Setting Pieces (aka the scheming bastard NPC thread)

[Detritus]

I'm going to collect the various NPC POV pieces here, since they are technically OOC knowledge. If the muse happens to pay a visit while the players are busy, I may add to this thread from time to time.

=====================

((Originally posted in the main Anarch meet-and-greet (http://forum.criticalfumble.net/showthread.php?t=11298) thread.))

I was working on this last night, but events have outpaced the originally intended conclusion -- that Sarah meet up with the PCs before they left the boat. So it's just bonus material to ponder while I conjure up some suitable locales for the N.O. Anarchs to frequent. Of course, the PCs wouldn't know exactly what was going on in Rebekka's head, but elder Tremere do tend to be an ambitious lot, so they would have a general idea that there is an agenda lurking there that doesn't align with the PCs' interests.

=====================

Rebekka stood silent and watched the audience quickly disperse. She hoped she was not too obvious in her attempt to observe the departing Kindred. Radeyah and the Prince were already speaking softly with each other when Rebekka led Sarah out of the room, the last of the audience members to exit.

"I don't think the Anarchs liked us very much," Sarah said to her once they were out of the meeting room. "That Antoinette kept giving me weird looks, although she tried to hide it."

"They are of little importance," Rebekka replied as they headed to their guest rooms. Most of them were, at any rate.

"The one from L.A., Anneke, she was talking about the Third Tradition there at the end, wasn't she?" asked Sarah "Why would she be so careful about it?"

Rebekka's eyes widened slightly in surprise at the question. It would be well for her to remember that the lightness of Sarah's usual demeanor often belied a sharp mind beneath it. She could become a formidable Cainite, had she any true ambition, despite the length of her lineage. Once she was sure she was in control of her features, she gestured for Sarah to walk beside her.

"She was," Rebekka said. She had been unsure of what Sarah was about to say when she began to speak up during the audience, until now. "It is a dangerous business to hint at any dereliction of duty in enforcing the Traditions in the presence of the Prince. As this Anneke seemed to realize. As you should have known."

"Yes, Regent," Sarah said softly in the direction of her feet.

The effect of her rebuke did not last long as Sarah looked up and asked, "That's why she was trying to get one of Justicar's agents to say it, wasn't it, Regent?"

Rebekka permitted the beginnings of a smile to cross her lips. Very sharp, when she applied herself. How to light a fire under her, though?

"That is correct," answered Rebekka. "What else?"

"We should tell them, shouldn't we?" Sarah asked after a moment's thought.

Rebekka let her smile deepen briefly. She supposed it would not do to have subordinates who were intolerably smart.

"If you think it a good idea, yes," said Rebekka, her expression once again smooth. She would be shocked if the warning were necessary, however. The questioning of the Anarchs had not yielded that much information, but it was well structured. Leo and Menachem were both astute Kindred, at least for those not Tremere, and they had had little more to do than watch while Jack asked the questions.

"Go, but remember that there can also be danger in being too overt about currying favor with an Archon," she said as they arrived at the Tremere guest quarters.

"Yes, Regent," said Sarah again before taking her leave of Rebekka.

So, a violation of the Third Tradition, to go along with the First. And the Sixth, unless Rebekka badly missed on her surmise. By her calculations, that did not add up to a passing grade.

Perhaps the responsibilities that attended the position of Regent would kindle some ambition in Sarah. She had the magical ability, an ironclad prerequisite, of course, but she also had a way of ingratiating herself to those both within the clan and outside of it. A way that did not waken the usual suspicions that Tremere tended to set off when they tried. That was, regrettably, a rare skill within the clan, and one that Rebekka had only partially mastered despite the centuries since her Embrace.

No doubt Prince Strauss would like to see one of his subordinates remain in New Orleans, and perhaps take the post of Regent themselves. Rebekka would have to make Sarah's case for her to the Council, of course, and Prince Strauss would surely do the same for his man. Some things seemed never to change.

She was sure that she did not want the position herself. Nature might not abhor a vacuum, as was once posited, but Kindred power structures surely did, and she had a different office in mind for herself.

Rebekka was surprised to find herself still in the hallway when Sarah returned. Too soon to have had met with the other Texas Kindred, she thought.

"I did not find them, Regent," she said, sounding a bit surprised at their meeting at the door.

"I am sure they understood the situation before leaving," replied Rebekka. "It is out of our hands for now, but who knows what the night will bring?"

Who indeed? This night had already yielded one surprise, and a potentially calamitous one at that. The penance that the Archon gave the childe was fitting, if a touch barbaric, but it should never have come to that.

It would be most unfortunate if Samantha could manipulate the situation adroitly enough to put the Justicar in danger, but that was also out of their hands. Nothing remained to do for the moment but to reflect and plan for all possible contingencies. Perhaps Samantha wanted to provoke the confrontation badly enough to draw Lucian out in the open, if they were truly allied. That would be a nice feather in the cap of the one to bring him to heel.

"Come, there is much to discuss," said Rebekka as they entered their quarters.

