Murielle once again ran her finely engraved silver comb through her daughter's thick iridescent black plumage, enjoying the softness of the feathers under her fingers. The rays of the soft spring sun speckled the rocks with a multitude of tiny flecks of golden light as they filtered through the foliage of the ancient oak overhanging them. Sarah swung her legs over the cliffs, her gaze lost in the vast wooded expanse of hills, ponds and peat bogs that lay before them. She was humming a tune Murielle knew by heart, the melody of the nursery rhyme she used to sing to Sarah as a child filling her heart with a sweet bitterness.
A melancholy she hadn't been able to shake off since Sarah had left the nest. Sabine, her mate, had tried to soften the blow, but nothing had helped, especially as she knew full well that Sabine felt the same way but was just more discreet. It had been years since their chick had flown off to her own life, and nothing could fill the void in their home for the long months during which Sarah would be doing her duty as head of operations for the Grand Alliance's special forces... A prestigious position, but a dangerous one. Murielle would have preferred Sarah to find her way within the flock, or at least in a less dangerous profession, but she hid this idea deep down, trying to be as supportive as possible.
Sarah must have sensed the melancholy in her aura because she turned her head and looked at her with her two large violet eyes full of curiosity. Murielle winced when she sensed the concern in her daughter's aura.
"It's nothing, darling, just a few bad thoughts..." she said. Sarah didn't often have holidays, so she spent very little time in the flock lands. This made their little ritual between mother and daughter all the more precious. Sarah nodded, stopping humming thoughtfully, her aura glowing and vibrating, Murielle could almost feel her mind racing.
"Mum, you know, you could come by the manor if you miss me so much." Sarah said.
Murielle shivered with all her being. She hadn't left the lands of the flock since the battle of Garigliano, even after all her years, the atrocities she had seen there still put her in a state of panic when she tried to leave the lands of the flock, it was one of the last battles of the war in which her species had participated in order to support Grindelwald and finally overthrow the status of secrecy, of her sisters having fought there, she was one of the very few survivors. "I can't and you know it, darling..." she murmured, her throat tight.
"The last time you tried to get out was over a decade ago. Maybe it's time you tried again, I really think it would do you good." Sarah said, looking at her out of the corner of her eye with a half smile.
Murielle let out a long sigh, trying as best she could to evacuate the tension that had grown inside her, focusing on calming her aura. "Will you forgive me if I take a little time to think about it?" She said finally.
"Do what you think is best, you're a grown-up, Mum, I'm only suggesting what I think is best for you. Sarah said.
Murielle didn't reply, letting her aura envelop her daughter in a gentle metaphorical embrace. She just shifted position to have better access to Sarah's other wing and smooth her feathers with affection. "You really do have some of the most beautiful plumage in the flock..." she murmured.
A few minutes later, a movement caught her eye, what at first appeared to be just a black dot in the sky came close enough for her to realise that it was a large barn owl with red and white plumage. "Aren't the flock lands warded against owl communications?" she said in bewilderment, "Has anyone touched the wards?" Her voice tinged with panic. Has someone located the flock? Should she sound the alarm? Should she... she was about to get up when Sarah's hand came to rest on her forearm, the calmness in her daughter's aura telling her everything she needed to know. Somehow, Sarah had expected this.
The owl had landed on Sarah's lap, holding out a paw, exposing the parchment wrapped around it. It was then that Murielle realised. She stared at her daughter in surprise. "You gave a specific person an exemption from message forwarding..."
This was almost never done, the cases where it did happen being very specific. Such as messages of high diplomatic importance from Hymgahabal or the Council of Flocks, in the case of a particularly complicated court case involving a veela and her mate, or an express, urgent message between two veela from the same nest... What had Sarah got herself into again... she hoped it wasn't another high-risk mission from the Council... even if she didn't recognise the owl, it was still making the most sense.
"Sarah? Whose message is this?" she said. Her daughter's aura had become as if sparkling with excitement, something Murielle was really not used to seeing in her usually composed chick. But her face remained unmoved, and Murielle couldn't help but feel a little twinge of regret; she wished her daughter had never had to learn to hide her emotions like that.
"It's a letter from Severus." She said as she gently detached the letter from the owl's talons. Once it was free of its burden, the bird of prey went to snuggle up to Sarah.
"Severus... that English man you helped find his goddaughter? I didn't think you'd kept in touch with him." She said incredulously. It was not her daughter's habit to interact with human males, being quite vocal in her contempt for those, and she quoted, 'clumsy idiots, slaves to their primal instincts'. What on earth had she missed?
"Indeed," Sarah replied, her aura vibrating brilliantly.
Suddenly Murielle realised. She wasn't ready, but that didn't really matter in a situation like this. "You've set your sights on him, haven't you?" She said shakily. "Are you sure? Do you think he'll make a good mate?"
"I'm going with my gut, he's an excellent Potions Master, the youngest to have won the title in recent history. His conversation is pleasant, he's an enlightened man who knows how to respect silence, unlike all those idiots who turn into a ball of nerves at the slightest pause. I'm aware of his... questionable past, but his devotion to his goddaughter is an excellent sign..." Sarah was silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on something unseen in the distance.
Murielle swallowed, she had no idea that her daughter was so infatuated with a human, to say that it was a shock to her would be an understatement. Before she could comment or question, Sarah spoke again. "I also have to admit that he's extremely compatible with my aura, so when I first met him I didn't believe it at first. What's more, with the position he currently holds in Great Britain, I'm more than certain that he'll play a very important role in the future, and if I can... guide some of his decisions so that they're to the advantage of our species, that's a considerable advantage."
Murielle was infinitely happy that her daughter had finally found her mate, she who had begun to believe that Sarah just wasn't interested in this kind of relationship, she had even hoped for a long time that finding someone to love in this way would ensure that her daughter didn't risk her life as often as usual, but... her last remark made her grit her teeth. She knelt down beside her and placed her hands against her cheeks, gazing into the violet of her daughter's eyes. "Sarah, I know how much you want to fight for the cause of our race, I know what sacrifices you're prepared to make, but a mate… you can't use that to your advantage. I can't let you bond so deeply and intimately with someone if it's not what your heart and your flames are telling you to do. Not only would it not be good for you, but it would be an insult to all of our mothers."
Sarah placed one of her hands on hers, and for the first time in years Murielle saw her daughter's face flush. "Mum... I think I love him..." She said in a small voice quite uncharacteristic of the strong veela.
"Oh my darling". Murielle said as she hugged Sarah, not quite believing her ears. She never thought she would hear those words cross her daughter's lips one day. "I'm so happy for you." She moved back a few centimetres to look into her eyes again. "I wish you'd stop believing that everything you do in your life has to be for a higher purpose or is otherwise pointless. You have the right to happiness, you have the right to love and be loved without ulterior motives. You have the right to do things you enjoy and to take pleasure in things that don't advance the cause." She said with absolute seriousness, but with a warmth in her voice, her aura carrying her love. Sarah blushed even more, but still looked very chastened, to Murielle's amusement.
"Yes, Mum. You're right," she said quietly. Murielle smiled. The last time she had heard Sarah say it in that tone of voice, she had not yet lost her down feathers. Deciding to spare her any further embarrassment, she changed the subject.
"So, Sarah, what does this letter say?"
