Chapter 7

Bedevilling the Status Quo

ver the next hour or so, they talked; Aix told Sharpe everything he knew, but her questions were highly technical after a time and despite his interest in the law, his rather unconventional and chaotic schooling had meant he’d always missed out on taking civics—he’d learned it all on his own, and not well, mostly by inference.

‘How did you manage to miss a civics class, and yet know everything you do?’

‘History re-enactor and I was raised knowing how to extrapolate because mysteries?’ Aix said on an up-lilt so severe it ratcheted up his pitch. Sharpe chuckled. ‘Anyway, there’s someone in town that would know all this stuff. We should get all the vampires to come hang out and talk to you, especially Roseblade and Beau, they’re the English ones and both of them were courtiers, so they’ll at least know all the politics happening here, and they probably know some barristers. I’ve met like three recently too—the Avzaradels, also Jimmy Sun and Sean Teague…’

‘I met Sean this morning. He’s working on putting together Pippin’s defence. They have a case against Pippin, there’s precedent for a wild zanni and they’re gonna lean on that.’

‘Fucking craven thing to do, going after someone’s pet,’ Aix growled, pulling Pippin close and hugging her. She wiggled sleepily, as she’d been napping, but cooed and snuggled into his arms happily enough. He kissed her little head. ‘And Pepper had a damn good reason for setting that man’s house on fire. Clowns aren’t evil. They are animals and they defend themselves.’

‘It is a craven thing to do,’ Shape agreed—with her whole heart. ‘But they know that, and they don’t care. Cops are vindictive, and they’re jumpy. You’re a threat. In a twisted way, that’s a compliment.’

The door beeped, and Sokeenun came in, nearly stripping off her mask before seeing Sharpe. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘hello.’

‘This is my lawyer, Auntie. She’s cool. Sharpe, this is Sokeenun. If you wanna sleep we can move, it’s okay.’

‘Yeah, I’m beat. Nice to meet you, Ms Sharpe,’ Sokeenun said, petting Gogo as he hopped up on her bed and chirruped at her. Aix got up and threw some stuff into his overnighter, making sure to take a clean shirt and underthings as well as his laptop. It was nice to have had actual lessons on how to pack, and proper bags for it. That he had an overnight bag now, along with his trunk, helped a lot.

Gogo walk or box? He asked, and Gogo muttered, not moving from where Sokeenun was petting him, but still thinking. He’d taken a nap and was happy to walk around on a leash, so he could explore and protect Aix better. Decision made, he jumped across the gap to Aix’s bed, sniffing at Pippin, who woke up and yawned, showing her sharp fangs and striped tongue, and the luminescent blotches on the roof of her mouth. She rubbed her eye with a little fist.

‘Ohh, she is cute,’ Sharpe said, as Aix came over to pick Pippin up, balancing her on his hip. She picked up on how this was a lot for him to carry in his feelings, and beeped at Sharpe, babbling sweetly and pointing at the bag slung over Aix’s shoulder. ‘What’s she saying?’

‘Oh, uh, she’s asking if you’ll help me with my bag. I’m not exactly supposed to carry this much…’

‘Get one of the boys to do it,’ Sokeenun said, from where she was fixing herself some cold cuts from their minifridge. ‘If you’re gonna keep the phones in here, you should probably wrap them in foil.’

‘Oh!’ Aix said, putting the bag and Pippin down and going over to get his phone. ‘A Faraday cage! Doy! That’s way easier. Thanks, Auntie.’

He knocked on the door to the next room. ‘Hi!’ he said when Felice opened the door. ‘Is Phrixus still downstairs?’

‘They’ve gone for a walk,’ Felice said, which Aix knew was their particular way of saying they were hunting. ‘I was about to join them.’

‘Ah, ok. Can we borrow this room while you’re out, then?’

‘Of course, caro,’ Felice said, and Aix wheeled into his room, Sharpe following.

‘Could you tell Roseblade and Phrixus to get up here, after their walk? Informal council meeting,’ Aix said, as Felice locked the door between their rooms.

Felice said he would, and made sure to hug Pippin before leaving; by now, Aix knew that common practise—and etiquette—among vampires was to never touch anybody with blood while you were hungry unless you were okay with biting them. It was a mark of respect, and Aix was glad that a companion to it was that he got hugs and kisses after they came back. But all the vampires that knew Aix did one thing to compensate:

‘Ti voglio bene, caro stregone,’ Felice said, as he set Pippin back down from covering her face in kisses.

‘Te voglio bene, Felice. Go, go, mangia! You look skinny,’ Aix said, teasing. Felice laughed—all the European Italians found the trappings of their immigrant culture very entertaining and sweet, particularly since a common punishment among all vampires had been starvation.

