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The Ventrue Justicar sat in a comfortable wingback armchair. Incense sent up a plume of scented smoke from safely within a brazier. Marcelle regarded his Archon implacably. Marshall stood perfectly still before his superior. He was not allowing a bit of his discomfort and insecurity to show. Between his first-hand knowledge of his master's power, and the adoration instilled by the blood bond, Marshall was caught as though between his own personal Scylla and Charybdis. He opened his mouth, and words came out. "My Liege." He bowed. He was old enough, and so was Marcelle, to appreciate what that meant. Not like the younger generations.
"My vassal. Have you found the object of our search? The Brujah, Hans Wilcoxon." Marcelle got right to the point.
"I questioned his childer as to his whereabouts. Genevieve Sharpe. I located her in Dallas and got her summoned. She tried to pull a gun on me, but I knocked that out of her fast enough." Marshall paused. He took a deep, unaccustomed breath, to lower the timbre of his voice. "She did not know very much. She did tell me of his plans."
Marcelle's eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. "Mr. Grey has already reported on the incident."
Marshall nodded. "I wondered why you had me report in person."
The Justicar's lips quirked slightly. "I've spoken with you about this before, Marsh." He used the familiar form of Marshall's name. The Gangrel Archon felt himself tense. Marcelle knew how condescending he sounded. Marshall bristled internally at it. He kept his silence. Marcelle continued, "I said, I've spoken with you about this before." More sharply this time.
"Yes, my Liege. You have." Marshall lowered his eyes. He knew exactly what Marcelle was angry about. Once again, he'd let his anger at the rabble, at her disrespect, her sire's ways, her own lack of honor, her puny attempts at defiance, dictate his actions. Rather than his position of Archon.
"You are an Archon of the Camarilla. You are ~my~ Archon. You will not. Not. Behave like a common cutthroat. Do I make myself very clear." It was not a question. It did, however, require an answer.
"Yes, my Liege. You make yourself clear." Marshall set his jaw. He knew it was the Bond doing this to him, but he felt horrible. Guilty. He had let Marcelle down. There was nothing worse in the universe. He looked away from the Justicar. "It was only one of the rabble. No one important saw it."
"Do you think that is an excuse?" Marcelle sounded amused.
Marshall did not like the sound of it. "No, my Liege."
"Very well. As for your lesson. You may tend to the prisoners in my dungeons for the next week. I will expect exemplary behavior. I will be watching." Marcelle waved a hand. "You are dismissed, vassal."
Marshall hesitated, then backed away. At the door, he turned to go. He thought he heard something, but he left anyway.
The Justicar's thoughts were unreadable, even had anyone been in the room to gaze at his face and aura. He picked up the phone and dialed.
Hanson Blake, in his office, heard the phone ring. Few could call directly to his office. Hence, he knew it was someone important. He lifted the receiver. "Blake's office, Hanson Blake speaking." He recognized the Justicar's voice immediately.
"How good to speak with you again, Mr. Blake. I hope I find you well." Marcelle allowed a bit of time for pleasantries.
"Thank you, Justicar. To what do I owe the honor of this call?" Blake liked to get right to the point. He wasn't sure the Archons' presence was a good thing, either. Though he'd never allow Marcelle to sense that if he could help it.
"My Archons have some business in your domain, Mr. Blake. I know your hospitality will render them all necessary assistance."
"Of course. What is their mission?" Blake nodded, though he realized Marcelle could not see it.
"They seek a pair of powerful elder anarchs. One, Hans Wilcoxon, is the sire of a resident of your fair city - a Miss Genevieve Sharpe. Hans himself has been rumored to be there as well."
"I believe him to have left Dallas, Justicar. But I will be honored to render assistance to your Archons in their search."
"Thank you. I expected no less of you." Marcelle and Blake said their goodbyes and they each replaced their phones on the receivers.
Blake considered for a moment, then as usual made up his mind swiftly. He would have to talk to Genevieve himself. If Hans really were back in town... with the current anarch problem already out of hand, that could only make things more complicated. The Prince of Dallas felt a sense of distinct unease. His old nemesis. Hans's departure had left not so much a void as a breathing room. The Steel Fangs had moved into it, but they'd never been the threat that Hans had. And he'd heard the rumors that Hans had been engaging in Diablerie.
Hanson felt his old battle instincts kick in. Why, he'd relish a battle with someone of Hans's mettle. Someone who'd be a real challenge. A case where his power would be tested, and proven. Of course it would be proven... he smiled to himself, remembering his Zorro costume at Claudius's masked ball. All doubts were suppressed. His mind ticked off the list of preparations. And yes, still, he'd have to speak with the girl. He'd organize that right away. The elder Ventrue got right to work. If anyone had been looking at his aura, they'd see a renewed sense of purpose and vigor that had been missing for some time, mixed so well that they were indistinguishable with a strong premonition of disaster. What a contradiction - too bad no one saw.
Mabel watched from the shadows, listening to the Prince's telephone conversation.
"We have already made arrangements for a secure meeting location, my lord," Blake said into the telephone. "Though I do not suggest that precautions are unnecessary, they are as unlikely to come into play as could ever be expected." He paused for a long time, listening to his interlocutor speak, Mabel presumed.
"Until we meet, then." Blake hung up the phone briefly, then lifted it again and made another call.