Sarah unrolled the parchment so that Murielle could read it too. It was written in neat, elegant handwriting, requesting an urgent appointment for reasons too sensitive to be shared in writing. Murielle frowned... What could it be about? However, a smile played on her lips as she felt Sarah's aura warm up, vibrating with brilliant metaphorical colours at the mere idea of seeing the Englishman again. Ahhh to be in love... she who had almost given up hope that Sarah would ever experience this feeling found herself a fool... she shouldn't have doubted. The mother was not going to let a young veela with such a bright flame walk alone on the path to heaven.
"You know you'll have to introduce him to me, don't you? And break the news to your other mother." She said mischievously.
"Mum!" Sarah exclaimed, bright red.
Murielle turned her gaze skywards, if even Sarah had changed enough to find herself in such a situation, perhaps it was time for her to be brave and get out of the land of the flock, if only for her daughter's sake.
oOOOo
Hermione would have preferred her first participation in the Grand Council of the Order of Asphodel to have taken place under different circumstances. Aster had never taken her there before, preferring not to expose her any more than necessary to the dangers of managing a group of this nature, which did not bother her at all, as she herself approved of this caution and was perfectly happy to advise her from behind the scenes.
Her journey through the enclave to the council chamber had made a huge impression on her, and until now she had never really realised the scale of the order. The enclave was a veritable city within a city, a place with a viable economy offering life and freedom to all those rejected by society and those who didn't fit in. As the enclave was just one of many scattered across the towns and cities of Great Britain, the Order was not simply a dissident group, but a veritable parallel society.
The importance of Aster as the founding figure of the Order had never been clearer to her than in the tangible sense of anger, despair and resentment permeating the streets, as well as the heavy silence and closed faces of the passers-by.
The great round hall was silent, the eyes of all the council members focused on her. The authority conferred on her by her status as Aster's principal adviser and confidant despite her young age was unexpected. The weight of all the stares weighed on her shoulders like lead. To her left sat Aster's large, high-backed chair, hopelessly empty, the reason for her presence; to her right sat Severus, his face hard as steel.
She had discussed their plan of action at length with the Potions Master. As Aster's blood mate and councillor, she would automatically find herself at the top of the order's hierarchy, where she would be tested, tried and judged, the link that would hold the order together. The aim of this session was twofold: firstly, to decide on a plan of action to free Aster as quickly as possible, and to ease tensions, prevent the most radical factions of the order from attacking the Ministry's institutions and carrying out other terrorist actions to demand Aster's release, and to keep under control the factions who might want to take advantage of her friend's absence to take control of the order.
She had never found herself with such a weight on her shoulders... how did Aster manage such a responsibility? Making decisions that would affect the lives of so many people, going in the right direction, preventing power from going to her head... Hermione found herself overnight falling squarely into the Ministry of Magic's definition of a dark lord... A witch or wizard opposed to the established order with an armed force... And with hundreds of vampires, Lycans, werewolves, battle mages and more at her disposal... it was clear that she ticked all the boxes in the Ministry's definition. How did Aster manage such pressure? The weight of such an undertaking?
The answer suddenly seemed obvious to her, she knew Aster better than anyone, in all her guises, from the most terrifying to the most adorable. If the situation hadn't been so serious, the thought would almost have made her smile. Obviously, Aster didn't realise anything. She must not have thought for a moment about the political ramifications of her actions and the enormous power at her disposal. She must have seen running the order as a necessary chore, a duty to her mother and her fellow vampires, a way of making Britain liveable for her. No, power and domination did not interest her, as long as Aster remained free in the company of those she loved to be able to explore the arcana of magic, she would be happy...
Suddenly Hermione realised how much better it would be to have Aster presiding over the order and not someone like her. To her horror, she could see herself becoming intoxicated by power, believing herself to be all-powerful, and not her vision of what was good and right, making choices with bloody consequences. Her throat knotted, she would only remain at this post as long as it took to free Aster, not a minute longer. She could see herself using Asphodel to launch a crusade with utopian views, and that terrified her.
She made a great effort to banish these thoughts and directed her gaze at each of the people gathered here, old and new members of the inner circle, all of whom had gained Aster's trust in one way or another, all of whom had either talents, particular visions, or great weight in the various factions making up the order.
She stared at them all one by one, starting with Arnold, the huge Lycan representing the organisation's non-vampire non-humans, his expression serious, his dark eyes focused on her. Asmodeus, the beautiful psychotic vampire who, for some reason, Aster had seen fit to put in charge of the armed wing of Asphodel. She looked bored, staring up at the ceiling, but the rapid movement of her fingers against her arm betrayed her unease. Basileus was exactly as Aster had described him, ancient, and concentrated on his abacus and the parchments spread out on the table in front of him, as if the gravity of the situation had escaped him. Mimosa, the young muggle born woman in her early twenties, was white with anger, her jaw clenched, the number of the prophet explaining Aster Potter's tragic fate and what the wizengamot had seen fit to do to the creature that had stolen her identity was crumpled, clenched in her fist, a faint smoke coming from it. Mimosa must have been affected at a particularly deep level for accidental magic to manifest itself. Ethan, the vampire Aster had said she trusted most, was concentrating on a pile of documents and reports, rereading them feverishly.
The newest members of the inner circle clearly didn't know where to put themselves in such a situation. Xenophilius Lovegood, head of communications, was sweating, regularly wiping his brow, his big grey-blue eyes darting from member of the order to member of the order. Enéa, the young Selkie in charge of culture and the inclusion of the order's minority creatures, was making herself very small at the back of her chair... She looked as if she was about to turn into a seal and run away, if the long whiskers appearing and disappearing on her cheeks were any indication.
Severus glanced at her meaningfully, one eyebrow raised. Yes, he was right, she had to summon her courage and start the emergency meeting before the tension literally exploded the room.
Hermione cleared her throat and stood up, resting her hands against the table. "Good morning everyone, thank you for coming to this exceptional meeting despite the short notice. Some of you already know me," she said, glancing at Ethan and Mimosa. "For the rest of you, I'm Hermione Snow, Blood Mate and Karrasinqi's advisor." At this, some eyes widened, others nodded, the weight of the stares already seeming lighter to her. She would need all the legitimacy she could muster.
When only silence answered her, Hermione spoke again. "The situation is urgent, Karrasinqi has been captured and thrown into Azkaban after her fight against a professor possessed by Voldemort (Xenophilius gasped) and then against Dumbledore himself. Time is running out, Karrasinqi can't survive more than a month without being overcome by her thirst. The purpose of this meeting is to determine the best way and the necessary resources to get Aster out of Azkaban." She said in as loud and clear a voice as possible.
A cacophony of chaotic voices answered her. Mimosa slammed the newspaper against the table, evaporating in a great orange flame, Asmodeus seemed on the verge of breaking, Arnold stood up, shouting something about the futility of waiting and advocating the urgency of storming the Ministry. On the other hand, Ethan and Xenophilius were trying to calm the others down. Basileus was as imperturbable as ever and the little Selkie, who was already uncomfortable, had taken on her seal form to hide behind her seat. Severus, for his part, was perfectly calm, his gaze turned towards her, one eyebrow raised. They had already discussed the possibility of the meeting starting like this and what she should do then.
Hermione stood up, grabbed her battle staff and slammed it into the ground as she let her magic run through the last array she and aster had added to the staff. A thunderclap sounded, the shockwave sweeping away Basileus's papers, Ethan's only saving grace being that he seemed to have seen it coming and had clutched his files to his chest. Arnold, despite his impressive stature, was pushed backwards, falling heavily back into his seat...
