First Posted: 19 March, 1997
"Just what, exactly, do you want, little Anarchist?"
T-bone glares, black eyes set in a too white face, even for us.
""I want what you are supposed to provide!" he grates out. "Your oh so important peace in the city."
With a sigh I close my eyes briefly. "You are the one who supposedly thrives on chaos. Pull down the system from within, yes? Now something happens and you come running to me. I tolerate your presence in the city. Barely. You show me less than the minimum of respect, and now you want me to solve your little problem?"
"Look, Prince," the word comes out bitter, twisted, "You tolerate me because you need me and my kind."
I snort in contempt. "Do not flatter yourself, little Brujah."
T-bone continues, ignoring me. How rude the young are to their elders. "You're the one who's supposed to keep the peace. You demand it, right? So now I'm telling you that you've got to do something about this!"
"As far as I can tell this is no matter of mine." I explain, sitting upright and leaning forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "One of your sordid little businesses was hit. A rival, some vigilante, whatever. Explain to me why, exactly, this is my problem."
"Weren't you fuckin' listening to me?" T-bone screeches.
"Never," I begin, my eyes hardening, my voice dropping to a whisper, "Never raise your voice to me. You are no match at all for me, you would be best to remember. Now. Sit down and explain it to me. Calmly. With respect."
T-bone must suddenly realize just how much danger he is in here. While he scoffs my position, he does recognize my power. Although young, he is not a complete idiot. Worse luck.
"Uhm, yeah, OK," he mutters, sitting in the heavy oak and leather chair in front of my desk. "So I told you how all but one of my guys were killed, right? The way I see it, the freak that did it has to be either one of Us or one of Them."
"You base this conclusion on the claws, blood drinking, and apparent survival of mortal wounds, I presume?"
"Yeah, don't need to be no dome surgeon to figure that," T-bone mutters, rolling his eyes.
"All right. Let us analyze what we have then, shall we. Surviving seemingly mortal wounds proves very little. Both the Kindred and the Garou have enormous recuperative powers. Neither does this prove that this individual was either Kindred or Garou."
As T-bone opens his mouth I raise my hand to forestall protest. "I have known mere mortals to survive wounds of this nature. The berserk of the North. Without fear or armor these men hurled themselves forward, fighting always in the front ranks. They cared nothing for their own safety. All they needed to do was kill. I myself have witnessed these men cut down to the bone, yet their wounds did not bleed and they did not die as they should have. I know, you scoff at this. The stories of the Old. But I tell you they are true. More recently various pharmacological agents, coupled with modern kevlars and ceramics, could have produced the same results."
"Fine," mutters T-bone after a pause. "What about the claws?"
"Yes. That too is an inconclusive bit of evidence. While the Garou are the most likely to utilize claws in physical combat, some Kindred are not without this power. Clan Gangrel, in particular. If, indeed, they were claws at all."
"Hey, Turbo said they were claws. He had an eye for detail like that."
"Had?"
"What? You don't think I'd be letting him wander around after this, do you?" Then he grins and pronounces with the best, which is to say, very little, flair he can manage, "Besides, I was hungry."
You are so pathetic, T-bone. And the sad thing is that you have no idea why.
"Fine. As long as your meal does not show up in the gutters come morning," I warn him. "Now, as I was saying, the claws, too prove nothing. There are weapons, predominant in places where the great cats hunt, that act like claws."
"Then what about drinking Jim-Jim's blood? He did that just after he'd been shot up. He would have needed blood to heal." T-bone demands, glowering with pride, as if he has suddenly proven everything. Whatever it might be he is trying to prove.
"Again, this indicates nothing conclusively. Both Kindred and Garou will drink mortal blood. For different reasons, obviously. If, and I stress 'if', he were of the Kindred, yes, he might have needed to replenish his body's store of blood to heal his wounds. If he were a Garou there would be no need of this, of course. Still, a Garou might drink of a man's blood for his own reasons. The Rage could have been upon him, or it could have been symbolic of his victory over an opponent, or even to make it look as though he were one of us."
Ah. That makes T-bone uncomfortable. I have always suspected T-bone has felt the Garou are nothing but beasts that can take the shape of men. He has never believed them capable of more than animal cunning. Now this.
"Besides," I continue. "Some humans drink the blood of their own kind. There are numerous documented cases of serial who eat their victims. Admittedly, that does not appear to be the case here, but there is precedence."
Some of the fire seems to have left T-bone.
"What about that cape? And it was right around dusk, too."
"Dusk. Yes. That could tip the balance towards this attacker being a Garou," I admit. T-bone's eyes glint, suddenly sensing affirmation of his suspicions. "However," I continue, "it is not conclusive."
"Look, even you'll admit that we don't go moving around 'til the sun's down!"
"I would suggest you think carefully on this, T-bone, and listen more to the lore your elders pass on. I have heard of a few, a very few, of our kind who can move at dusk. Some have said that they can move even in the light of a cloudy day."
"Get out of here! There ain't no way no one of us can do that!" T-bone laughs. Then, suddenly, he stops laughing. "Hey. Wait. You don't mean..."