"Claudius? Hello. I trust the night finds you well." Brief pause this time. "The arrangements are complete. I'd like to keep this to ourselves for a short time longer." A slightly longer interlude. "Yes, you may inform Elizabeth. Millie? I don't believe we can keep it from her. Only elders, however." Another break. "I believe it will go well, but all preparation is for the best. What do you advise?" After listening, he said a brief farewell and hung up again.
Mabel paid more attention to the sound of the once-beloved voice than she did to the content of the calls. But a bit of the meaning trickled into her mind nevertheless. Someone very important was coming to town, she thought, someone Blake called "Lord." Who would merit such a term of courtesy?
Alone in his private haven deep in the bowels of Oxy Tower, the Prince of Dallas struggled with something that had been inside him for but a short time, yet its power was undeniably not going away.
The trap had worked, perhaps too well. Blake and two of Marcelle's Archons had trapped Astarte and Hans within the false tomb of Montague, and Astarte had turned the tables on them. She had escaped, but left Hans behind to cover her exit.
Hans, ever a powerful foe, had destroyed one of the Archons and nearly done for another. He wounded Blake as well. But as bad as his deeds were, the words he used to curse the assembled Ventrue enemy were equal in force. Hans was as eloquent as he was brutal.
Blake had lost it, frenzied at the words and deeds of the Brujah elder, and drunk him dry with the wounded Archon unable to prevent it. The power of heady Brujah vitae had increased the Prince's power tangibly; but it had also given him a bit of a temper he had never had before.
He heard Hans's voice in his head, mocking him, and the anger rose unsuppressably. Blake pounded against the walls of the chamber, with fists first, then head. He would not frenzy, but then it ripped out of him again. No, he couldn't go on like this, Vlad was right. The meeting with Marcelle would not be an enjoyable one.
Marcelle met privately with selected members of the Primogency. Victoria, Claudius, Lucille, and Joseph. He would delegate them to inform the others; Victoria would pass word on to Lyness, while Claudius would inform the Malkavians. Lucille was asked to make an effort to tell Laughing Jack of the news. The Club Manager was also present.
The five elders of Dallas sat quietly while the Justicar collected his thoughts. "Hanson Blake has been under a great deal of strain due to matters arising as he enforced Camarilla justice against a wanted Kindred criminal," he told them at length, seeming to choose each word carefully as though it were costing him more than a fortune to speak.
Vlad's face closed like a book. Lucille looked at him, sure he knew what was happening. Her fellow Ventrue were keeping her out of the loop, lately. Yet another reason to accelerate her current plans and leave Dallas. The long-term goals were going to be better pursued elsewhere, she was now even more convinced of it.
Claudius's face revealed the depth of his concern for the city and the Prince. Marcelle nodded to him solemnly. "Seneschal, you will be the most taxed with keeping the city in the Prince's absence. I will endeavor that it be as brief as possible, but I do not have a fixed date to specify his return." Claudius inclined his head in return.
Victoria's veiled countenance gave away nothing, as was usual and expected. She held her slender body stiffly as the Justicar spoke. Joseph seemed calm and unruffled by the news. Marcelle viewed the Tremere with suspicion, but his position was such that he had had to be included in this conferral.
"I will be taking the Prince and his ghouls with me to a safe retreat. No contact will be permitted to him. I will place one of my Archons in Dallas at the disposal of Seneschal Claudius. You may contact me through him." Marcelle paused, to allow the elders to comment or question if they felt the need.
Blake hung up the phone, then looked up at his childe across the desk from him.
"I know you aren't pleased about this decision, Hanson," the Club Manager said.
"I'm not as worried about it as I would have been before. After losing three-quarters of our clan's presence in Dallas in less than two years, what choice did I have?" The Prince gestured with one hand in mild exasperation.
The Club Manager was having a great deal of trouble adapting to the changes in his sire's behavior and mannerisms. He was always unnerved in his presence, lately, though it never showed. "I --"
Blake kept right on talking, not seeming to even notice he'd interrupted. "It's down to my own lineage and that Moresh woman. I'm not having her as Ventrue primogen. And it would be as much nepotism to name Riordan Tagget as you, since he's your childe. So there's nothing to lose at this point."
Strauss tried again. "I was wanting to know how Ms. Semingsworth had --" He nearly let himself look rattled when Blake interrupted yet again. Blake might have been short before, but he had not interrupted Vlad, not like this anyway.
"Lucille is now Prince Regent of Boston. Marcelle had told me, you know, but I just confirmed it -- I was talking to her on a secured line." In a few brief sentences, sounding again like the old Blake, he outlined what had happened to his childe.
Vlad relaxed, feeling a bit more like himself again in the presence of Blake being Blake. "Well, I'm honored, of course. I'll tell Riordan."
Blake slipped into yet another shift of mood. "So many lost. Rebecca, Jenna, Lucille... your Lilly... that bastard Thorne, too. These are bad times, take my word... bad times."
Vlad opened his mouth to say something, and closed it again as he realized Blake was still talking.
"I'm going to issue a general amnesty to the anarchs. If they turn themselves in, any time from now until the first of May, and agree to abide by the Traditions, all past offenses are forgiven. The only one not eligible is the Nos who stole my ghoul. He apparently goes by the name of Chad. Pass the word around as you can - Doc tells me he's already told one of the Brujah. He's quite a character, isn't he."
Vlad nodded, waiting another moment before speaking to make sure Blake was done. He wasn't sure his Beast would tolerate another interruption. "Yes. I saw that on the club cameras. It was Genevieve, the one who they're trying to make Primogen."
"She's Hans's childe." Blake sat back in his chair, eyes closed.
Vlad waited but he said nothing more.