She heaved a long sigh, silence had finally returned. "Shouting won't get us anywhere, we need to come up with a plan of action. She turned to Ethan, the one Aster seemed to trust the most. "Ethan, what do you have to propose?"
The vampire stood up and cleared his throat. "We have to get Lady Karrasinqi out of Azkaban, no matter how formidable she is as a witch and vampire, you can't escape from Azkaban, it's impossible. Given the absolute urgency of the situation, I took the liberty of contacting a former ally of the Warpulnys. I request permission to bring in the unspeakable Croaker."
The unspeakable? The elite of magical research in Great Britain, the only ones legally authorised to manipulate the most esoteric magic... How on earth had Ethan managed to divert the allegiance of one of them? Hermione glanced at Severus, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Let him in." She declared.
Ethan waved his hand and the door opened. The man who stepped forward was tall, almost skeletal, his great dark purple cloak concealing part of his figure. He was bald, his head gleaming in the candelabra light. A thick grey beard adorned his square jaw. He was ageless, his wax-like skin devoid of wrinkles, the only colour on his high cheekbones and thin lips. If his eyes weren't deep brown and burning with determination, Hermione could easily have believed that his entire face was a mask created by the hands of an artist with ghoulish passions.
Ethan spoke again. "Croaker hereby swears on his magic, his life and his soul to keep secret the existence of the Order of the Asphodel and all matters connected therewith. Please, sir, begin your..."
"Wait," interrupted Hermione. "Mr Croaker, I'm Hermione Snow, Proxy Head of the Order of the Asphodel until Karrasinqi returns. Before you speak, I'd like to know what's in it for you. For in doing so, you are guilty of high treason against Great Britain."
Croaker blinked slowly, his waxy face contorting into a parody of a smile. "Well spoken, young lady." He said, his voice sibilant, as if his words were spoken by the wind whistling between the rocks of a high ruin. "Azkaban is an abomination, a monstrosity that must be annihilated as soon as possible. I have made my case to my superiors too many times, only for them to turn a deaf ear. But you, you have the motive, as well as the resources to reduce it to rubble."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I didn't expect such an altruistic motive."
"Think again little witch, I don't care about the poor souls who feed it, Azkaban must be destroyed for the threat it represents in the long term. Her conscience is growing by the day, and there's no telling when she'll be able to break her chains." he said sardonically.
Hermione struggled to suppress a shiver. "All right, I'm listening... what do we need to know?"
Croaker's form spasmed and he stiffened, his eyes emanating an unhealthy glow. He pulled out a map and flattened it on the table, his long bony finger pointing somewhere on the sea to the north-east of northern Scotland. "Azkaban... It is commonly believed that the fortress lies in the North Sea, off the coast, but this is not entirely true. Behind powerful wards of concealment lies an infinite hurricane, an eternal storm where leviathan lightning lurks in the clouds. This is the first line of defence, the water a maze of sandbanks and sharp rocky spurs, obsidian blades slicing through the foam, where krakens and other abyssal abominations thrive. The clouds are a chaos of winds and lightning, and the mists conceal what you call storm serpents and celestial leviathans."
A demented smile had spread across his face, as if he savoured every word he spoke, as if these were not horrors Hermione would have to face to free Aster. "If you can break through the storm walls, you'll come to the eye of the storm. An island you will recognise by its high, obsidian-black cliffs with razor-sharp edges. At the top of the cliffs is the fortress itself, and little Ethan has details of the wards in his beloved file. At this stage, if you manage to cross the wards, the greatest danger will be the dementors, and worse, the abominations that Azkaban conceals within, creatures that feed on the rotting carcasses of dementors, all the things that the wizards of these islands have not managed to kill and have preferred to forget, locked away far from home instead of dealing with the problem. I would warn you, however, that it's not out of the question for Azkaban to be able to have physical expressions of its will."
He stepped back, straightening his long, lean form before heading back towards the door. As he was about to go through it, he turned round one last time: "I recommend that you take to the air, it's not a good idea to venture too close to these murky waters." He said before closing the door behind him, leaving the audience stunned.
Hermione cleared her throat, trying to hide the cold fear creeping slowly up her spine, icy fingers closing around the back of her neck. "Ethan, are you sure we can trust him?" She said flatly.
"Absolutely," replied the vampire, nodding.
"Is it possible to exploit the Ministry's means of getting to Azkaban?" she asked, desperately looking for another way to break through the prison gates other than facing the horrors Croaker had described to them.
"No, the Ministry uses a contract system with Azkaban, a contract that allows the guards access to the prison, but prevents them from violating the prison charter at the cost of their souls." Ethan said darkly.
"I see." Hermione said, doing her best to keep up her facade of calm. "It's clear that the Order of the Asphodel doesn't have the resources to storm Azkaban. We need to find allies. As Lady Hermione Snow, Honorary Knight of Ulthar, I can try to make our case to the Matagon nation. Does anyone have any suggestions?"
To everyone's surprise, Basileus Meinar, the former Squib whom Aster had described as most silent except when his expertise was needed, stood up, his chair scraping on the floor, he readjusted his monocle and ran his hand through his long grey beard. Everyone turned to look at him, even Arnold, who was about to say something, preferred to keep quiet and let the old squib speak. He quickly scanned the documents in front of him before speaking.
"Miss Snow, the Asphodel has no way of breaking through Azkaban's defences, as you so rightly pointed out. However, we do have a potential major ally who could provide us with the necessary... technical resources. Our trade agreements with the Hanseatic League of Svorak have been going well for several months now, and they have several trading posts in the enclaves of the Asphodel. Svorak isn't just a trading nation, as you may already know, but they have cutting-edge magical military technology, and the war airships they use to defend their flying cities, if properly reinforced, would allow us to penetrate Azkaban's defences." He said in a calm voice, as if what he had just proposed wasn't crazy.
Hermione swallowed and glanced at Severus, but he was impassive. She had vaguely heard of the Hanse Air Force, mainly from history books about the Grindelwald War, when Svorak had had to defend their towns and trading posts against the Esoteric branch of the Red Army and the onslaught of Grindelwald troops who refused to accept Hanse neutrality during the conflict. The brief descriptions she had read spoke of iron monsters, terrible machines drawing their power from the mines of power stones jealously guarded by the Hanse. She looked Basileus in the eye. "How do you suggest we convince Svorak's Hanseatic League to lend us some of its war machines?" the incredulity in her voice was clear, what reason would the Hanseatic League have to lend such firepower? Even to an allied nation? Especially if the discovery of this alliance risked bringing Great Britain and the Hanseatic League to war...
Basileus gave her a disillusioned look, as if he saw more in her than she saw in herself. "Miss Snow, first of all, the only reason Azkaban still exists is because Great Britain wants to use it as a political prison, and most other nations agree that Azkaban is a stain on the surface of the world that must disappear. We hereby propose to the Hanse to allow the destruction of Azkaban without the Hanse having to get involved directly." A toothy grin spread across his face, revealing a few gold teeth. "If, by some misfortune, the prospect of getting rid of Azkaban and strengthening their relationship with Asphodel isn't enough to convince them, I'm sure you've got something that might change their minds."
"I take note of your suggestion, Basileus. Does anyone have anything more to suggest?" Hermione said, her mind already weighing up the pros and cons of Basileus' proposal.