"Yes. One of the earliest generations could do such a thing. And if you have managed to anger one of the Ancients then you are in, shall we say, a world of trouble." The expression on his face is priceless. Fortunately, the security cameras here will have captured it. Maybe I will have the film made into a print. Hmm... It is so easy to bait the young. Especially the Brujah. They want to be strong and independent, but at base level, they are always afraid of some dark thing reaching out to pull them down. Let the Methuselahs be the boogey man to scare little Brujahs. Of course, there is no way an Ancient is involved in this. They are...so few, and so powerful. They would not bother with something like this directly. Besides, I would know if the Sleeper had awoken. But T-bone does not know this.
"Ah, you don't actually think that it's a Methuselah, do you?"
Oh, the temptation to string this out is so overwhelming. Still, you do not become Prince without some sense of decorum. On the other hand...
"Well, I highly doubt it, T-bone," I begin, watching him gratefully relax. "I mean, why would an Ancient possibly bother with something as insignificant as you?"
Ha! Another expression to be remembered: T-bone struggles between relief and offense. Finally decides to give up and press on.
"How do you explain the cape?"
"The cape is, peculiar, I will grant you. But, while I can not explain it, the cape neither proves nor disproves involvement of a Kindred or Garou in this matter."
"And the bit about being the dog mask, or something?"
I stand and go around my desk to T-bone's side. "Probably just the deranged fantasies of some human vigilante. I would not pay any attention to it if I were you. None of the Garou want to be associated with dogs, hmm? They are the noble wolves. Besides, there are quite a number of Garou tribes that would like nothing better than to wipe humans from the face of the Earth."
"So you're not going to do nothing, are you?" mutters T-bone, disconcerted, but trying to rally his scorn and disdain for me.
"I will tell you what I will do," I say as I walk him to the door. "I will contact my liaisons within the Garou and put the question to them. I will also have some of my human servants and ghouls investigate the matter. If this is the work of either one of the Kindred or the Garou severe action will be taken."
"Really?" T-bone ejects in surprise. Ah...he had worked himself up for a dismissal. "You'll really do that for me?"
Oh, the young are so, so easy. It almost is not even sporting to play them like this.
"Of course. After all, as you so astutely pointed out, I am the Prince, and my peace must rule here in the city. It would be ill seeming if I ignored the proper request of one within my domain."
"Oh. Uhm, well, right. Good," T-bone flusters. "So, I'll be going then. Got business to conduct, you know."
"Yes. I am sure. But do me a favour, will you? Stop by Andre's office on the way out. I have a business proposal to make you. It involves clearing a little gangland. They are decreasing property values."
"Really?" asks T-bone, surprised. Then, trying to recover, "What's in it for me?"
"Andre has the details. There is an illegal body shop the gang controls. Eliminate the gang, you get the shop, hmm?"
He is pleased. I can tell. He wants to do this. Thinks it raises him in my favour. Does not realize he is still just a pawn. An expendable one at that.
"Well, maybe," he mutters, trying to play hard to get. "I'll go by the office. See what Andre has. Think about it."
"Good, good," I say as I usher T-bone into the hall. "I am sure the business will be profitable to us both," I add as I close the door.
Shaking my head I walk back to my desk. Sitting, I pull out adrawer and remove a teak case from where it has lain for the last year. Setting the case in front of me I slide its latch to the side and open it. Three items rest inside. A dog's polished skull, gleaming white with a complicated pattern painted in indigo ink across both sides of the cranium. A beautiful kingfisher kris, several hundred years old and wickedly sharp. Lastly, a small card of thick, creamy paper, the handwriting from a more elegant age.
He knows my fondness for weapons, I think, removing the kris. Few others in the city would appreciate it as do I. I hold it carefully: even sheathed a kris is not to be pointed at one's self or another. Tradition has it that the spirit housed in the kris can kill along the line of sight of the curving blade. It is not the thrust that kills, but the power of the being that dwells within the blade. Drawing the kris I marvel at its gorgeous serpentine curves fashioned from the finest Damascan steel. Like lines in the sand, left by a retreating tide. Carefully I return the blade to its sheath and replace the aged weapon in its case.
I lift the card and read, even though I know the words by heart:
"Honor one another's domain. When thou comest to a foreign city, thou shall present thyself to the one who ruleth there. Without the word of acceptance, thou art nothing."
Interesting that he, who is not of the Kindred, keeps to the old forms of the Traditions, when Kindred neonates scoff the ancient forms.
Replacing the card I carefully lift the dog's skull, tracing a finger along the jaw line, over sharp teeth. Empty sockets stare back at me. The intricate geometric patterns inscribed across the skull seem to glow with a faint deep purple light. But perhaps that is my imagination.
With a sigh I replace the skull in the box and lean back in my chair, contemplating. I could hunt you down easily enough, I think. And yet...you are an unknown element. Not even my brood are fully aware of you. And it has been so long. Where have you been all these years? It would be a pleasant distraction to spend an evening together. To reminisce. You also understand the heavy drag of the years.
On the other hand, while you honour our Traditions and recognize my authority, you purposefully hold yourself outside my circle. Still, if you have chosen to antagonize the Brujah, I can not help but approve. Even the Nosferatu are better.
With another sigh I close the lid and replace the teak box in my desk drawer. I will wait and see what happens. We live in interesting times. Maybe you will do me a great service and eliminate a few troublesome individuals for me.
Turning to the computer I return to the spreadsheet I had been perusing before T-bone arrived. Yes, I will wait and see what happens. However, for now I see that North Core Developments is up another dozen points. I reach for the phone to call my broker.