Alistair stepped out of the train as soon as the doors opened. He threaded his way through the crowd and found himself blinking in the midday sun outside of the tube station. A black sedan pulled out of the stream of traffic and came to a stop directly in front of him. As he slid into the backseat, the smell of cigarettes and oranges washed over him.
“Morning, sir.”
“Yes,” Alistair said, “you know where you’re taking me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Satisfied, he relaxed into the leather seat. He ran his thumb over the lions’ head engraved on the handle of his cane, as he considered his situation. The family had called him. He thought he was done with all that boyhood nonsense about princes and lords, Houses and kingdoms, all the machinations of their perverse world, but when they said that he was needed, he found himself incapable of denying them. He assumed that he was going to regret this either for a long time, or for a very short, painful time.
Outside the window, trees and sidewalks slid past. Compared to the speeds he’d traveled at earlier that same day this was nothing. The chunnel…now that was a modern wonder. There wasn’t a soul that could’ve dreamed of such a thing, when he was a boy. And that didn’t even come close to concords, or mag-levs, or any of the ridiculous technologies of the last 80 years. He shook his head. All this modernization came with a heavy price. There were few alive that remembered what the world was like when Alistair was young, and the history books he’d read in the past few years were remarkably…sparse.
“We’re here, sir” the driver said, bringing him out of his reverie.
Alistair nodded. “Here” was an opulent townhome, and as he stepped out of the car and up the steps the front door swung open. Inside stood a woman he hadn’t quite expected, and because old habits die hard, Alistair bowed.
“I’m glad you came, old man.”
His face remained impassive, despite his growing sense of unease. His host turned, retreating into the house, and he followed her.
–
Alistair didn’t inhale, he knew the smell would steal the breath from his lungs. He lifted the glass of scotch, tasted it, and set it down. After the burning had subsided he spoke.
“I assume you didn’t bring me two thousand miles to share a drink?”
“No, of course not. We have a job for you. There’s something that needs retrieving, it’s proven impossible for my Coterie to get. I’ve read the briefs on your past work, and I think your skillset is a good match for this problem.” Carmella said.
“How many of your Coterie did you send?”
“Eleven,” she said. “Only eight came back. You understand that I cannot afford to do that again.”
Alistair nodded. People with the abilities required to be of service in a House Coterie were extremely rare, and the serviceable number was always drastically reduced by the rigors of training. There were all sorts of dangers involved in that training, and none of them were minor. The few who passed carried scars for the rest of their lives, and of those who didn’t pass…the lucky among them died excruciating, but relatively quick deaths.
“For how long would my services be required?” he asked.
“Perhaps only one night. The object is a key, it’s in a certain place in Old London, that seems…closed to us.” she said.
Alistair frowned. He looked around the room. The wooden paneling was red, rich in color, and the leather furniture was its perfect compliment. The mood was dark and masculine, with an inviting warmth. That it had been designed and furnished by Carmellas’ father, he had no doubt. He sighed, for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last three days.
“You seek a key? One that’s hidden in one of the oldest and most malignant places on earth, for reasons that I cannot fathom.” he said. “I admit to some curiosity, but going alone into that dark…I’m not interested.”
“You think I’m offering you a choice?” she laughed, and there wasn’t a shred of humor in it. She leaned towards him, locking her eyes on his face. “How old are you, Alistair? You served my father. And his father. And his father? And yet, you look not a day over 60. You may have left Family and House, but it’s clear you’re still benefiting from the terms of your…contract. As far as I’m concerned, that means you’re still bound by it. Bound, to me.”
He considered his glass. It had found its way back into his hand and he took another drink before meeting her gaze. “I never liked you.”
“I’ve prepared a file with all the pertinent details. If you have any material needs, that phone will ring the butler. He can procure anything. You may take the rest of the day and start in the morning, if you like. You’ll find that I’m not a cruel master.”
Alistair drained his glass and reached for the folder. By the time he’d opened it, he was alone.
–
Forty-five minutes later he set the folder down and sat back. He produced a pipe from an inner pocket of his tweed sport coat and began tamping tobacco into the bowl. The trip was always disconcerting, but he’d been through enough times to know that he’d live…that long, at least. He did need her, after a fashion. Bound to her? Pure hubris on her part, but he could use that. The flame of the match seemed to mirror a light dancing in his eyes, and for the first time in three days Alistair Hightower allowed himself the barest glimmer of a smile.
## End ##
It was right after reworking the last paragraph for the third time that I decided the whole thing was self serving and trite, and I was going to toss it out. Before I do, though, I’m going to post it for a few days. I like the character, and the ideas, but I have no clear definition of their “world”, and I’m not comfortable moving on until I do. This vignette may completely disappear. I’m going to bed.