‘So “go for a walk” is a euphemism,’ Sharpe said softly, when the door closed. It wasn’t a question.

‘Yeah, you pick up on it. Dmitri just says outright he’s going hunting, but Dmitri is… Dmitri,’ Aix said, not sure how to sum up the complexity there.

‘And you’re just okay with this.’

‘They’re hunting nazis, yeah I’m okay with it.’

Sharpe relaxed, at that. ‘What, all of them?’

‘Well, the treaty basically says, “hey, we’re not gonna hunt you down for eating anymore, but you have to only prey on the least vulnerable population now, not the most vulnerable”. Since the treaty was made after centuries of vampires having to sneak around just to eat or they’d be killed, everyone was like “I can eat without fear if I just go after only the Axis Powers? Hot damn!” because the treaty was solidified during the interwar period.

‘A lot of why so many immigrants seemed to have predicted the danger of nazism is because of clowns, that’s true—tummlers in ghettoes particularly—but, also, vampires have done a lot to keep nazi numbers down since the beginning. They have to keep lists of who they feed on when, and most of them love being nosy and take notes too; and I’ve seen the lists. It’s all nazis, all the way down. That’s been the staple food of most European vampires since nazis showed up because like, who is worse than a nazi? You know? You didn’t know if your local hunter would think a wife beater was bad enough to be food, but if he was a nazi he was guaranteed to be considered bad enough.’

‘And this isn’t political?’

‘Oh no, Ms Sharpe!’ Aix said, splaying a hand on his chest, using the breathy, emphatic lilt he used for a certain flavour of sarcasm that wasn’t directed at the person to whom he spoke. ‘Of course not, Ms Sharpe! The treaty says we’re not allowed to be political, Ms Sharpe!’

She laughed. There was a knock on the door, and Aix went to answer it.

‘Joe!’ he exclaimed, and let in someone who was, frankly, dressed a bit like the grim reaper, with deep hood and all. Pippin seemed very excited, beeping and running around him in circles excitedly, her Flash gone the relatively tricky colour of purple.

‘Ms Sharpe, this is Cthulhu. We call him Joe. Joe, this is Ms Sharpe, she’s a lawyer and she’s gonna help us make a justice system.’

‘Oh, we’ve met,’ Sharpe realised. ‘Didn’t realise it was you.’ She held out her hand. ‘Nice to see you again, sir.’

‘I’m glad you have finally met our witch. I am a member of the Councilium Praeternaturalis, and as such Felice thought I should be present. I am interested in restorative justice being the foundation of our justice system. I have also informed the Folk, and other representatives shall arrive shortly.’

Aix quickly realised that this would get far bigger than he could manage working out of a shared hotel room in a hotel already booked.

He kind of didn’t mind missing one convention to do something this important, though. ‘Did we just unionise everyone that isn’t represented by the Council?’ he wondered softly, half to himself. ‘There’s… there’s a lot of people in this hotel that have been organizing for centuries,’ he realised.

‘Oh, I am looking forward to this,’ Sharpe said, with something like glee—subdued—in her voice. ‘But my hotel would likely be better—it’s the Boston Harbour Hotel.’

‘Well now that I have Joe here, I’m all for an adventure,’ Aix said. ‘I’m packed and everything.’ He paused, realising Cthulhu was fairly vibrating with gleeful anticipation. ‘What? What are you hiding?’

‘Nothing.’

Aix narrowed his eyes. ‘Nothing? Or… something?’ he said, with melodramatic suspicion.

‘PIRATES IN THE HARBOR! PIRATES!’ came a muffled voice from outside, of a child running down the hall, knocking on doors excitedly. ‘WAKE UP THERE’S PIRATES!!’

‘There’s what?’ Sharpe said.

‘Cthulhu?!’ Aix said.

‘You never asked how I got here,’ was the only answer, as Cthulhu pushed Aix toward the hall.

When they—including Sokeenun—got down to the harbour, hitching a ride with a minivan half-full of some knockerfae in full garb, there was already a crowd and professional video cameras on the two tallships, which were already broadside, the water of the channel beneath lit with mareel-light, blue flashing with every plash and ripple of water. Lights lit the flags, and Aix could see Roseblade’s white rose with crossed swords on a black flag on The Audacity, but the other ship was a flag he hadn’t seen, but knew from history books: a black flag, snarling gold lion’s face with a red mouth.

‘Whose flag is that?’ Aix heard from a garbed group nearby.

‘The rose is Roseblade, he was a privateer for Charles the second,’ said her companion.

