Beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and picturesque facade of the City of Redemption lies another city; a community of dark and ancient magic populated by creatures of the night. Strephon Bellman, a semi-immortal half-fae, has been charged by the Queen of the Fae with investigating Melchior Dusk, a fae noble posing as the mortal owner of a computer game company. Strephon is attending a party being held by Melchior for several of the more important members of the City’s supernatural community in the company of Miss Cassandra True, a reporter for the Daily Oracle. Miss True is currently conducting an interview and Strephon has temporarily been left to his own devices.
Dark Redemption is an Urban Gothic Fantasy which will be running in weekly installments Wednesday evenings. Previous installments can be found linked at the Dark Redemption Index.
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Chapter 9: Smooth Operetta
In Which Strephon mingles with Redemption’s Elite.
“Bellman! It’s been ages! Where have you been keeping yourself?” The tall, hook-nosed bookseller came striding up to Strephon, who was preoccupied with blotting the spilt champagne off his lap with a napkin. “Found any snarks lately?”
Always the same joke. “No,” Strephon replied. “To be truthful, I haven’t been looking.”
“Good strategy. They’re always most elusive when they know they’re being hunted. You seemed to disappear for a while there a little bit ago; I was afraid you’d met a boojum.”
“Nothing quite that bad.” Strephon glanced around the room to see if Inanna was still nearby, but she had left. “And how are you doing these days…” Strephon hesitated. He was never quite sure of the bookseller. He was definitely an Immortal, but he was neither fae nor undead. The bookseller liked to claim he was the god Thoth, and he very well might have been; but Strephon could never remember the mortal guise he used. “...Aleister…?” he hazarded.
“I’ve decided that ‘Aleister” is too Last Century” the bookseller said. “I’m calling myself Timothy now. But my friends can call me Timmy.”
Strephon offered his hand. “I am pleased, then, to renew our acquaintance… Timmy” They shook hands with pleasant solemnity.
“So, Bellman, have you ever considered changing your name? ‘Strephon’ sounds so stuffy. It doesn’t suit you at all. You need something more affable; more approachable. ‘Binky’ would be nice. Yes. ‘Binky Bellman’.”
Strephon gave a pained smile. “I prefer to keep the name with which I was christened, thank you.”
“But why? You’re much taller than you were then. You have a wider vocabulary and presumably more hair. You’re not the same man as you were then; why should you have the same name?”
Strephon paused to consider this. “There is something to what you say. Nevertheless, out of respect for my parents, I think I shall retain the name they gave me.” Seeing the disappointed pout on Thoth’s face, he added, “And besides, I just had a new batch of calling cards printed up, and it would be a shame to have them go to waste.”
Thoth sighed. “I suppose,” he said. “Just keep it in mind. Names are such fun!”
Strephon gave the room another quick glance to see if anyone was listening. “So… what do you think of our friend Mister Dusk?”
“‘Melchior’ doesn’t suit him at all. But he won’t listen either.”
“I mean about his virtual reality game.”
“Ah…!” Thoth gave him a wise and knowing look. “Most intriguing. I think it has the potential to raise human consciousness to a higher level. Either that or condemn mankind to a dystopian thralldom.” He chortled. “Either way, it should be interesting!”
Strephon scowled. It was sometimes easy to forget that although Thoth might really be a deity, he was also as mad as a moonbeam sandwich. Which, Strephon surmised, was not necessarily incompatible with godhood; indeed, it might be a prerequisite.
He wanted to question Thoth further, but the bookseller chose that moment to wave and call out to the banker’s wife. “Mrs. Trotter! Come over here and meet my friend, Bellman!”
"I had no idea you were the Strephon Bellman of Bellman House!" Mrs. L.G. Trotter thrilled. "I thought you were an older man. Such a lovely old building! I must speak with you sometime about putting it on our tour of Historic Homes of Redemption."
"I'm afraid it will want a fair amount of restoration before it's suitable for showing," Strephon said. "I suspect you are thinking of my great-grandfather, also named Strephon. He was the one who built the house. There's little remarkable about me."
"Mister Bellman is being modest." Lukas Bianka prowled up beside the banker's wife. "I'm sure he has all sorts of hidden talents." He flashed Strephon a smile with too many teeth.
"The same could be said, I'm sure, about yourself." Strephon suspected Bianka was a pack leader, possibly of the Reavers, the wolves who had attacked him. He knew little for certain, though. Masks upon masks.
"Do you sing, Mister Bellman?" Mrs. Trotter asked abruptly.
"A bit. Not very well, I'm afraid."
"The Redemption's Culture Claque is gearing up for its annual Gilbert and Sullivan Extravaganza," she said. Strephon winced. He detested Gilbert and Sullivan. "A few of our tenors have dropped out and we're always on the lookout for new blood."
Another guest nearby laughed and said "New blood is always good." A vampire, Strephon noted. How typical.
Mr. Knox, the newspaper publisher joined the conversation. "How interesting. You know, I've always thought The Sorcerer was one of their darker works. It does not exactly have a traditional happy ending."
"True. In the end, as you know, John Wellington Wells sacrifices his life to the demon Ahrimanes in order to save the loving couple."
"I feel sorry for poor Ahrimanes," Knox said. "Instead of devouring a fresh young pair of lovers, he has to make do with a stringy old sorcerer."
Mrs. Trotter stared at him blankly for a moment, then decided he must be making a joke and laughed. Knox joined in with her, chortling merrily.
Stephon cast his gaze around the room, hoping to find an avenue of escape. He saw Melchior chatting with the ghost in grey. Where was Cassandra? He didn't see her in the room. He looked around some more.
Inanna entered the room wearing a different dinner gown and a rather satisfied expression on her face. A nasty premonition struck Strephon.
"Would you please excuse me," Strephon said, and nudged his wheelchair through the knot of operetta fans. He maneuvered his way around the guests and out into the hallway. He hoped he was mistaken, but he could not shake the dreadful suspicion that Cassandra was in some kind of danger. But how could he find her?
He knew of one way. He closed his eyes and let his being pass from the Mortal World into the Dreamworld, as he had done the night of the wolf attack. Their shared dream had left a psychic bond between the two, a link he hoped he could find. He cast about through the Dreamworld, mentally groping for the echo of her thoughts and feelings.
There! A bolt of terror as unmistakably her as a scent; it rocked Strephon back into the Mortal World and made Strephon's nerves sing in sympathy.
Strephon urged his chair to the lift. He had little time.
NEXT: Nowyr 2 Run
