Chapter 40

Act II

‘I feel like there’s political reasons for this,’ Cameron said, as they walked into the empty council chamber one door down.

‘There are,’ Aix said, as René sat in his chair and Aix draped over his lap—the chair was generous and comfortable, and Aix didn’t weigh nearly as much as he seemed to think he did.

‘I don’t think we can both fit on Domine in a dining chair…’ Cameron said, assessing the chair’s width.

‘Pippin sat on the table, and nobody’s eating on the table, so it’s just a surface,’ Aix pointed out. ‘And you are a cat,’ he added, and Cameron snorted, but didn’t disagree.

‘And my parents have been trying to get cats a seat on the council for years?’ Cameron finished, and Aix’s smile just got wider—which looked very harlequinesque, the way his face was currently painted.

‘Cats sit where they want,’ Aix said with a flippant toss of his hair; as if on cue, there was a jingle as Gogo trotted into the room, and paused, sniffing at Cameron, tail poised in a question mark shape. ‘It’s okay, bean, that’s Cammie. He’s our friend, remember?’

Cat? Cat?

‘Yes baby, he’s a cat too. It’s okay.’

‘I think I can make this easier,’ Cameron said, and slowly shifted; Aix watched, fascinated. It was beautiful, and the anatomical knowledge he had only made it moreso. It didn’t happen awkwardly, nor with sparkles or alarming squelchy cracky noises. It was just like Cameron was changing positions, and then he was a type of cat that didn’t exist anymore, and despite the black fur, Aix recognised the silhouette and sat up, putting his glasses back on—carefully—to get a better look.

‘Are you a Giant Cheetah?’ he said, eyes wide. Cameron was huge—much bigger than a modern African cheetah, possibly bigger than the actual Giant Cheetah had been—but Eurasia, during the Ice Age, had a giant ancestor to the cheetah as one of its many predators—and they had been massive, scaled up to match their megafauna prey. Aix knew this because he’d been very into the Age Of Mammals, as a child—much more than he’d ever been into dinosaurs.

‘We should have gotten a scientist in here years ago,’ René said softly, as they both watched Cameron flop over on his side, and invite the smaller Gogo to play with every submissive posture and behaviour to make him feel safe. Gogo didn’t hiss, and his ears only went back one at a time, tail twitching.

It’s okay, Gogo, he’s our family. Aix got off René’s lap and went down on the rug to Cameron. ‘Can I pet you?’

Cameron shoved his head under Aix’s offered hand, purring loudly, and Aix laughed, looking at Gogo. ‘See? He’s my friend too. It’s okay.’

Gogo crept over, still a little unsure, and put his paw up to tentatively paw at the air in Cameron’s direction, giving his little honking mew.

‘Yeah!’ Aix said. ‘It’s okay, c’mon.’

Gogo finally crept close enough to touch noses with Cameron, leaning forward and craning his neck to sniff at him over Aix’s lap, alert but not quite scared. Cameron sniffed back politely, turning his head away and yawning, starting to groom his shoulder. This was comforting to Gogo, who crawled into Aix’s lap and stayed there, even starting to purr as Aix pet him.

‘See, he’s not so bad,’ Aix said in his talking-to-cats voice. He felt slender fingers in his hair, long nails tailing on his scalp, and had to work hard to keep from looking up, going still, voice dying in his throat as pleasure sparkled down in a cascade from that touch. Gogo moved over to invite Cameron to play, pouncing on him, and Cameron let him, like all tolerant big cats with kittens. When Gogo got too playful, Cameron just pinned him down with one paw and started giving him a bath.

‘Weeh!’ Gogo protested, Cameron’s tongue almost as big as his whole tiny head.

‘Well, you gotta calm down, goober,’ Aix said, chuckling.

René watched them, and reflected he must look rather dreamy, to any outside observer; just sitting with his head in one hand, the other in Aix’s curls, gazing down at this boy sitting on the floor and playing with two black cats—one his, one René’s. It was a very domestic sort of scene.

