Post by Spyder on Sept 2, 2008 0:47:15 GMT -5
Klavier
The car pulled up just as the rain began. The black sedan sat glistening under the mist of the new rain, its engine humming quietly. Sunglass-hidden eyes stared expectantly at me from the driver’s seat as the front passenger window slid silently downward. Wordlessly I climbed into the back seat.
The driver was one of Bayview’s oddities. I contemplated this as I watched the buildings ease by through the water-streaked window. I never once had to call a cab in Bayview. It seemed that this car and its driver, Mr. C, I believe, always happened to be around just as I needed it. I glanced up, staring back at the mirrored sunglasses reflected in the rearview mirror.
“LaMonte’s estate, sir?” Mr. C’s voice grated.
I nodded. Another little oddity it’s best not to think about. He just knew. He always knew. If there was one person in Bayview that knew more about the goings-on of the city’s dark underbelly, it was C, and if there is someone less likely to tell anyone anything about it, I have yet to meet him. Mr. C was all business.
As I settled into the leather seat, my duster enveloping my body until I looked like little more than a shroud, I watched as the city’s buildings became less and less dense until, finally, the buildings turned to trees as we sped along towards LaMonte’s estate. The pistol under my shoulder was a reassuring weight, though I knew that it would be useless in such a meeting. LaMonte’s type wasn’t one that could be ended with a few ounces of lead, and, even if it could, that kind of violence would be bad for my reputation. LaMonte had sent a summons, and I was obligated to show up, even if I knew it had to be some kind of trap.
Then again, with people like LaMonte, it was always a trap. They loved traps. Their whole lives were games of immense proportion, huge stratagems that took decades to play out using unwitting pawns. I had to admire LaMonte’s patience and sense of strategy, but his kind was often just as predictable as they viewed others as being. This “invitation” was a trap. I pulled the little hand-written card out from the inside of my duster. It was one of LaMonte’s little quirks. He seemed to have an utter disdain for the use of modern technology, especially communications. He had written the letter by hand and had it delivered by a private messenger. I read over it once more.
“To the Honourable Mister Magaly:
I, Alistair LaMonte, Lord of the LaMonte Estate and its holdings, request your presence at my home for a rendezvous of great importance. It seems we have had some sort of misunderstanding in the past, and I wish to resolve it before it again becomes a problem. I humbly apologize for any inconvenience this letter or its carrier may have caused, and can only hope to relieve such pains in person.
Please do attend,
Lord Alistair LaMonte”
LaMonte was an odd fellow, for certain, but I knew what the letter meant. I had in some way gotten in the way of “Lord” LaMonte, and he intended to have me removed from it by any means necessary. Something in the back of my mind warned me away, but I was not about to shrink from the hand of someone like him.
The car slowed, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked up to see the enormous gates of LaMonte’s manor looming above me. C turned, pausing at the gate, a flat, expectant look upon his features. Almost as if cued, the massive wrought-iron gates slid silently open. The sedan glided along the winding private flagstone road, passing between perfectly manicured trees and bushes. I had to hand it to LaMonte, his landscaping was unsurpassed in Bayview.
Again, something in the back of my mind tugged at my consciousness as we approached the marvelous façade of LaMonte’s mansion. The massive white marble pillars loomed overhead as I exited the car, my footsteps echoing on the polished black stone of the stairs. I shifted my duster a bit, nervous. Plunging my clammy hands its deep pockets, I ascended the stairs.
As I raised one hand to pull on the elaborate bronze doorknocker, the thick wooden door creaked open to reveal the aloof features of LaMonte’s butler. He stared down at me over a tiny pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose for a few moments before speaking. “Mister Magaly…,” his heavily accented English voice held more than a little disdain.” Right this way,” He motioned inside before stepping out of the way of the door. “Lord LaMonte has been expecting you.”