It was Arnold's turn to stand up, looking away from Basileus with difficulty, who had resumed counting as if nothing had happened. The huge Lycan swept his eyes over the assembly. "The news of Karrasinqi's imprisonment has hit our community hard." he began. "The hatred against what the Ministry has done is seething, and if we don't publicly give the impression that we're doing something, that we're putting the order into motion, soon small groups will form independently and attack on their own. I don't need to tell you how likely this is to reveal the existence of Asphodel... "
"What do you propose?" asked Hermione, Arnold had an excellent argument here, Aster was adored by many members of the order, if nothing was done, the possibility of chaos prevailing was considerable.
"We'll need men to storm Azkaban, strong, trained fighters. I propose putting up posters and recruitment centres in all the order's enclaves looking for volunteers to join the attack." He said, embers in his eyes.
"Arnold, I want to be the one in charge of recruit training!" Asmodeus exclaimed.
Hermione gritted her teeth, she didn't like the way Asmodeus was presenting herself for this job at all, what had gone through Aster's head when she had appointed her Head of Security? At least she seemed loyal. Arnold's proposal made sense, it was clear that her position on the council was well deserved. She nodded. "Good, let's do that. Xenophilius, I'm counting on you to communicate the information throughout the enclaves. Asmodeus, you are in charge of training the recruits. I remind you that our time is short."
Xenophilius, who had been standing back until now, stiffened, pride evident in the carriage of his shoulders. Asmodeus's face broke into a maniacal grin, and Ethan buried his face in his hands at the sight.
"Anything else?" Hermione asked.
To her surprise, Mimosa Olstone, who had so far spent the meeting ranting and raving as she tried to set fire to the small pile of ashes that remained of the prophet by the sheer force of her looks, stood up. "Miss Snow," she began. She began, bowing her head, her voice trembling with anger. "We'll need a distraction to carry out the attack, something big enough to keep the full attention of the Ministry of Magic away from Azkaban long enough."
Hermione nodded,
Mimosa's point was well taken, it was better to have their backs. "Do you have a suggestion?" She asked, thinking to herself how to set up such a distraction.
"No... " Mimosa said, lowering her eyes sadly.
At these words, a hubbub arose in the room, discussions taking place in more or less low voices, exchanging various ideas about the best way to make the Ministry blind to their actions. Asmodeus proposed attacking the Ministry at the same time as Azkaban, Ethan was more in favour of blocking all means of magical transport in the country by destroying the apparition cover and blocking the floo network, Arnold was in favour of launching an insurrection in several lycanthropic communities, Xenophilius proposed releasing a herd of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Diagon alley...
So much so that it took several minutes for the quiet to return after everyone had noticed that Severus had stood up and was waiting patiently, hands behind his back, one eyebrow raised. Silence fell gradually as everyone turned to face the taciturn man. When the last voice fell silent, Severus waited a few more seconds before speaking.
His voice was low, almost like a whisper, and yet it was audible to everyone, Hermione even wondered if there wasn't a spell at work. "It so happens that I have anticipated this problem, and already have a concrete proposal to submit to this... assembly." He said sullenly. "I have... privileged links with the Veelan community of the Grand Alliance, and I'm certain I can negotiate with them to get the hidden Veelan nation of Hymgaabal and the Grand Alliance to ensure that Great Britain is at fault for a major diplomatic incident."
Asmodeus raised an eyebrow. "Hymgaabal has remained silent since the end of Grindelwald's wars, do you really think you can get their support for our enterprise?"
"I'm more than sure of it." He said before taking a bundle of documents out of his pouch and passing them to the assembly.
Hermione grabbed one of the documents, and no sooner had she read a few lines than her eyes widened. If what little she knew of the veela was true, Severus had a good chance of convincing them to join their cause.
Arnold grunted, his fist clenching around the paper, crumpling it under the pressure. "Mr Snape, you have every chance."
Hermione watched Severus's impassive face for a few seconds and nodded. "I declare this emergency meeting closed, Azkaban will fall."
oOOOo
She was standing at the front of the long nacelle of the airship, her hands resting on the rail, leaning forward, her eyes wide, devouring the impossible sight. She had already climbed into one of the Hanse airships to leave Ulthar, which in itself had been an impressive experience. But nothing had prepared her for what she would feel as she approached Jernbyen, the 'Iron City', one of the four floating cities, capitals of Svorak's Hanseatic League.
City was not the word she would have chosen to describe such a thing, citadel seemed more appropriate. Although several kilometres still separated her from Jernbyen, the citadel was so massive that it took up a good part of her field of view. Its architecture was the strangest: high Gothic influences were clear in the presence of high spires reaching skywards, buttresses and pointed arches dominating the entrances to what she assumed were huge aerial ports. The citadel itself seemed to rest on an inverted dome and was entirely surrounded by a ring of walls intersected by countless towers and the entrances to the ports. Beyond the walls, the citadel rose in multiple levels of housing and buildings that were supposed to be cultural or religious, before finishing at the top with a strange combination of fortress and cathedral, the towers of which towered several hundred metres above the lowest levels of the city.
Three titanic chains of what she assumed to be black steel fell from openings in the sides of the inverted dome that supported the entire structure and sank into the ocean more than a kilometre below. Around the citadel flew hundreds of airships and other aerial vehicles, some coming and going, others moored at various points on the citadel. But what drew her attention the most were the huge warships flying slowly around the citadel, oblong shapes of dark metal, each several times the size of the trading ships, on their sides she could see several short wings supporting huge propellers... Basileus had been right, with war machines like these, getting through Azkaban's defences would not be impossible.
Hermione gasped when she saw movement right next to her, but she regained her composure as soon as she realised it was only Severus. The Hansians' habit of always appearing in public wearing a mask and a sober uniform in the colour of their guild made her uncomfortable. The potion master's gaze was directed towards the entrance to the airport, which they were approaching by the second. "The vast majority of British wizards can't even imagine that our world is home to such marvels, or what magic is really capable of. I myself, not so long ago..." He paused, Hermione wondering if the majesty of the spectacle before them had loosened his tongue more than usual, he was after all not the type to open up like that about his thoughts or feelings, contenting himself with reacting to the absurdities the world confronted him with.
"I'm glad I got to see something like that". She said, choosing to ignore her travelling companion's embarrassment. Hermione wasn't nearly as fond of him as Aster was, but she had to hand it to him, who better to help her negotiate a military alliance than a man who had survived years of service to Voldemort thanks to his composure and talent.
"You're stressed." he said, as the airship slowly sank into the immense maw of the airport. The place was much bigger than the biggest muggle station she had ever seen. Dozens of airships of various shapes, sizes and colours were moored on several levels to metal walkways forged with abstract patterns and arabesques, luminous orbs surrounded by tinted glass floating in the air, diffusing daylight. The structure of the port was made of a strange mixture of industrial metal beams and cut stone, all adorned with various artistic motifs. Copper and iron pipes ran everywhere, and chains and ropes hung down from lifts and Hansians working on the various pieces of equipment. The sound of voices echoing across the vast harbour, of goods being loaded and unloaded, of cogs and steam jets, was almost deafening. The smell of the sea far below mingled with that of iron and copper. Hermione pulled her thick cloak tighter around her; even sheltered from the wind, the cold was still biting.
She turned her head towards Severus, finally taking in what he had just said. "Of course I'm stressed, Aster's release depends entirely on whether or not we get through the negotiations. Our plan relies on using their warship."
"You have to keep a cool head." He said. "If during the negotiations you get carried away for any reason, we can kiss their support goodbye."
