The shadows lengthen in the City of Redemption and night is about to fall. Starting this week and continuing every Wednesday evening, we'll be running a serial of urban Gothic fantasy. Take a look now, before the sun sets...
Redemption is a medium sized city in the north of England. The castle it grew up around was at various times in history a shrine, a fortress, a monastery and a manor. Today it is a thoroughly modern city, although the ruins of the castle and a rich accumulation of architectural styles serve as a reminder of the city's long history. Something old dwells behind the glass and steel skyscrapers of the city's heart; something older than the Victorian brownstones and the Gothic cathedrals; older than the remnants of the fortress walls which once ringed the town; older even than the sections of ancient forest preserved since feudal times. Magic lurks at the roots of the city and it draws creatures of darkness and here. Club-hopping vampires can be seen at the city's night spots; urban werewolves run in the streets; witches and sorcerers ply their trade in unexpected places; and occasionally one will even meet one of the fae, the Fair Folk whom it is perilous for mortals to know.
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Chapter 1: Stopping By For Tea
In which Mr. Strephon Bellman receives a Royal Command from a doting aunt.
The teakettle whistled, high and shrill. A much more pleasant noise than the leaden "beep" of a microwave, Strephon thought. It put him in mind of the birds of the countryside. But then, he was an old-fashioned sort of person. Everything about him, from his manners to the cut of his brown tweed jacket to the style of his hair seemed to reflect the fashions of a century ago. He wheeled his chair over to the stove and took the kettle off the heat. With practiced care he poured the water over the loose tea in his bone china cup. A visitor might wonder how sad it was that such a young man in the prime of his life should be confined to a wheelchair, but as Strephon liked to observe, he was older than he looked.
A grey striped cat leaped up onto the kitchen table and gave an irritated "miao." Strephon scratched her behind the ears. "It's all right, Mrs. Hudson, I see him too." In a louder voice he added, "You might as well come out."
The air next to him shimmered and another young man materialized, this one with dark, spiky hair, wearing dark sunglasses and a leather trench coat. The visitor sat on the table.
"My, how noir," Strephon said. "Is that the latest style?"
"Some of us keep up with the times," the newcomer replied. "I see you're still pretending to be human.
"If you want to call it that."
"She died weeks ago. There really is no need to continue this exile."
Strephon set his cup firmly. “It was eighty-eight years.”
“Years?” The visitor frowned. “You’re sure about that?”
“Quite sure. Would you like the number of months and days as well?”
“Not particularly. But that does support my point.”
Strephon placed his fingertips together and pursed his lips. "Why don't you just deliver your message and be done with it, Devon? I suppose they want me to come back?"
"You don't belong here, Strephon. The blood of the fae runs through your veins."
"As does the blood of a mortal.” He rested a hand on his leg. They had been relatively pain-free that day, but as he stretched it, the arthritis in his knees awoke to punctuate his mortality. “Mother understands my reasons,” Strephon continued, ignoring the pain. “She may not agree with them, but she understands."
"Your mother was not the one who sent me. It was the Queen."
Strephon looked up at Devon sharply. "The Queen?"
"Some of the Nobles of the Court are moving into this city. There are many creatures of magic living here. The Queen suspects that some of her rivals intend to meddle in mortal affairs."
Strephon snorted. "Since when has she cared about the lives of mortals?"
"She cares about a possible attack on her own power. And she cares about you. She wants you to be her eyes on the mortal plane."
Strephon stirred his tea peevishly. "And why should I do this?"
"Because as long as you insist on dwelling among mortals, your home is in danger too."
"Fae nobility plotting their Machiavellian schemes was nothing new," Strephon grumbled. "In fact, I have often wondered if Machiavelli ever visited the Fae Court." He looked up at Devon sharply. "This wouldn't be an excuse to get me back at Court, is it?"
"Now you're being paranoid."
"Am I? You know I dearly love the Queen; I look upon her as favorite aunt; but she is fickle, devious and cunning and deceit is her meat and drink."
"Which is only to say that she is a fae. That is our nature; you know that."
"I also know that she harbors some less-than-auntly thoughts towards me."
Devon gave a half-smirk. "You should feel honored. You are half mortal, after all. She finds that intriguing."
"Yes, well I prefer to remain the Queen's favorite nephew than to become her latest toy, thank you. And I have no wish to become enmeshed in Faerie politics. I'd prefer to keep a polite and respectful distance."
"We're talking about a Royal Command here. You can't very well refuse."
Strephon frowned. "No, I suppose I can't." He took a sip of his tea and grimaced. It had grown tepid. "Very well. Upon whom am I supposed to spy?"
Devon slid off the table and seated himself in the chair next to Strephon. "His name is Melchior. He's an ambitious noble and he's building an alliance with some of the supernatural factions of this city."
"That's peculiar. As a rule the fae do not ally themselves with lesser race. Alliance suggests some form of equality."
"He's gone so far as to adopt a human identity and lives among the mortals as one of them. He calls himself Melchior Dusk."
"Not terribly subtle," Strephon mused.
"He owns an electronics firm called Vanir Technologies. They design computer games."
“Vanir? That was one of the clans of the Norse gods. Are there gods involved?”
“Unknown,” Devon said. “That is something else you will need to look into.”
Strephon wrinkled his nose in distaste. He did not care for computers. He’d seen men enraptured by their flickering screens, mistaking their images for experience. “Pah. Cold and sterile; lifeless things that merely simulate life."