‘No the other one, the heart. Isn’t that—’

‘It’s The Black Lion!!!’ someone unseen yelled, with the excitement of someone who had a niche interest and was finally seeing other people appreciate it. ‘That’s The Black Lion! That’s Jean Rose!’

Aix heard Roseblade’s voice crack across the night, as harsh and loud as he usually was lilting and high.

‘GIVE THAT FRENCH BITCH HELL, BOYS! FIRE!’

‘TIREZ! NOYEZ-LES! NOYEZ-LES!!’ was the simultaneous answer, as the flash and noise of cannonfire cracked through the night—though the rounds didn’t seem to be live (which made sense—neither party wanted the ships actually damaged).

‘Holy shit holy shit this is amazing!!!!’ from René’s number one historical fan.

Aix locked his chair and stood up, leaning on the railing, braced, took a huge breath, and barked at the top of his voice: ‘POUND THEM LADS! POUND THEM!’

This triggered a wave of in-period cheering as the Bostonians quickly took sides in the fight. Pippin lit up gold and red to show her allegiance, sitting on Cthulhu’s shoulders, and Gogo quickly started pacing the wide retaining wall everyone was leaning on, tail high and little lifejacket bright against the dark. Everyone, of course, loved this.

‘Oh! Oh, that’s Gogo! That’s my friend’s cat! Aix! Aix!’ yelled a young voice, and Aix realised it was Ocean, as she slipped through the crowd, in full garb herself as a pirate. ‘We’ve been following The Audacity! Me and Dad! In The Diamond! And then today—today we saw The Black Lion and—and—’ she hugged Aix, too overwhelmed to make words. Aix laughed.

‘Harr!’ he said, and Ocean giggled.

‘Harr!!’ she agreed, and climbed up to see over the railing, cheering Roseblade on. When the grappling hooks flashed in the eerie light, covered in reflective paint to make them more visible, there were cheers. They could see René swing up in the rigging, leaning out toward The Audacity, wind whipping his loose black hair, scimitar high.

‘SURRENDER, ENGLISH DOG!’

‘NEVER!’

Meanwhile, The Audacity was furiously cutting the boarding ropes, but despite slowing the crew down, this didn’t stop them. The Black Lion’s side of the crowd cheered them on, and the water lit up with blue sparkle when people fell into the water, though they didn’t seem hampered by the icy waves, climbing back up the hull easily as cats.

‘This is insane I don’t think this is choreographed,’ said someone near Aix, not un-pleased by the idea.

‘It’s not,’ Aix said, not expecting to be listened to, giddy at the sounds of shouting and the clash of steel, the knowledge that René was here, that he was watching real pirates, not—as everyone else doubtless thought—actors. That was live steel, René and Roseblade were using, at least on one another; but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was all live steel. He’d sailed with Roseblade’s new crew, they would have been down with that.

How had he not put together that René was Jean Rose? Well, first of all, nobody knew very much about Jean Rose. People only knew Roseblade if they were really into pirates, like historically rather than Hollywood;¹ but Jean Rose was obscure even among historians, mainly known only by his unique flag.

There was a tension as both captains balanced in the rigging while their crews went somewhat still below, and an eerie calm swept over the harbour, the wind dropping, the water going still as glass—Roseblade was using his powers, Aix realised, just like his powers had called the mareel.²

They both dropped onto one of the planks held across the boat, and began to duel.

‘Jesus Christ,’ murmured someone next to Sokeenun, who could tell it was real—no wires, no safety, no nothing. ‘Who are they?’

‘Roseblade and Black Jean Rose, haven’t you been listening?’ Sokeenun said, with her signature deadpan, where you couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not.

Aix was watching, as transfixed as the hushed crowd, as the blades flashed in the moonlight; René fought Roseblade back onto The Audacity, and everyone was transfixed on the duel, but a few people saw the small crewmember steal across to The Black Lion again, though more noticed as more snuck back to their own ship, and the crew of The Audacity cheered… until there was a yell from someone in the rigging.

‘Je l’ai! Je l’ai! J’ai le lettre de marque!’

Even though it was soft, everyone heard Roseblade’s shocked, ‘What?’

The flash of theatrical fire in the rigging, lighting as a crewmember dropped the burning paper, was underscored with René’s triumphant laugh as he jumped on the very topmost railing of the poopdeck, and let himself fall backwards into the sea. Roseblade ran to look over the side, firing into the water and swearing fluently.

‘You’re a pirate like the rest of us now, Capitaine!’ René reappeared on his own fo’c’sle, wet but otherwise no worse for wear.

Predictably, Boston lost its mind at this, erupting into cheers even if they’d been cheering for The Audacity. The mareel and eerie light on the ships faded, and both ships went dark, silent shadows in the harbour once more.

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