"Easy for you to say." She grunted, burying her chin behind her scarf.
Severus sighed, "Look, the meeting's tomorrow, there's no point in you being foolish and mentally exhausted now. We'll drop our things off at the hotel, and we can finally get some rest and maybe even see a bit of the area. I find myself most... interested in the existence of such a place."
Hermione preferred not to answer, too frustrated by the fact that, once again, Severus was right. Perhaps she should try to look on the bright side, the Jernbyen High Council had agreed to their request for a negotiation, and... she was in a bloody flying citadel! Even Severus, beneath his impassive exterior, was excited. This would be an adventure she could tell Aster about...
The airship came to a halt, two heavy metal hooks bearing down on the railing to their right to hold it in place. The deck had gradually filled up with all the other passengers during their arrival, wizards, Hansians, but also creatures of all kinds, including the one she recognised, a few Matagots, Veelas and Fahri-Yujuls.
One of the Hansian crew lowered a lever, triggering a loud clatter, and a gangway emerged from the side of the airship to connect it to the dock. On the other side stood two tall Hansians dressed in long dark blue frock coats with a sword pointing downwards on their chests, below an Arctic tern with its wing outstretched. Their masks were completely white except for three short red stripes running parallel to the eyes on the right. They were checking the residence permits of each new arrival before welcoming them.
Hermione stared for a moment at the long curved swords they wore around their waists, wondering what kind of enchantment they wore before realising that it was her turn. "Hello." She said, once again grateful for the Hansian translation necklace Severus had given her, as she handed them the letter she had received from the High Council.
No sooner had he seen the seal than the Hansian handed her back her letter, and bowed slightly, his companion imitating him. "Welcome to Jernbyen, we have been expecting you. Heid Kavokfni will guide you to your quarters. I hope you enjoy your stay." He said, indicating his companion with a wave of his hand.
"Please follow me." He said before starting to walk briskly along the quay towards the city. Hermione and Severus followed. Hermione knew that she and Severus were expected in Jernbyen as she had requested a diplomatic meeting by letter on behalf of the Asphodel, but she had not expected her and Severus to have an escort.
However, these thoughts were soon overshadowed by the bewildering scenery surrounding her. The airport was overflowing with people, Hansians in various uniforms representing a myriad of guilds, from ironmongers to rune artists, navigators and many others she did not recognise. But also thousands of travellers, humans of course, but also all sorts of other magical species. She instinctively moved closer to Severus when a group of creatures barely more than a metre tall, perched on dozens of insectoid legs, dressed in woven straw and with heads resembling an amalgam of changing shapes, passed a little too close. Not to mention machines of all kinds everywhere. She found it hard to take her eyes off a long, hollow-backed mechanical scolopendra several metres long carrying luggage and small copper beetles carrying messages written on small rolls of paper from one Hansian to another.
Soon, the trio left the docks by a lift with copper cogs covered in runes and glistening with magic in the open air, which lifted them to the main platform of the aerial port. It was with regret that Hermione turned her eyes away from the hundreds of motley flying machines arriving and departing from the countless docks. However, she didn't regret it for long when she saw the architecture of the huge hall, a mixture of Gothic and early Industrial Revolution, from which all the lifts to the various quays departed. The large façade overlooking the outside had large windows filled with stained glass depicting Hanseatic symbols and what appeared to be parts of Jernbyen's history. In the centre of the façade, above the large main door, she marvelled at the sight of the largest mechanical clock with exposed cogs that she had seen in her life. A true work of art, above which stood a copper bas-relief depicting an Arctic Tern with its wings spread.
She barely had time to catch a glimpse of the station stalls lining the edges of the main concourse: restaurants, newsagents, a souvenir shop? Before Heid guided them towards the main gate.
Hermione had to blink several times as the sun dazzled her as she exited the aerial port. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she blinked several times, incredulous at the sight. She was facing a wide cobbled square framed by tall, narrow houses with gables facing the square and occupied by various businesses, and steep roofs concealed behind staircase-like structures. All built of stone or timber-framed brick. The centre of the square was a wooded park with a fountain. On the other side of the square was a street where she saw many pedestrians coming and going before she was rendered speechless by the sight of a strange tram moving
on a multitude of small mechanical legs.
Fortunately, she recovered quite quickly, but blushed at Severus's amused raised eyebrow." That's something..." He said thoughtfully.
Despite the presence of his mask, Hermione could almost feel the Hansian's amusement. "Our city tends to have that effect on new visitors." he said. He stood still and took a small metal sphere out of one of the pockets of his frock coat, manipulating the small graduated band in the centre of it.
"Where do we go next?" Hermione asked, puzzled by their sudden stop.
"We're just waiting for our means of transport, it shouldn't be long now." Heid replied.
Indeed, just a few seconds later, a whirring sound was heard and an oval shadow was soon visible on the cobblestones. Hermione took a few steps back, her eyes wide as a strange contraption landed on the ground in front of her. It was a sort of open-topped iron and copper boat with six velvet upholstered seats, the front of which faced a set of handles, knobs and levers. On the edges of the craft, six glass wings similar to those of a bee or bumblebee vibrated gently, complex rune circuits running along their bases. As she watched, Heid had approached and opened a door in the side of the vehicle and Severus had already settled in. Hermione felt herself blush and settled down without further ado, resting her back on the seat cushion. With a slam, Heid closed the door and got into the driver's seat. He pulled a lever, and the wings began to whirr even more, the plane rising gently into the air. With the press of a button, a magical barrier similar to a protego but much more transparent covered them, making the sound of the wings almost inaudible.
"What do you call this device?" Hermione asked, her fingers running over the metal surfaces of the border, feeling an intense magic running through the material, her gaze fixed on the square and the façade of the station, which became more distant as they gained altitude.
"We're on board a cycloplane, Miss. It's one of the city's main means of transport, making it easy to travel between levels. In a recess in the door you should find a pamphlet indicating how to use the self-service cycloplane constellation." He replied, continuing to steer the aircraft towards the sky.
Hermione nodded, her gaze lost on the tall houses, squares, gardens, parks and various military and civilian buildings now visible from this altitude, but also on the dozens of other cycloplanes flying around them, some with only one seat and speeding along like wasps, others more massive and slower, more like flying buses, clumsy as bumblebees.
Heid then stopped climbing in altitude and their aircraft began to spin towards the fourth level of the city, where she had noticed that the buildings were of a more artistic architecture and made of nobler materials. "Isn't there a risk of an accident?" Hermione asked when their plane passed a little too close to another cycloplane for her comfort.
"Don't worry, the cycloplanes are not independent, they work on a swarm logic where each device knows where all the others are, the global runic circuit makes it impossible for two of them to collide." He replied, activating a lever that made the device land gently in the middle of a small, quiet square resembling a small park where a few beech trees were growing, with only the edges paved.
Hermione stuffed one of the pamphlets into her pocket and got out of the cycloplane once the protective field had been lowered, followed closely by Severus.
"Do you see that hotel?" Heid said, pointing to a large building of white limestone and metal-reinforced Gothic architecture. "The city council has booked you a room there." He reached into one of the inside pockets of his frock coat and pulled out an envelope. "Give this to the receptionist and they'll show you to your room. He said, handing it to her. "I hope you enjoy your stay in Jernbyen!" A few seconds later, with a dull roar, the cycloplane took off, leaving the pair alone in the square.