Domesticity had never been something René had experienced—not that he’d exactly missed it. There was a kind of comforting routine to being on a ship, being in a brothel, being in a cabaret, and being a vampire—all creatures René’s age had routines; but domesticity, sitting and simply enjoying this, had never been something he had room for, at any point in his life. He had boys, and they were wonderful, and he gave them the attention they asked for; but they had their own lives, and he—always tracked and confined by his Master—greatly encouraged them to have lives away from him, to have freedom and independence.

Being queer, and particularly being queer and in such a profession as full-service sex, René was no stranger to the rejection of the idea of Domesticity as it was usually defined; but it could be as rebellious to have it—certainly, the mollyhouses of two centuries ago thought so.

The kitten was falling asleep, his purrs just barely audible beneath Cameron’s much larger ones.

René continued stroking Aix’s hair.

‘I wish I could purr,’ Aix said softly, and René smiled.

‘Viens ici, chouchou,’ he said, leaning back, and Aix carefully got back up to his feet, going to sit in René’s lap once more, leaning against his shoulder, René’s arms around him.

That was about the time Claudiu came back in the room, always so punctual he was early. He paused at the sight of them, and carefully did not meet eyes with Aix, but did with René. René didn’t say anything, merely gave him an even look, and Claudiu finally said, carefully.

‘Is everything well with you both?’

‘Yes,’ Aix said. ‘I am going to sit here now. I’m not a tame witch.’ He knew it was unlikely Claudiu would catch the allusion, but it didn’t much matter. The allusion was more for himself, a hidden script that gave him the ability to put a nebulous feeling into words, that gave him the courage to assert it.

‘And the cat followed you in, I suppose.’

‘Witches and cats will do as they please, and men and monsters ought get used to it.’

‘Indeed,’ Claudiu said, with a faint smile. ‘Then I will sit here,’ he pulled out the chair that had been Cthulhu’s (though Cthulhu had not sat down in it). ‘I can hear everyone much better, and it is where the hostess might sit, were my father married.’

‘Marriage is overrated,’ Aix said. ‘But being a hostess is something else altogether.’

‘Is it?’

‘Well, chatelaines and castellans run the house, don’t they? I studied all my life to be one of them,’ Aix said, and Claudiu noted he seemed more comfortable already. René too, seemed far more of a Lord now, with a pretty boy in his lap, and two cats at his feet.

‘And that is all the ambition you had?’ Claudiu asked, and watched Aix stiffen, glaring at him.

‘To be the engineer of hospitality is a very powerful thing to be,’ he said, almost snapped. ‘How far would anybody get without creature comforts like food and clean laundry?’

But the comment had shaken him; no one had ever questioned it quite like that, and he could tell it was in danger of collapsing his entire… something. He didn’t have time for that right now, he thought firmly, he had more pressing matters to deal with. And anyway, he wasn’t any good any anything else, he didn’t know how to do anything else, and he could barely run a proper house as it was, so what the hell else was there for him? No, it was accurate to be realistic about what his ambition could be, and anyway, what use was it to be anything else? He’d still have to be a castellan on top of that.

Would you, though? Part of him asked. You could probably find staff now, and you’d definitely have some if you lived with René. That would free up your time to do whatever you wanted.

Yeah, but what did he want anymore? As a child, all his dream jobs were things that no longer existed. He needed too much help to do anything, really. It was deeply depressing but there it was, he thought to himself, and then, well, no, not exactly. I’m just really injured and have a lot of healing to do. He knew that was true, he just kept forgetting it.

And it was pretty sexist to dismiss running a household as being ambitionless, he thought fiercely. Running a household was worthy of ambition and respect, no matter what anybody said. He’d been in plenty of houses that didn’t have anybody that could run them, and he’d been in precisely one that did—his grandmother, who at least kept a tidy house that was well-stocked and -maintained, even if the emotional welcome was about as warm as the north pole.

Aix was saved from having to deal with this any longer by more people coming back in—Michaela and Hext, who both paused.

‘New seating?’

‘Fuck seating charts actually,’ Aix said. Hext chuckled, but Michaela hesitated—it was enough to make Aix scared, but René’s arms around him made him braver.

‘There’s a reason—’

‘I know there’s a fucking reason, I went to finishing school,’ Aix snapped. ‘I’m doing this on purpose, not because I’m stupid.’

‘Okay,’ Michaela said, carefully.