I stepped inside the enormous hall, the echoes of my shoes against the white marble flooring ricocheting off of polished black walls. The entire manor was silent besides the quiet sounds of a gigantic grand piano that sat in the middle of the great, empty hall. A young woman, her jet black hair and elegant maid’s dress in stark contrast to her pale complexion and icy blue eyes, stared blankly ahead as her delicate fingers, nails painted black as midnight, slowly danced across the keys. Her music alone accompanied me as I ascended the grand staircase to whatever fate awaited me there.
A large, black door met me at the top of the stairs. My hand reached for the elaborate pearl inlayed black marble knob of its own accord, opening the heavy door without any conscious input on my part. As it opened, LaMonte’s steely gaze met mine as he looked up from his candlelit reading. Cloaked in an archaic black suit that looked like something from the Victorian era, LaMonte’s chiseled features wore a look of slight amusement at my arrival. “Ah, Vann, how good of you to be so prompt.”
“Alistair,” I nodded, keeping my words to a minimum.
His smile widened as he ran a hand through his swept-back grey hair, closing his book before standing, his hand wrapped around the top of an ornate cane. “Really, Master Magaly, there is no need for such an inelegant weapon. Please remove it.”
LaMonte’s words echoed in my skull, and again my hand reached without my approval. It seemed as though two forces were at work in my head. No, three. Again something tugged at my mind, though more urgently. It wanted something. My lips and tongue began to work without my input.
I resisted. However, though I could manage to get my speaking under control once more, my hand ignored my attempts. I removed the tiny pistol from its holster and set it on one of LaMonte’s mother-of-pearl end tables. Then, just as suddenly, my hands were mine again.
LaMonte smiled again, in an almost friendly way. For an instant, a look of hunger flashed across his black eyes. “That’s better, Vann, is it not? Such tools are so... Impersonal, don’t you think? I prefer more refined materials.” His smile darkened as his hands moved in a flash. Suddenly, the innocent little cane was gone, replaced by a thin, deadly blade.
It was something I should have seen to be obvious, but with the miniature war going on between my ears, that was hardly the case. As LaMonte advanced on me, his smile revealing what appeared to be tiny fangs, his eyes filled with maniacal confidence, my shock weakened my focus. That… thing in the back of my mind found itself free, and my mouth began to form words. A stream of unintelligible, alien syllables flowed from my lips, as naturally as any English words.
As they did, I felt my hands wrap around steel and leather, my wrist rotating to parry against LaMonte’s unnatural onslaught with the newly-existing rapier. LaMonte recoiled from the sudden flash of steel, his shock apparent in his eyes. With unearthly perfection, I pressed the attack. Strange words continued to spew forth from my mouth, adding newfound strength and skill to my attack.
Against this new power, LaMonte’s ancient body was defenseless. He parried as best he could, retreating into a dark corner of the room between strikes. I watched as he realized his miscalculation, how his eyes filled with fear and awe as I closed him in.
With LaMonte’s back pressed against the wall, I reflected on the monster I saw before me. I remembered all of the horrible things LaMonte had done. And now, it all seemed clear. LaMonte was more than he had seemed. He was, literally, a monster. I had seen the fangs myself, and realized how it explained everything. His patience, his eerie confidence, his hunger for absolute victory, it all made sense. Where we had assumed that his power and knowledge had come from a network of loyal peons, that his business sense was a product of excellent schooling, we had been wrong.
And now, this monster was defeated. I sent the thin blade that had been intended to be my demise spinning across the room with a flick of the rapier before plunging it into the depths of LaMonte’s black heart. He snarled with animalistic rage at his defeat before crumpling to the floor. I watched his eyes as his unnatural life left them, as his features hardened and turned to ash. I watched as LaMonte, one of the most horribly powerful entities in Bayview, was reduced to dust.
The battle over, my shock and fatigue overtook me. I wandered aimlessly out the still-open door and descended the stairs to the music of the piano. As I turned, wrapping the tip of the rapier in a silken handkerchief, the woman looked up from her playing. Her eyes locked with mine, and she stared, silently, as her finger struck the last note of her song.