She turned to Severus, whose eyebrows were furrowed in suspicion. "A knut for your thoughts?" she asked.
Severus sighed, "This whole city is a display of power." he grumbled.
"And you're surprised?" Hermione asked, looking around exaggeratedly.
"No." he admitted, the smallest of smiles forming on his lips.
oOOOo
Hermione let her bag slip from her shoulders, letting it crash to the floor with a thud. She collapsed onto the bed with a deep exhale. The stress of recent events and the long journey in the airship had drained her energy more than she had expected. She just stared at the ceiling boards and beams for several minutes, trying as best she could to relax and let all the emotions of the day sink in.
A light laugh shook her chest. Despite all that she and Aster had been through together, she had seen nothing of the world. Just a few hours earlier, she hadn't imagined that a flying city could exist. When she heard Jerbyen mentioned in the reply to her request for an audience with the High Council of Svorak's Hanseatic League, and Ethan had spoken vaguely of "flying cities", she had thought it was a turn of phrase, an exaggeration, but she would never have believed it had to be taken literally. And yet... she was having trouble assimilating everything she'd just seen. The bloody flying citadel, the magical machines, all these people of different species living together to trade with the Hanse, these incredible hybrids of magic and technology...
However, she still felt a deep sense of unease about it all. Not so much the marvels of magical engineering as the way the Hanse as a society seemed to work. All those people in their uniforms, in the colours of their guild, their faces masked, as if deprived of their own identity... That said, who was she to judge, after all she only had a superficial knowledge of how the Hanse worked, but that didn't stop her from being, to tell the truth, a little frightened.
She had asked a Hanse woman wearing the insignia of a hotel guild about the mask, but the woman had simply told her that, in public, it was the law for everyone to be the face of the guild. Which, frankly, didn't do her much good.
In any case, she couldn't blame them for their lack of hospitality. Between their assigned guide, their all-expenses-paid hotel room, their politeness and the comfort they offered them, she had nothing to complain about, even if, as Severus had said, all this could well be a demonstration of power. Wasn't she a diplomat on a 'matter of the utmost importance and secrecy'?
She closed her eyes and sighed with contentment as she sank into the soft mattress. She had never stayed in a hotel, so she had no point of comparison, but this one seemed to be at least four stars from what she had read and heard. A spacious room, perfectly clean, a large four-poster bed, a window offering a breathtaking view of the lower levels of the city, the ramparts and the sea far below. Not forgetting the bathroom, the armchair and the desk, on which were placed a bouquet of flowers and a whole set of writing utensils in fine silver. Severus's room was directly adjacent to hers.
Their hearing would take place the day after tomorrow, a whole day to perfect their arguments... And try not to bite her nails to the quick at the thought that every minute spent was reducing her chances of getting Aster out of Azkaban. Hermione grunted as she rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. She didn't have the mental energy to think about what she would have to do to convince the assembly of Hanse guilds.
Instead, she took Cycloplanes' pamphlet out of her pocket and began to read. A slight smile played on her lips when she read a paragraph talking about the different subscription rates for flying bus services.
oOOOo
She walked briskly down the street, her eyebrows furrowed, her lips pressed together, her hands buried deep in her pockets, trying to convince herself that no, she wasn't sulking. According to the hotel clock, it was past three. She and Severus had spent the morning and early afternoon perfecting their speech. That is... until Severus declared that they were going round in circles and that it was becoming sterile, before telling her in a tone that brooked no argument to go for a walk in town to get her mind off things. What an exasperating man! Worst of all, she was aware that she currently held more power than he did as temporary mistress of the Asphodel, but the authority he had undoubtedly developed over the years of teaching, and the respect she had for him as teacher, potions master and three-time spy, made her nod reluctantly before grabbing her coat and heading out of the hotel.
The bright late spring sunshine was almost an insult to her gloomy mood as she made her way down the street, ignoring as best she could the countless passers-by and all the commotion around her. The avenue was wide, a row of trees separating the pavements from the lane where the various strange Hanse vehicles moved. The rising avenue was lined with a variety of shops and establishments, restaurants, craftsmen, pet shops, potions shops, goldsmiths, bookshops... bearing witness to her bad mood, she hadn't even felt the urge to enter one of the shops with windows overflowing with grimoires and other books. Reflecting the city she was in, most of the shops were run by various craft guilds, some of whose windows displayed such beautiful objects that she couldn't resist and slowed down, her bad mood preventing her from admitting her interest and really stopping to look.
The negotiation with the Hanse would take place tomorrow morning and her stress had become almost unbearable. The thought of it made her clench her fists and grit her teeth, but Severus had surely been right to send her off to clear her head. Although she knew her mood was justified, she was well aware that a bad temper would do her harm tomorrow morning. So she took a deep breath and, determined to clear her head, entered the first shop she came to.
The heavy, crystal glass door creaked open, accompanied by the tinkling of an assortment of small bells. The door closed behind her with a muffled slam, cutting her off from the noise of the busy street, the sound of voices and the bustle outside giving way to the quiet, regular clanking of dozens of clocks, watches and other delicate mechanisms displayed in showcases and piled high on timeworn wooden furniture. The atmosphere was dusty, with a dry musty smell and hints of copper.
The calm of the place was like a balm, perhaps the hustle and bustle of the city had gone to her head. Seeing no one behind the antique counter, she began to wander between the displays, or rather, surfaces where objects of all kinds were accumulating. Not only clocks and watches, but also various types of telescopes, sextants, compasses and many other objects whose usefulness she could only guess at. She stopped in front of a small table with arched legs used to display thirty or so gusseted watches of all kinds. Out of curiosity, she opened one of them, blinking at the multitude of dials before her, all featuring sculpted silver hands moving more or less quickly, some motionless, others going in the opposite direction, or with erratic movements.
She was used to quickly understanding and analysing what she was dealing with, but now she was completely overwhelmed.
She was startled when she heard a squeaky voice just behind her. "Have you found your happiness, little lady?"
She turned around, reflexively clutching the watch in her hand. In front of her stood a Hansian, very tall, too tall, over two metres... very thin, almost skeletal, his long light grey robes almost floating over his frail frame. She immediately spotted what must have been a uniform, the symbol of one of the goldsmiths' guilds that she had seen a little earlier in another shop, a compass with a stylised sun between its branches. Like all the Hansians she had seen so far, he wore a smooth white mask with only two slits behind which gleamed mischievous grey eyes.
"I was just looking... at... your products". She said, caught off guard and once again frightened by the mask.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" he asked.
She was about to politely refuse, when she remembered the pocket watch in her hand. "Um, about this watch," she began, opening it to present the dials to the man. "I recognise the hour and moon phase dials, but the others escape me.
The man bent down to examine the object, and pointed his long bony finger at one of the dials. "This one tells you the height of the tides in the nearest sea, this one the polarity of the magics around you, this one their amplitudes, this one gives you the atmospheric pressure, to its left is a compass, to its right an altimeter..." He continued for a moment. And he went on like that for a while, detailing the usefulness of each dial, one after the other. Hermione raised her head, observing the man, his worn but well-made robes, the guild symbols proudly displayed, and above all that mask she couldn't get used to and which made her feel uncomfortable no matter how many times she saw it on the countless Hansians living in this town.
"... This one points you to the nearest bakery." Finished the Hansian, his eyes rising from the watch to plunge into hers. "Is something wrong, little lady?" he asked.