‘Oh, is it time for the lap-sitting already!’ Garnet’s voice was cheerful as he came in. ‘Can I sit on you, Mr Hext?’

Aix thought about explaining it was symbolic, where and whom he was sitting on; but then he decided it was also symbolic for everyone to sit where they were comfortable—and that latter symbol was way more important. ‘I think it’s better we should sit where we’re comfortable, so that we can make better decisions and focus the best we can.’

‘Oh then I want to sit on Mr Asher,’ Garnet said. ‘He’s so soothing.’

‘He is,’ Aix agreed.

‘Speak of the devil,’ Hext said with a grin, Asher making a flourishing little gesture with his hand and a slight bow, as though Hext had announced him.

‘Ah, you look much more relaxed,’ he said to Aix, in a pleased, warm voice that was just slightly warmer and more pleased than he usually was.

‘And much more himself,’ Garnet said. ‘I was wondering if you’d stopped being goth!’

‘Gods forbid,’ Aix said, with a wry twist to his black lips.

‘You look like a horror,’ Hext said, still circling the table thoughtfully; he wondered about Cameron, but if nobody had noticed the werecat yet, he wasn’t going to say anything. Cameron was hiding well enough, sitting half under the corner of the table just next to René, curled up with Aix’s kitten. ‘That on purpose?’

‘Yes,’ Aix said, ‘Joeys call them Guardians, because that is what they do.’ He felt very pleased to see Hext’s little nod, and the low little noise that came with it. It reminded him pleasantly of the agreeing-hum that Sokeenun made, only much, much lower.

Aix felt Cthulhu, and remembered too late that Cthulhu wanted to show him something; he reached out, though it didn’t exactly work too well, faltering and making his sinuses hurt. He felt René’s hands on his.

‘Chouchou, you’re bleeding.’

Aix felt the distinctive sensation-smell of blood in his nose. ‘Sorry,’ he said, taking the handkerchief offered, taking off his glasses, deeply aware that blood was blood and he was probably being so rude, bleeding when vampires had enough trouble not tearing his throat out, probably… ‘Sorry,’ he said again, mortified.

‘Shh,’ René said softly. ‘Don’t tilt your head back…’

Aix knew that, but it was nice to be fussed over and not just abandoned because it was assumed he could deal with it alone. René pet his hair, told him what to do, distracted him from the people filtering into the room again. It helped him calm down, forget his anxiety about being rude in favour of acknowledging he was hurt, which wasn’t rude at all.

‘Pretty goth, having a bloody nose with my makeup,’ Aix joked, and heard a chuckle from the King, of all people; he grasped immediately why, though.

‘You have upturned the order of things,’ Milady said, and it was difficult to tell if her tone was disapproval or not.

‘Thank you!’ Aix said cheerfully. ‘That’s my job!’

‘Where are we supposed to sit now?’

‘Anywhere you want!’ Aix said, still aggressively chipper.

Garnet immediately made good his word, sitting on Mr Asher as soon as he settled down in the seat two down from René, the one in the exact middle of the vampire side of the table. Hext sat where he had been before. Michaela finally decided on sitting where Aix had been, at the King’s right hand, which left her original seat empty; Milady sat at the King’s left, taking the chair Claudiu had vacated. Scarpa appeared from the shadows, smiled, and sat at Hext’s left immediately.

‘New York oughta sit together,’ he said, and Hext grinned at him; Scarpa looked up, saw Heather coming in, and called out, ‘Ey, New England! Come sit with us!’

Heather snorted as only a seal could, and surveyed the table. Finally, she said, ‘I think the cat should get a seat at the table, not under it,’ and sat down next to Scarpa, as he had invited.

Her words caused some consternation—Cameron had successfully gone unnoticed, cloaked by René’s power and his own less magical camouflage (he was a black cat, despite his hair colour as a human). He stood up, his shoulders and head just barely peering over the table.

‘He should not be in here,’ the King began.

‘Why?’ Aix said, and it was sharp, and loud, and clear to everyone that Aix drew it like a sword, wielded it as his weapon of choice.

‘The shifters already have a seat.’

‘The wolves have a seat,’ Aix shot back. ‘There are many other shifters who don’t.’

