeth had just twisted was giving him trouble, Luca De Santis stood up. But his face was beaming like a child at Christmas. " Of- of course. Thank you, thank you very much."

"Out. And don't you dare listen at the door."

"Of course. I mean- of course not. I'm not eavesdropping."

With that, the strange man was out. Macbeth hung up the phone again, turning the Italian's business card in his hands. Behind him, almost silently, the window opened. Almost as silently, in the semi-darkness of the office, an inhuman creature crept in. Macbeth did not even feel the movement as an additional weight squatted on the high back of his office chair. He only felt the warmth of an alien body on the back of his neck, heard leather creak softly as claws dug into it. Had he really been in thought, and had he been a normal person without the experience of a dozen lives, he wouldn't have even noticed. But as it was, he raised the card in the air. It was plucked from his hand.

"What do you think of this?"

"New gargoyles in town? That would be fantastic! Even if it's a bad time to come here. Neither Goliath nor Brooklyn would deny shelter and help to conspecifics. A bigger clan is always good."

"And that man? He was really ... strange."

"Says the immortal former king to the gargoyle."

Macbeth smirked at the undeniable irony, admittedly. The mere fact that he was now speaking like this to a member of the clan was irony. But the immortal felt comfortable in his current role for the first time in many years. Professor Macduff, medieval scholar, author of "Gargoyles in Celtic Legends" and founding member and supporter of P.I.T.. It felt good this time to pursue a purpose that did not stem from a thirst for revenge or a wounded sense of honor. But simply his conscience and the awareness that it was the right thing to do.

"This Luca De Santis," the youthful voice behind him spoke up thoughtfully as if the boy had been studying the business card all along. "- A detective from Naples. Who is traveling to America with two gargoyles. To find us. He almost fought to get you to hear him out."

"But you did not intervene in our dispute," Macbeth noted.

The gargoyle on his seatback laughed croakily.

"I don't have to help someone with a thousand years of combat experience. And this Mister De Santis was never the least bit aggressive. Just desperate."

"Yes-really ... desperate. Should we believe him?"

The weight from his seatback disappeared. Claws clicked on the linoleum of his office and Lexington came around his desk on two legs, tapping the card musingly on his palm.

"His narrative sounded honest. A liar would have dished up different details, would have made up a different story. And he didn't say that this foreign clan had been smashed- but killed. This is the right mindset that almost only familiars of gargoyles would have. This detective is not an overly good liar, he was too excited just now. And the detail with the girl's lips" - Lexington grinned as he looked at Macbeth - "that wasn't acting. He loves her."

"Are you a romantic, Lexington?"

"I've saved more princesses than you."

"In video games?"

"Even more so in those. This Mister De Santis - he wants the best for the two gargoyles he's escorting. And he thinks that's going to be us. Let's try it out. Let's introduce him to Goliath and Brooklyn - today." Lexington looked at the clock on the wall. "They'll be back from patrol in two hours."

"I'll escort him to the castle. The night is still young," the human offered.

The young gargoyle hopped from one of his filing cabinets to the tall cupboard next to the door. There he almost disappeared into the shadows. But you could see the glint of his fangs as he grinned.

"Watch out Macbeth. The step from a former enemy to one of our advocates or a familiar is a big one. But the step to a clansman is sometimes very small. And you are too independent to tolerate orders from Brooklyn or Goliath.

"Ha! Good estimation, Laddie. I take it you want to stay up there?"

"I'm going to introduce myself. As a final test."

"Then I call him back in. Ah, Tim, by the way, he thanks for the help with his term paper or something."

"Or something Macbeth. Thanks noted."

.

Heart pounding, Luca stood in Professor Mac Duff's office again.

The latter had his hands folded, let him wriggle for a few more seconds, then showed a barely perceptible smile.

"My contact agrees to meet with you for further assessment."

Luca sighed with relief so loud that his gasp almost echoed in the room.

"Thank you so much," he said, almost kissing the man in front of him left and right on the cheek in the most Italian way. But He, Dante and Grace had read through behavioral tips for America, among many other things. Unrestrained kissing - especially among men - could end badly.

"Why are you helping me? What made you believe me?"

"A single word, Mister de Santis," a young voice announced behind him and Luca flinched and whirled around - his hand reaching out of reflex for a gun that wasn't there because he hadn't been allowed to bring it to America so easily. His eyes darted to the door but then immediately to the moving shadow on the closet. Lexington jumped down, further into the light of the desk lamp and raised an index finger claw explanatorily. "'You said killed. You said the other gargoyles were killed. That was the right word. Because it was murder."

Luca De Santis did not back away any further as Macbeth would have expected. The brief moment of, startled at the voice, then horrified at the sight, gave way remarkably quickly. Beatific relief came upon the face, not ugly but a little rugged, and made it almost adolescent.

"Oh, per Dio," the tall detective whispered, sinking to his knees so that he was at eye level with Lexington who was looking at him questioningly. "You're alive," Luca de Santis said as if he couldn't believe it. "We saw you and the others on TV. When you escaped the bombing. We all prayed that you survived until now. You... you're all alive. The others in your family?"

Lexington grinned good-naturedly, eyed the detective briefly (he certainly didn't often have the opportunity to look at people at his eye level) then nodded. "Yes. They're fine. But we don't call it family. We call it a clan."

"A clan. Oh, yeah. That sounds good. Oh, I'm so relieved. When -when can Grace and Dante meet you guys?"

"How about you meet our leader first?"

"Me?" Luca's eyes lit up as if it had never occurred to him to be a participant in a meeting.

"If you're uncomfortable with that then-"

"No, no, not at all! Oh thank you so much, That's wonderful. Thank you Mister - uhhh."

Lexington chuckled. "We don't have last names. Just call me Lexington."

Luca De Santis grabbed the gargoyle's hand and shook it without even a hint of repulsion or discomfort with a joyful energy that almost made the handy gargoyle jump.

Lexington looked at him wide-eyed and then at Macbeth, who could barely hide his grin. THAT was the last proof they needed.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.