He took another sip of tea and looked thoughtful.
"Then again, what else are the glamours of Faerie? Perhaps the union of Fae and cybernetics is not so odd after all."
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A taxicab pulled up outside of Strephon's house and the driver, a tall, bearded Jamaican in dreadlocks, came out and bounded up the wheelchair ramp, incongruously plain next to the ornate gingerbread of the porch. The driver rang the bell.
"Ah, Tobias," Strephon said when he answered the door. "I did not expect you so soon. I only just called."
The cabbie grinned. "Gran tol' me you might need a lift, so I made sure I was in the neighborhood." He pushed Strephon's wheelchair to the street and helped him into the cab.
"And how is your dear grandmama?" Strephon asked.
"Oh, just fine. She talks about you often. She says, 'Tobias, you pay heed to Mister Strephon now! He's friends with the Good People.' "
Strephon smiled. Grandma Simms was a sweet old lady who told fortunes in the back room of her little convenience shop in the Little Kingston district of Redemption and was undisputed matriarch of the city's Jamaican community.
Strephon waited patiently as Tobias folded up his wheelchair and stowed it in the trunk of the cab. "Gran also said to tell you, there's trouble on the street. The Big Dogs been running out of their kennels; marking their territory. Looks like it could be a war coming."
This was not good news. Strephon had heard the local werewolf population had been growing lately. He supposed it was only a matter of time before the rival packs began fighting each other. Did Melchior have anything to do with the werewolf situation? Yet another mystery.
"Where to?" Tobias asked.
"Corrigan Street, if you please. Vanir Technologies." If Strephon was going to find answers, that was the place to start.
The drive into the city was a pleasant one. The City of Redemption had grown up around a holy shrine which, according to the Venerable Bede, had been established by St. Augustine in the Sixth Century. (Our Augustine, Strephon reminded himself out of habit, to differentiate the missionary who converted the Saxons from the great Catholic theologian). Over the centuries the shrine had expanded to include a monastery, a castle and a cathedral; and the village that had sprung up adjacent to it had grown into a sizable metropolis. Driving across town enabled Strephon to enjoy a historical panoply of architectural styles, ranging from the somewhat shabby Victorian houses of his own street, through working-class neighborhoods of brick built between the Wars, through carefully-preserved Tudor buildings maintained for the tourists, and the tackier shops of the modern era. Corrigan Street ran through one of the City’s more modern districts.
When they arrived, Tobias helped Strephon back into his wheelchair. Strephon tipped him handsomely and thanked him, asking Tobias to pass along his regards to his grandmother.
Vanir Technologies looked just as Strephon had imagined it: an ugly box of glass and steel. Post-modern architecture had a lot to answer for in his opinion. He wheeled himself past an abstract sculpture in the style of the Blast Furnace Accident School, only slightly redeemed by the fountain incorporated into the piece. The cool magic of running water could do a lot to ameliorate modern monstrosities, but even it could only do so much. At least the building had a handicapped-accessible entrance, so Strephon had to concede modern design was good for something.
It being a Saturday afternoon, Strephon did not seriously expect to meet anybody. He mainly wanted to survey the territory and look active so that Devon would cease nagging him. He was surprised, then, to see a receptionist on duty at a large desk in the lobby, arguing with a young woman with short brunette hair.
"I'm sorry, but Mister Dusk cannot see you without an appointment."
"I made an appointment! If you could just tell him I'm here. Cassandra True from the Redemption Daily Oracle."
"He is in a meeting."
Strephon cleared his throat. "Pardon me, but could you tell me when Mister Dusk will be finished with his meeting?" He gave the receptionist his most charming smile. Being half a fae, he could be extremely charming.
The receptionist blinked at him. Unsure what to do, she relied on rote. "Do you have an appointment?"
"I'm afraid not, but I think Mister Dusk will be interested in speaking to me." Strephon pulled a calling card from his pocket and handed it to the receptionist. "We have mutual friends at Court." This was true. He did not say which Court.
The receptionist stared at the card as if hypnotized; then pressed a button on her intercom. "Mister Dusk? There's a Mister Strephon Bellman here to see you. Yes, Strephon. Very good." She looked up at Strephon. "Mister Dusk will be with you in a few minutes. You can have a sea... uh, you can wait over there."
Strephon nodded and wheeled himself over to the waiting area and selected a magazine. The brunette stormed after him and sat down nearby. "How the hell do you rate?" she groused.
Strephon shrugged apologetically. "I guess it pays to have connections. What do you want to see Mister Dusk about?"
"I'm a reporter for the Daily Oracle. We're doing a profile on Dusk for our Lifestyle section. I had to rearrange my whole weekend to get this interview, but now he's blowing me off!"
"I'm sorry," Strephon said. The girl was not unattractive, when she wasn't scowling. He was too much of a gentleman to say so aloud; it would hardly improve her mood. So he added, "I'm sure it was merely a scheduling mistake."
They sat for a while in silence; Strephon perusing the Economist and the girl fuming. After a few minutes, the receptionist announced, “Mister Dusk will see you now. The elevator is to your right. His office is on the fifth floor."
Strephon apologized again to the reporter and went to the lift. He felt bad about cutting in front of her in the queue, so to speak. He considered bringing her along so she could have first crack at Melchior. No, what he wanted to discuss was not for mortal ears.
Halfway to the lift, he paused and turned his head back to the girl. "I hope you get your interview."
NEXT: Meeting Melchior