‘It took years for the wolves to get their seat, Aix,’ Michaela explained, as Mistress silently entered the room, silently took her seat two chairs down from René, leaving one empty chair between them.

‘Yeah, I know. And?’ Aix said, aware of everything going on, and daring anybody to accuse him of ignorance. He may have been sitting in René’s lap, but he was meeting eyes with the King on purpose, with the full force of his own. He chose to not let the black handkerchief over the lower half of his face matter; it helped that he’d had practise with a niqab for how it felt to emote when only his eyes were visible. It was easier, when he could focus on his voice and not his face. ‘Surely you know that cats aren’t wolves, nor are wolves lions, nor bears, nor boars, nor swans. There’s plenty of room for more seats.’

‘This is not a democracy,’ the King said, with a terrible frown.

‘How ‘bout we make it one,’ Aix said, and the gleam of the guillotine’s blade was in his eyes.

‘You threaten me? You, little boy?’ the King laughed, but not kindly.

There was a soft growl, barely audible, in stereo—Hext and Cameron were both baring their teeth, hackles raised. Heather’s growl was much lower, lower than audible sound, rumbling in bones.

‘You cannot come here and disrupt everything, you were invited to serve—’

Aix’s laugh was a harsh thing, sharp as glass and just as much a weapon. ‘I do not serve man!’ he said.

‘You say from on your master’s lap.’

‘Ohhh, if you think shaming me about my sexual tastes is gonna work, you’re very late to the party!’ Aix shot back, shocked at his own nerve; but rage was like that, punching through his usual fears the way alcohol did.

‘I thought we were well-past that sort of talk,’ Roseblade said as he and Phrixus came in. ‘What on earth is going on?’ he asked in delight, unfurling his fan. ‘Is that Cameron? Hello, darling!’

‘We are discussing the long-standing trouble that this august body does not adequately represent our community,’ Mistress said, and it showed her address that she was so comfortable with incorporating phrases like “this august body” in natural conversation.

‘Oh, splendid! I was getting bored!’ Roseblade said settling down next to Mr Asher.

‘I think that it is wise to give the people a voice, before they begin building guillotines,’ Phrixus said, carefully, and just as purposely went to sit next to Heather, but did not sit down just yet, standing behind the chair instead. ‘And I do not feel it right for me to retain my seat, as I am going to move my household from Venezia soon, and relinquish my position as prince, in order to immigrate to René’s principality. If that is allowed by him, of course,’ Phrixus said, looking at René. ‘If not, I can always go where many of my countrymen have settled, and live in New York City.’

‘I think you would do better there, it is the city of theatre,’ René said. ‘I would welcome you, but I fear my city would not allow you to flourish in your art.’

‘Then I think it right to give my seat on this council to a leader in New York—’ Phrixus began.

‘Give it to Eglenor,’ Aix said immediately.

‘Ah, yes, the not-Faerie,’ Roseblade said, folding his fan again so he could gesture with it. ‘I’d very much like to make formal diplomatic overtures to them.’

‘No,’ Phrixus said, but gently, meeting Roseblade’s bubbly enthusiasm with his calmer élan, ‘It is for the clowns. They are not people, but they are Notable Beasts, and should have someone speaking in their interest. The humans have not claimed them, and as they are descendant of the Star-People, who have a seat also, then they must be part of the Mummery.’

‘The original mummers, I should think!’ Roseblade said supportively. ‘Won’t you sit down, darling? Please,’ he said to the King, his voice going all at once sweet and pleading and soft, making his green eyes big and melting and his lips in a teasing little moue—just enough, not too much, no where near as camp as his usual demeanour.

‘The cat must leave.’

Cameron jumped up on the table and started washing one of his back paws, his back to the King and his ears and tail showing his supreme lack of concern.

‘All due respect,’ Scarpa said, ‘but ain’t you never heard that cats do whatever they want?’

‘He’s not in a seat,’ Heather said, sounding far too amused. ‘So you can’t complain about him taking what isn’t his. Sit down in yours, we’ve work to do.’

‘Where is Cthulhu?’ Hext asked of Aix, assuming the bloody nose was what Victoria had mentioned, about the psychic connection with one of the Starfolk causing nosebleeds.