Hermione sighed, the answers she had received so far had been unsatisfactory, and she had the feeling that the Hansians didn't like people questioning their way of life, but here, in this quiet shop, with no witnesses, perhaps she would have better luck. "Your mask... I mean, I understand about the uniform, but... why does every Hansian I've met so far wear one?"
The man took a step back, straightening up, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, but you've already come across some without masks or uniforms, lots of them."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you recognise them? My comrades without their finery." he asked conspiratorially.
"No, I didn't." She said, the wheels turning in her head.
"Well, that's part of your answer," he laughed.
"But isn't the mask a disadvantage when it comes to trading?
He gave her a flat look. "I understand your questions, and I'll answer them, but just know that asking this kind of question can be very frowned upon. Most of our customers come to see us not only for our work, but also for our masks. Behind this mask, I'm not an individual, but a representative of the guild. Even now, you're not talking to me, and it's not me who's answering you, it's the guild. With the Hanse, there is no haggling, the guild council decides the prices and the rules, each guild council refines and specifies them, and each member applies them. Part of what people get out of trading with the Hanse is the absolute certainty of receiving exactly what they pay for, with no special interests standing between the guild and the customer. As soon as we put on our masks, the guild is us, and we are the guild. It's this system that has allowed the Hanse to become what it is today, young lady." He said with absolute seriousness.
Hermione nodded slowly, not quite sure what to think. She could see the advantages of such a system, to guarantee order and trust, to create a strong unit, to clearly separate the private from the professional, but at the same time, an indescribable unease clutched her stomach at his words. She opened her mouth to thank him, but he interrupted her.
"Don't thank me, it's the Guild speaking through me, if it was in the protocol not to explain this to anyone who asked, I wouldn't have told you."
Hermione nodded slowly, feeling a sudden urge to get out of the shop. "I, I'll take that watch." She said with slight hesitation.
"Very well." Said the strange figure as he walked over to the counter before opening a huge register and flipping through it quickly. "A silver Da Vinci watch..." he mumbled, "that'll be 50 Sylbes please," he added in a clear voice.
Hermione nodded and took the money out of her purse. That was quite a sum, for comparison, a Sylbe was equivalent to half a Sickle, or 10.5 pounds. A weaker currency than the elven currency used mainly by the ICW, but one that was used much more freely without a goblin monopoly. The Hansian put the money back in the till and Hermione hurried out of the shop, whose atmosphere had begun to seem oppressive.
She closed the door behind her and relaxed as the sun caressed her face and the smell of dust and copper gave way to that of the fresh sea air of the city despite its height above the sea. Her gaze swept over the crowd of passers-by strolling along the street, how many of them were Hansians who had removed their masks, ceasing to embody their guild for the day, how did they experience such alienation? Or do they see their way of working as healthy? Completely separating their private affairs from those of their guild? Hermione sighed, she had more important things to think about, like what kind of wrapping paper to put the watch in to give it to Aster...
oOOOo
This morning, two men dressed in long blue-grey robes with copper edging, their chests covered by an elaborate metal cuirass, armed with swords at their belts and strange models of pistol, their faces hidden behind an iron mask on which was engraved a sword pointing to the ground, above which glittered three four-pointed quartz stars. Severus, no doubt noticing her curiosity, had said that they were members of the Praetorian Guild, or Silent Guard, without elaborating. Not that Hermione really needed any more details to understand who they were dealing with.
Silent as graves, the two Praetorians had led them to a silver cycloplane decorated with thousands of tiny copper runes waiting for them at the hotel door. Severus didn't seem inclined to talk, and Hermione's throat was too constricted at the thought of the importance of this morning to Aster's survival, so she remained , trying to prepare herself as best she could for what was to come and to manage her stress by letting her gaze wander over the majestic flying city stretching far below the cycloplane rising ever higher into the air.
Suddenly, the cycloplane sped towards the top of the city, the immense Gothic building towering above everything else, its spires shooting skywards like sharp spires, its countless buttresses, arches and spikes giving it the appearance of an impossible fortress, an indescribable mix between the most majestic cathedral she had ever seen and the most grandiose palace. White stone gleaming in the morning sun, reinforced with copper and flamboyant iron. Its immense stained glass windows already visible despite the distance. From their immeasurable height, Hermione could see the sea stretching far beyond the city walls. The green lands, misted by the distance, as well as the enormous steel behemoths, terrible engines of war, flying in slow circles like fatal crows around the spires at the top of the citadel. Ultimately, the reason for their coming.
Hermione swallowed. How seriously did the Hanseatic League of Svorak take them that, instead of meeting them as she had expected in one of the countless administrative buildings, they sent an escort of elite guards and invited them to the top of the citadel, in the Guild Palace itself. What she had heard of as one of the three hearts of the Hanseatic League of Svorak, the other two being in the Citadel of Schist and the city of Sulphur.
From this height, the countless cycloplanes and airships looked like little black dots flying back and forth from the city to the horizon. If Jerbyen, and the Hanseatic League in general, were as powerful as they are today, she couldn't imagine what it might have been like before the status of secrecy was imposed and trade wasn't restricted to the magical world and the hidden nations...
The cycloplane sped off in the direction of a stone platform that might not be able to overcome gravity without the intervention of magic. It landed gently on the platform, its six wings ceasing to vibrate gently. One of the praetorians opened the door for them and, with a wave of his hand, pointed to the stone walkway linking the platform to a large ogival door in carved wood. On either side of the footbridge stood two other praetorian guards, both armed with large halberds. Was that the barrel of some kind of firearm she could see embedded in the halberd's shaft? She couldn't help but shudder as she passed between the two, following their guide along the slender gangway.
As they approached, the two door leaves opened wide, without a sound, revealing a long corridor illuminated by countless polished white quartz crystals engraved with runes hanging from the ceiling. The entire length of the corridor was covered with a blue carpet, the walls adorned with large paintings. Some depicted battles, some on land, some in the air, but above all, paintings of flying cities, fleets of merchant airships and marvels of magical technology.
Despite her stress, Hermione slowed her pace in front of a painting depicting an Arctic tern soaring into the sky, wings spread. The painting was so strikingly realistic that she could almost believe the bird was about to fly off the canvas, but such beauty and perfection could not be found in nature. At a certain point, the paintings gave way to portraits, hundreds of them, the guild masters of past eras she supposed. Everyone watched them pass by, some with curiosity, others with suspicion, some with apathy.
At the end of the corridor, another door awaited them, this one framed by two large torches burning with an unearthly blue and white fire. Two other Praetorians armed with halberds stood there stoically, like statues. As they approached, the door opened, letting a din of diverse voices filter into the corridor.
As she stepped through the door, Hermione felt her face turn pale as the noise gave way to a deathly silence. When the door to the great corridor slammed behind her, she couldn't help but jump. Over a hundred pairs of eyes were fixed on her and Severus.
She was on display in the centre of a huge amphitheatre. A semicircle of gilded wooden bleachers and balustrades faced her. All were occupied by what she assumed to be the most important guild masters. Above the tiers, the walls continued to rise in high colonnades pierced by immense ogival windows closed by magnificent stained glass. Far above, the ceiling was a cupola adorned with statues and bas-reliefs. The same luminous quartz crystals floated in the air, illuminating the amphitheatre, as if the morning sunlight filtering through the stained glass wasn't enough.
