"The master Phury is down in the training center's of fice, and I believe he could use some company. Perhaps you would - "
The cat let out a loud meow, trotted over in the direction of the grand staircase, and flicked his tail. It seemed as if, had he had arms and hands, he would have been pointing down to the foyer.
The butler laughed. "I think his lordship Boo agrees."
The cat meowed again.
Cormia tightened her grip on the rose's stem as she stood up. Maybe this was a good thing. She needed to tell the Primale that she was leaving. "I should like to see his grace, but are you sure now is the - "
"Good, good! I shall take you to him."
The butler trotted off to the sitting room and returned a moment later. As he came back, there was a spring in his step and a glow to his face, as if he were doing a job he enjoyed.
"Come. Let us descend, mistress."
Boo meowed again and led the way down the stairs and to the left, then over to a black-paneled door tucked in a corner. The butler entered a code on a numerical pad and opened what turned out to be a six-inch-thick steel panel. Cormia followed Fritz down a couple steps... and found herself in a tunnel that seemed to go on forever in both directions.
Looking around, she pulled the lapels of her robe more closely together. It was strange to feel claustrophobic in the midst of so much space, but she was abruptly conscious that they were underground and trapped inside.
"The code, by the way, is 1914," the butler said as he closed them all in and checked to make sure the lock was properly engaged. "That would be the year the house was built. You just enter it here on these pads to get through any of the doors along the way. The tunnel is made up of concrete and steel, and is sealed at all ends. And everything in it is monitored by a security system. There are cameras" - he pointed to the ceiling - "and other monitoring devices. You are as safe here as you would be on the grounds or in the house itself."
"Thank you." She smiled. "I was feeling... a bit unnerved. "
"Perfectly understandable, madam." Boo brushed against her as if he were taking her hand and giving it a little squeeze of reassurance.
"We go this way." The butler walked in a shuffle, his wrinkled face beaming. "The master Phury will love to see you."
Cormia held on to her rose and followed. As she went along, she tried to cast the proper good-bye in her head, and found herself tearing up a little.
She had fought this destiny of hers in the beginning, fought against being First Mate. Yet now, as she was getting what she wanted, she mourned the loss that came with her relative freedom.
Upstairs in the hall of statues, John opened the second door down from his room and turned on the light.
Qhuinn entered the bedroom with care, like he hoped there was no mud on the soles of his New Rocks. "Nice crib."
I'm right next door, John signed.
Both of their phones went off at the same time, and the text was from Phury: Classes canceled for the coming week. Please log on to secured Web-site for more information.
John shook his head. Classes canceled. Clinic sacked. Lash abducted... and likely tortured. The fallout from what had happened in the locker room continued.
Bad news... bad news was coming in more than threes.
"No more classes, huh," Qhuinn murmured as he seemed to get a little too busy putting his duffel bag down. "For anyone."
We need to hook up with Blay, John signed. I can't believe he hasn't texted since night fell. Maybe we should go over there now?
Qhuinn walked to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and pulled back the heavy drapery. "I don't think he's going to want to see me anytime soon. And I know you're signing why behind my back. Just trust me. He's going to need some serious space."
John shook his head and texted Blay: ZeroSum 2nite cuz no class? Hav news bout me n Q.
"He'll say he can't go. Assuming you're texting him to meet up with us."
Qhuinn looked over his shoulder just as the phone beeped. Blay's text read: Cant 2nite busy w fam. will hitchu l8r.
John put his phone in his pocket. What happened?
"Nothing. Everything... I don't know - "
The heavy knock on the door was clearly made by a fist the size of a male's head.
"Yeah?" Qhuinn called out.
Wrath strode in. The king seemed even grimmer than he had been earlier, as if more bad news had come in again over the Brotherhood's transom. In his hand was a black metal briefcase and a tangle of leather.
He lifted both up and looked hard at Qhuinn. "I don't need to tell you not to be an ass**le with these, do I?"
"Ah, no... sir. What are they, though?"
"Your two new best friends." The king put the case on the bed, flipped two black locks free, and popped the lid.
"Whoa."
Whoa, John mouthed.
"You're welcome."
Inside, nestled in gray egg-carton padding, were a pair of stinger-lethal Heckler & Koch forty-five-millimeter auto-loaders. After checking the chamber on one, Wrath handed the black weapon to Qhuinn by the muzzle.
"V's going to draw up some ID on you in the Old Language. If shit gets critical, you will flash it, and whoever is up in your grille has to deal with me. Fritz is going to order you up enough ammo to make a squad of Marines get a case of the jels." The king tossed what turned out to be a chest harness at Qhuinn. "You are never not armed when you're with him. Even in this house. Are we clear? That is the way it works."
As Qhuinn hefted the pistol in his palm, John expected his buddy to make a crack about how it was good to have big loads. Instead, he said, "I want free access to the gun range. I'm going to want to be down there at least three times a week. Minimum."
Wrath's mouth lifted on one side. "We'll name the bitch after you, how about that?"
John felt like a voyeur standing between the two of them and saying nothing, but he was fascinated by the change in Qhuinn. Gone was the jocular front. He was all business, suddenly more hard-core than his hard-core clothes.
Qhuinn pointed to a door. "Does that open into his bedroom?"
"Yup."
"Evening, ladies."
Vishous walked into the room, and Qhuinn's eyes weren't the only ones that flared. In the Brother's hands were a length of heavy chain with a tag on the end, a pair of pliers, and a tackle box.
"Sitchass down, boy," V said.
"Go on." Wrath nodded at the bed. "Time to get chained - that dangler has John's crest on it. You're also getting tattooed. This is for life, like I told you."
Qhuinn sat without a word, and V came up behind him, linked the heavy weight around his throat, and then cranked the open link closed. The medallion hung just a little lower than his collarbones.
"Comes off only if you're dead or you get fired." V knocked Qhuinn in the shoulder. "By the way, if you get fired, under the old laws, your pink slip's a guillotine, true? That's how we get the chain off. If you just kick it, though, we'll break one of the links. 'Cuz defiling the dead's tacky. Now for your tat."
Qhuinn started to take his shirt off. "I've always wanted one - "
"You can leave that on." As V popped open his tackle box and took out a tattooing gun, Qhuinn pushed one sleeve up to his shoulder. "Nope, I don't need your arm either."
As Qhuinn frowned, Vishous plugged in the cord and snapped on two black latex gloves. Over on the bedside, he opened one little black jar and one little red one and a larger container that had a clear solution in it.
"Turn around and face me." The Brother took out a stretch of white cloth and a sterilizing pack as Qhuinn swung his New Rocks around and put his hands on his knees. "Look up."
On his face? John thought as V wiped off the top of Qhuinn's left cheek.
Qhuinn didn't budge. Not even when the whirring needle came at him.
John tried to see what was getting inked and couldn't manage it. Odd that red was being used. He'd heard that black was the only color that was allowed -
Holy... shit, John thought as V pulled back.
It was a single red teardrop outlined in black.
Wrath spoke up. "Symbolizes that you're willing to shed your own blood for John. Also lets everyone know, in no uncertain terms, what your position is. If John dies, it will be filled in with black ink, signifying you served someone of interest honorably. If it doesn't work out, it will be boxed with an X to show your shame to the race."