‘I’m not his mommy,’ Aix said, more for show than anything else.

There was the tell-tale squeak-squeak-squeak of Pippin’s footfall in the hallway, and the door opened one more time, Cthulhu opening it for Pippin, the both of them coming in together. In a black streak, Gogo jumped up on the empty chair between Mistress and René, then onto the table to hide under Cameron from Cthulhu, crouched up in a fearful loaf, his paws tucked beneath him and tail curled tightly up, whiskers forward and ears back. Cameron started washing his head.

‘Hi, Pippin,’ Aix said, ‘Hi, Joe.’

‘Hello. I apologise for being late, I wanted to find my way back on this… plane. Pippin had to come find me.’

Pippin climbed up onto the table using an empty chair, not vaulting even though she easily could have, sensing things were different. There was a gap, everyone was divided into two groups. ‘Wy?’ she said, standing between the gap (where clowns always stood) and looking at Aix, who always explained this very well.

‘Harlequin making trouble for Padrone.’ But he gave her more than just that statement—he showed her just what kind of trouble, and why. Pippin, like most clowns, had a very strong sense of fairness, and he was sure that showing her the very recent memories would help convince her to be on their side.

Pippin frowned, but in thought, nodding to herself. She looked over at Phrixus. ‘Enna good en, Fixis,’ she said, walking over to sit on the table in front of the chair he was standing next to. He bowed to her, very formally and respectfully. ‘No,’ she said, and pointed to Aix. ‘He.’

It was like a hammer blow. Aix had been a mere guest, before, someone to only attend this council, so that he could be formally welcomed into his position as Witch of Baltimore; but Phrixus willingly giving up his seat, and then Pippin doing the same, naming her successor very clearly…. They were stuck.

‘I call conflict of interest.’

‘Michaela, what the hell!’ Hext was shocked, Scarpa swearing in fluent Italian underneath the protest. Pippin booed fiercely in this chorus of disapproval, Mask in a deep frown.

‘Well it’s true—he can’t be the Darkwing and the representative for clowns. I’m the Hunter on this council.’

‘Why does everyone but the vampires get only one person?’ Aix demanded. ‘And why are you defending that?’

‘Because it’s better than not having a council at all, Aix! You don’t seem to understand how new this all is!’

‘Don’t fucking condescend to me,’ Aix said, his voice low and tense in a different way.

‘Then stop acting like a child!’

Aix had to bodily hold himself back from baring his teeth and growling at her.

‘He is not acting like a child,’ René knew it was important that he defend Aix—that is was important to Aix, to know his lover, his Domine, cared enough to fight alongside him. It was something René could understand. ‘He is not ignorant simply because he takes all the information you have and makes a different decision.’

‘You’ve been treating me like I’m a baby since the beginning of this debacle,’ Aix growled. ‘For someone with a friend that’s disabled, you have some real issues with ableism when it comes to crazy people.’

‘You’re not crazy—’ Phrixus began, but Aix held up a hand.

‘I used that word on purpose, Phrixus.’ He looked back at Michaela, ‘Everything I say is on purpose. I think it’s funny,’ he said, and meant the word to bite, ‘We went on a week long road trip together. You helped me move. The whole time, you were a very different person to me. And the minute I’m the Witch of Baltimore you suddenly started treating me like I’m a civilian or something—’

‘You’re not a civilian, you were our only connection to Cthulhu—’

‘And did you expect to toss him aside after finding me?’ Cthulhu was surprised at the anger he felt; not all of it was his, there was a lot of simmering anger in this room, now, as there had not been before.

‘Christ, Michaela,’ Hext said, as he saw it was true in the way Michaela didn’t react. ‘I know we keep civvies at arm’s length, but they’re not disposable—’

‘People die when they get exposed to the Eldritch Lovecraft shit, okay?! The best and brightest just fucking break and die! That was the data! What the hell was I supposed to think would happen with someone like Aix? I have to plan for the worst! That’s my job, Christ Jesus that is my whole fucking job, y’all!’

Something snapped inside Aix, something that made him numb and cold and well past angry. Betrayal was a wound he knew well—he was easy to betray, he was sensitive—but it was rare that someone just showed their entire true colours like that.