Five squads of ten Praetorians stood stoically in front of the bas-relief woodwork covering the base of the stands, their eyes focused on their duo. She had to notice that Severus had come forward and opened his bag to place their document on the large lectern facing the council of guild masters. She had to make a considerable mental effort to stop herself from running back to his side and reassuring herself that... since when did Severus represent security for her? She shook the thought from her mind, keeping her back straight behind the lectern. She tried to stare briefly at each of the members of the assembly facing her, those not wearing masks, but there were too many of them...
She struggled to keep herself from jumping again when a carrion sounded three times across the immense hall, the sound reverberating in a crystalline echo between the high walls. A tall blonde woman with severe features, dressed in an almost military garb, stood on a high balustrade away from the others and spoke. "9 o'clock sharp, the exceptional meeting requested by the young nation of Asphodel can begin. Let's proceed with the presentation of the different parties. Here at the lectern are Miss Hermione Snow, second in command of the Order of the Asphodel, and Severus Snape, member of the Inner Circle, defending their interests and making proposals to the assembly. From the Council of Guilds, I call Mr Maghar Valconsen, Master of the Iron Shipowners' Guild. A tall, bearded, richly dressed man with a stern look rose and bowed slightly before sitting down again. "I call Madame Egossia Vilfrid, mistress of the machinists' guild..." continued the woman Hermione assumed was the head of the assembly.
This was followed by a very long introduction of all the guild masters and mistresses present, each one rising and bowing slightly as their name was called. This took a very long time. More than half an hour if Hermione was right. Some of the guild masters had very long titles.
What followed was a long and bitter negotiation. For hours, she and Severus defended their interests, explaining again and again what Svorak's Hanseatic League would gain by agreeing to lend them warships. How, by agreeing, they would be helping to destroy one of the world's most inhumane prisons and improve their diplomatic standing with the other partners who would be joining the expedition. It would also strengthen their ties with Asphodel. The diplomatic, symbolic and political importance of such an attack. Hermione had realised that one of the reasons she was taken seriously in these parts was because of the name 'Karrasinqi' that Aster had given herself, and was playing up to it, prophesying her return and how grateful she would be to the Hanseatic League for lending them a hand.
But nothing worked. The Hanse remained wary of lending their secret military technology to a foreign power. Frankly, Hermione understood, if Asphodel could be described as a nation from one point of view, it could also be seen as a terrorist organisation from another.
At least some of the guild masters seemed sympathetic to their cause. Some guilds involved in armaments, defence and the Hanseatic militia saw this as an opportunity to test experimental models under real conditions. Masters of the navigators' guilds were curious about the challenge of overcoming the various obstacles to reach Azkaban, especially the entry into Azkaban's space-time bubble. Guild masters of diplomats, negotiators and merchants seemed interested in their proposals, given all the opportunities such an undertaking would generate.
A majority, however, seemed firmly opposed to the project. Some felt the cause was lost in advance, others did not want to commit their equipment to such a risky venture, not to mention a host of other arguments such as the political risk of the Hanseatic League taking sides in an internal affair in Great Britain, the human, material and financial risks...
As a result, a good five hours after the meeting had begun, Hermione's hands were clenched so tightly on the lectern that her knuckles were white. Beside her, Severus was stoic, his gaze fixed on the person Hermione had learned was the referee, ringing the carllion. Its crystalline tinkle echoed through the room. Once there was silence, her voice rose, clear and strong. "The time for debate has passed. I call for a vote. All those in favour of providing military aid to the Order of Asphodel, please rise."
Of all the guild masters present, a good third stood up. Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest, were they really going to lose? The help of the Hanseatic League of Svorak was vital to the success of their plan. She gritted her teeth, preventing herself from screaming her anger and despair in the face of the world when the referee called out those opposed to the aid and the two thirds who had not yet spoken stood up, sealing their fate.
"Very well, the Guild Council has made its decision. The military aid requested by the Order of Asphodel is refused by the Guild Council. Let my words be..." began the referee.
"Wait!" Hermione exclaimed, interrupting her. A stunned silence fell over the assembly as they began to prepare to leave. "The Order of the Asphodel has something more to offer in exchange for your help!"
The session referee frowned. "Miss Snow, the session is over, the Council has voted." She said, clearly annoyed. Several guild masters gave their assent. However, one of those who had not taken part in the vote and had remained silent since the start of the meeting stood up, all heads turning towards him.
"Maître Malpasset?" exclaimed the referee.
The man was tall, very tall, dressed in a long purple coat trimmed with fur, with a thick, coarse beard, his face covered in scars framed by long braided hair, his ochre eyes, two almost golden orbs glowing under his thick eyebrows. His two hands, their fingers covered in rings, were clasped around the brass pommel of a grey wooden cane. As if caught in a single movement, all the other guild masters sat down calmly, their eyes turned towards the man called Malpasset.
Hermione swallowed, the man's penetrating gaze fixed on her. "I would like to hear what Miss Snow has to say," he said coldly.
The adjudicator immediately nodded and turned to her. "Mademoiselle Snow, Maître Malpasset has spoken. You have the floor."
Hermione stiffened and took a deep breath. Then she pulled her void-shield array from her pocket and held it up to the audience, the light diffracting into the thousands of hair-thin metal circuits that formed the fractal structure of the array. At this gesture, she saw the Praetorians move into position. Not losing her cool, Hermione spoke loudly. "This is the support for the most powerful protective magic, both physical and magical, available to the Order of Asphodel, the Void Shield. Its existence was one of our military secrets. It is the only magical shield we know of capable of stopping the green death." she said confidently. The attention of the assembly of guild masters was now riveted on her, some watching her with interest, others with incredulity. She cleared her throat and continued. "In exchange for the help of the Hanseatic League of Svorak, the Order of the Asphodel is prepared to share the secrets behind the creation of such a magical defence medium, and to help adapt it from individual protection to that of your warships."
As she lowered her hand and placed the array on the lectern, a tumult of discordant voices filled the room, with many heated debates between guild masters taking place simultaneously. Only Master Malpasset remained unmoved, his eyebrows furrowed and his gaze riveted on the array.
A few minutes later, the referee sounded the carrion again, until silence returned. "Miss Snow, the council requests a demonstration of your void-shield capabilities. If your shield enables you to survive the fire of all the Praetorians present here for thirty seconds, the Council will consider your offer. Do you accept these conditions?" She said in a cold voice.
Severus put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head no. But Hermione had already made up her mind, this was their last chance. "I accept." she declared forcefully.
At this word, the referee pulled a lever. The sound of cogs and chains echoed through the amphitheatre, and a stone balustrade rose from the floor to her right. Behind it, a monolithic wall, surely there to protect the delicate architecture of the hall from the fire of the Praetorians. "Please take your place at centre stage, Miss Snow". asked the referee.
Hermione complied, feeling like a condemned woman on her way to the scaffold. Or rather, to face a firing squad. She stood straight and proud on the granite balustrade, the array offered by Aster clutched in her hand. All eyes were on her, and many of the guild masters seemed surprised, as if they had not expected her to accept. Severus was livid, but powerless. In a perfect military march, the praetorians set to work, their halberds slung over their shoulders, until they formed two lines facing her, the first kneeling, the second standing. The barrels of the strange weapons embedded in their halberds were pointed at her, their black muzzles heralding death.
The referee's voice echoed around the room. "Miss Snow, have you any last wishes?"
A thin smile played across Hermione's lips. Everything would come down to this last twist of fate. Don't tremble... don't tremble..." No. " She said with an assurance that in her heart she did not possess. "I'm not dying today."