‘Someone like Aix,’ René repeated, his voice flat, setting out every word carefully.

‘Yes, I’d like to know what, exactly, that is supposed to mean,’ Mistress said, very attentive for the answer.

‘Oh, didn’t you hear her? I’m not fit for the military,’ Aix heard himself say, in a voice so saccharine he sounded nothing like himself at all. He almost felt so disconnected he may as well been possessed. ‘ “The Best And Brightest”, that’s what she said. I’m the worst and darkest, so that must mean I’m weak,’ his voice scaled down to a monstrous hiss. ‘But I’m good enough to sacrifice, aren’t I, Michaela? So you can get to the monster? So you can kill the monster? Make the whole world safe from the monsters; that’s your job, right? Saving people? Hunting things?’ His voice was so sharply mocking that she actually flinched.

‘I have to,’ she repeated, ‘assume the worst.’

‘Tell me what the beginning of evil is, Michaela. Tell me what evil means,’ Aix demanded, well past caring that it was a non-sequitur to everyone not inside his head.

‘When you let more die than you save,’ Michaela recited, from memory.

‘Wrong! When you treat people like things!’ Aix was at full thunder, and didn’t remember when he’d gotten off René’s lap and onto his feet. ‘We are not! THINGS!!!’

The words were so full of power it was tangible in the air, thick as a burgeoning storm; realising the firelight had gone from amber to green, Michaela realised the protections etched into her skin were not protecting her from this.

For the first time in her life, she wasn’t prepared for this. She hadn’t expected Aix to talk like this, not to her; she hadn’t really known him at all, she realised in a horrible, sickening lurch—for all her experience with every kind of monster that did and didn’t have a name in human tongues, Aix had been able to deceive her.

She knew those words, and to have them hurled at her like this was… sobering. She hadn’t really had it click yet, she realised; she hadn’t realised even though Aix had been explaining it plainly this entire time. He was a witch. He was a witch.

And she was a Van Helsing. What the fuck was she doing agreeing with Dracula on anything? She had to argue, that was also her job.

Jesus, she really had started sliding toward seeing human beings—just the regular human beings, not the immortal ones—as expendable, as something less. Dad had warned her about that, she should have paid closer attention. And… well, she was older than Aix, and had lived a very different life, which meant a lot of what he talked about, especially in regard to himself… she didn’t have much of a point of reference for that.

‘I’m sorry,’ was always a good start, and as difficult as it was to say, everything was easier after you got it out. ‘You’re right,’ was a good thing to make clear, too, even if she was still working through it all, even if she didn’t understand all of it—she understood that People Weren’t Things, and that it was important to immediately stop when a person said you were being ableist—Michaela knew enough to know it was the other person that got to judge that, not her.

She moved—got up, moved to stand on the other side of the conspicuous gap, across from Roseblade and next to Phrixus, holding to the back of the chair rather tightly.

‘He’s right,’ she said to the King, and to Milady. ‘You two are the only monarchists here.’

‘The world has been monarchy for longer than it has not,’ Milady said, but the King put out a hand, canted his head slightly, eyes on Michaela.

‘Speak your piece.’

‘I’m not brave like a witch is brave. I’m not… I’m not good at people. Or words. And maybe we need someone who is,’ Michaela began.

‘You cannot be serious…?’ the King began.

‘I can be. My father was a lawyer, not me. I grew up learning to shoot and following orders. Maybe I’m too good at shooting and following orders. And wasn’t the point that we were gonna experiment, gonna find what worked and get rid of what didn’t? None of this was supposed to be set in stone. The council didn’t look like this in the beginning, why should it stay like this?’

There was a long, long silence, after this.

‘Because the War made us crave stability,’ Mistress said, very softly. ‘We lost so many bright souls, so many we had cultivated for the express purpose of being on this council.’

‘So many we saved from death,’ Roseblade added, his voice haunted, ‘only to doom them to another.’

Aix had read what happened; it was a short paragraph, mostly a list of names. World War II had strained the Mummery to breaking point, especially so soon after The Great War. Twelve vampires, many with names Aix recognised, had perished from various bombings—the only thing that could kill a vampire. There were no details, only dates and locations and causes; given the very personal grief, he could understand why. Back then, the council had been only vampires. Ironically, the tragedy of losing all of those people had been why non-vampires got their seats. The War had changed every part of the world, even the ones it didn’t know existed.

‘So we tried and failed once,’ Scarpa said, after only a short silence. ‘Ain’t saying I don’t miss Mags and Oscar and everybody else; but we can’t just give up. They never did. Never would. Couldn’t get them to if ya paid ‘em!’

Roseblade smiled wistfully. ‘That is true,’ he said, and looked over at Aix. ‘Oscar would have liked you, Aix. And I think,’ he said, in a less sad voice, ‘that it would honour him to have you on this council. He did a fair bit of flustering his elders.’

‘Awful boy,’ Milady’s tone was unusually clear, now: hatred. ‘You are just like him.’

‘That is… so far from an insult it’s in the next galaxy, Milady,’ Aix said, unable to help it. Two people had said he was anything like one of his idols? The anger from moments ago hadn’t faded, but Aix knew it was a good thing that people were moving past it, and he was still reeling from Michaela actually apologising to him, and admitting she was wrong, and giving him her seat on the council.

‘I would like to speak on something brought up a few moments ago,’ Cthulhu said, still standing—Aix knew he preferred standing, sitting was a bit unnecessary given how he configured his lower half. ‘In regard to the brain question.’

He felt Aix’s pleasure, and felt it in himself too—he had become much enamoured with stories, how could he help it when he had such a teacher as Aix, so in love with them himself? And it was why he chose the word ‘brain’ over ‘mind’—it fit the slender, violet version of himself he was now, the story that came with that shape and colour. Aix was right, it was a good feeling, knowing you fit into a role somewhere. ‘There seems to be confusion as to why all previous humans were harmed after finding me in the testing chamber, when Aix was not.’

‘Bees a fren, get a fren,’ Pippin said, ‘Bees a meanie, get a meanie?’

‘Yes, in short. That first contact with a person shows me the memories making up a person’s character, and what I understand now are called moral values and beliefs. The humans that came before were often all of a kind—soldiers. Humans with their humanity stripped from them on purpose. And my brethren before me met the same kind, whether their weapon was physical violence or, occasionally, intellectual violence. It looks the same, inside. I have thought, since then, that if we had truly encountered the native people of the region of Turtle Island most associated with us, perhaps our history with humans may have been very different. But that is not relevant. What we found was what we mirrored—what better way to learn a language?

‘You have Aix’s supposed weakness to thank for my standing before you now, if indeed the shape of his mind is what kept him from being stripped of his humanity, of being made into the creature you call a soldier. It is very strange to me, that you would not see that as the great strength it is. But you do not know him as I do, perhaps it is impossible for another human being to know him as I do. He is not violent, and perhaps, seen by those who value violence, he would seem weak. It is stronger, to see a monster bigger than you, with such a fearsome reputation, and to reach out with open hand.’

He glanced at Pippin. ‘I was told a story, recently,’ he said. ‘About how humanity invented itself because of Friendship. Perhaps the storyteller might tell it again?’

Pippin nodded, feeling this was a good Story to tell—and, more, her time with a Dottie that was a storyteller making her eager to mirror that. She made sure to speak as carefully as she could.

‘Afore man,’ she began, her voice slower and slightly lower pitched than her usual—after all, this was her Stage Voice, and she was being Narrator. ‘Afore magic man. Afore magic. Many walker peepoh. Many. Blue peepoh, green peepoh, red peepoh, yellow, black, white peepoh. Not onna skin!’ she said, tapping the back of her hand. ‘Nono. Peesees. Nannertall man, cro man, bees call now. Many. But all blue peepoh live inna blue-peepoh house. All yellow peepoh live inna yellow-peepoh house. All red peepoh live inna red-peepoh house. One day, yellow peepoh meet a red peepoh. Yellow peepoh he scare!’ Her voice had gotten very soft, drawing them all close, and she gasped now, her eyes and mask in lines of surprise. ‘Who is! What is! Oh! He a bad? He eat me up?’

She paused here, for Dramatic Effect.

‘Enna red peepoh he scare! Who is! What is! Oh! He a bad? He eat me up?

‘An red-he-baby come, an he not scare! Not scare of no things! An he see yellow peepoh, an he do,’ and she held out her little hands, fingers all spread, in front of her. ‘An yellow-he-baby come, an he not scare! Not scare of no things! An he see red-he-baby do, an he do too, an big laugh “Hahaha! Silly time?” an peepoh-the-babies bees silly time together.

‘An red peepoh an yellow peepoh see! See the babies inaven “Buddies”. An happen again an again, all over all walker peepoh, many lots time. An all the walker be motley together, an no more bees many peesee, bees one peesee: Man.’ She said. ‘An Joey he put motley on, to Big Amember.’ She nodded. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘Acuz I know.’

The last words were, clearly, a traditional close to a story.

Aix was floored. The theory that modern man was made of many different hominid species was still a very new one, only uncovered by the advent of DNA analysis becoming easier and faster, and finding proof. It certainly wasn’t in any cultural memory that Aix had ever heard of.

But clowns were old.

Clowns were very old.

He had so many questions. How old was this story? Why did clowns have an origin story for Man? Were they there, had they been there? Then why had they been mimicking human appearance? Was it just happenstance? Had they evolved at all or just… been created? But they could evolve, because breeds existed. Did clowns conceive of the metaphorical colours of pre-human species as being like their Rôles, or did that come later? Did they conceive of humans as being capable of all Rôles because they knew this origin?

‘What is a Big Remember?’ Claudiu asked, almost in a whisper, his voice trembling a little.

‘To honour this,’ Aix said, having gotten much more of Pippin’s meaning than other people. ‘The motley is a symbol of all the different species joining together to form… us. Human beings. Clowns respect that most about us.’

‘Ye,’ Pippin said, throwing her hands up. ‘Dottie’s Big Magic bees Motley!’

Aix got a little choked up, at that. ‘It’s… it’s us. It’s just. It is us. We are friendship. We are the motley, every single human person is a motley now, not one colour at all. And the clowns know that. And they don’t want to forget. And… it’s our magic. We know it when we’re born. It’s… it’s all we know when we’re born.’

‘Is it?’ said the King, softly. ‘Man is inherently selfish.’

‘That’s no longer a matter of philosophical debate,’ Aix snapped, tired of the argument. ‘The first evidence of civilisation is a healed femur. The first evidence of civilisation is a child’s grave full of flowers. The first evidence,’ he repeated, ‘of civilisation is hand-made shoes for a human being too disabled to ever walk. Time and again—we have studies now! Proof!—humans help each other, no matter the circumstance. It is love. We love each other. That’s how we came to be, weren’t you listening? Joey was there. Everything Pippin just said is supported by our DNA—every European human at this table can find neanderthal DNA in them. All of us. We have to be carefully taught to hate.’

‘Everyone knows that,’ Garnet said, softly. ‘Everyone of us, I mean. That’s why I like you so much. It’s why any of us do—or why we fear you,’ he added, thoughtfully.

‘Not all of my husbands were drowned,’ Heather said, when Garnet looked at her for corroboration. ‘I had many who weren’t. The ones that weren’t Christian, mainly.’

‘Not to start a new fight but Christianity is a death-cult specifically teaching fear and violence,’ Aix said, sounding tense and exhausted at the same time. ‘And I am tired of pretending it isn’t.’

He was surprised when nobody jumped down his throat about that—he’d been tensing up for another fight.

‘I think The Blackstone should get Michaela’s seat,’ Hext said.

‘Oh! Yes!’ Aix said, glad to finally be able to just say something negative about Christianity and move on. How refreshing. ‘Ohmygod, yes please. She’s the best.’ She’d argue, she was perfect for politics. ‘And she invented the thing. Her method. So she should replace Michaela.’

‘I think it’s about time an Averay was on this council,’ Michaela agreed. ‘And she’s also an experienced medium, which means she can give us some information about the necropolitik.’

‘I shall fetch her,’ Phrixus said, not ignorant of what a vampire doing that would symbolise.

‘I should come with,’ Michaela said, and followed him out.

☙Back Next❧
Index