[Detritus]

((Originally posted in the main Anarch meet-and-greet (http://forum.criticalfumble.net/showthread.php?t=11298) thread.))

As things now stand, Jocelin needs to decide on a search pattern to locate her Anarch friends. In the meantime, here's another setting piece I wrote this weekend.

===================

Ramiel struggled to master a surge of uneasiness that had welled up inside him as he and Sabine went to the meeting of the Primogen Council. Officially, New Orleans lacked such a body, and the meetings were strictly off-the-record, but that was how he thought of it.

Sabine would not have minded this characterization, and might even adopt it herself. No doubt Camille would laugh at Toreador pretension, though, and Bianca would probably crack his skull open were he to couch these meetings in those terms to her face. Only a fool would suggest to a Brujah that she was part of an establishment that she professed to loathe.

His face betrayed no hint of his inner turmoil, of course. In Kindred society, if you could not control the demeanor you wished to project then you were doomed. The soundness of that truism had already been amply demonstrated tonight, and he was not sure that it was to be the only example to occur before sunrise.

"At least wait until after we speak with Bianca and Camille before you get too worried," Sabine said, snapping him out of his brown study.

Ramiel thinned his lips in exasperation at the comment. Sabine appeared to be serenity incarnate, the sardonic arch of an eyebrow seeming only to add to the effect. Easy for her to say, given that she had much less at stake tonight than did he. The presence of her clan also waxed, while that of his dwindled. Considering the pace of events, it would not matter that it was a transient state of affairs; if Adrianne and Demetrious did not waken soon, then they may as well have died the Final Death. They would do just as much good that way in handling the immediate situation with Sammy and her mysterious allies as they were now. A maudlin thought, but no less true for it. He did not permit himself to dwell at all on what the increased presence of the Tremere heralded.

"Truly, dearest, your concern gratifies me," he replied. Pursing his lips, he took Sabine's wrist in his hand as though to kiss it. She hissed as if burnt when she jerked her hand free, a most satisfactory reaction. Clumsy of him to incorporate physical contact into his riposte, but the fact that she did not mention it indicated that Sabine was under no little preoccupation herself. A good thing to know, that.

Bianca and Camille were already waiting when he and Sabine arrived at the jazz hall. The two women were seated as far apart as could be within the same section of balcony, studiously ignoring each other with feigned nonchalance. Ramiel would have been in an uproar had he come upon the scene under more routine circumstances, but now wasn't the time.

"What took you so long?" Bianca demanded of them. "The fur's about to fly and I'd just as soon not spend my time sitting on my hands in Elysium."

"It already has," said Ramiel. "There was an... incident involving Jocelin during what was supposed to be a meeting with Sammy, one that required a lot of cleanup."

Ramiel fell silent as one of the sources of his unease bubbled its way back to the surface. Only dimly aware of Sabine taking up the explanation of the events involving Heather, he relived his encounter tonight with Rebekka yet again. That must have been the longest 30 seconds of his unlife, transfixed by the Piercing Gaze of an elder Tremere. A Gaze he had volunteered for, however reluctantly, he had to admit to himself. Viewed objectively, it was a small price to pay to further his mastery with the discipline, but for an instant he had thought he had seen Rebekka's irises aglow with flame, flame that would wholly consume him from the inside out. He was sure the image would stay with him for the rest of his nights.

Silence greeted Ramiel as he snapped out of his reverie. Camille was muttering, her right hand covering her eyes, and Bianca pressed the heels of her palms against her temples. Sabine was a little more composed, but then, she had had a little time to assimilate the impact of this development before the meeting.

"Have either of you heard from the others?" he asked into the room. Neither of them stirred from their gestures of denial. Ramiel's eyes met Sabine's for a moment. Hers looked as tight as his felt. Surely neither of them would have expected the vital necessity of Brujah and Gangrel reinforcements as recently as a week ago. Unsteady reinforcements they would likely be, especially the Brujah, but sometimes you just had to go to war with the army you had, if it came to that.

"Camille? Bianca?" His voice sounded much less casual than he had wished it to.

Bianca came to first. "Black Cat returned with the others tonight -- Yuri, Uma, Antoinette. They're probably with the Prince right now. They brought back someone from L.A., a Toreador named Anneke. Do you know her?" Bianca asked of him. Ramiel noticed that Camille's muttering had stopped, and her fingers had parted enough to expose her left eye.

"No," replied Ramiel, "I'm afraid I've never heard of her." Small wonder if she was another Anarch. Still, another of his clan in the city was a little encouraging, Anarch sympathies or not. Descendant of Mr. Johnson or not, for that matter.

"What about you, Camille?"

Once again composed, Camille replied, "I don't know whether Roman and Anastasia are still in Baton Rouge or not." After a long pause, she added, "she would probably have better luck than I at bringing them in," as she pointed to Bianca. That admission sounded like it was in tow behind a tugboat.

Bianca puckered her lips at Camille and said, "I love you too, toots, but I haven't heard anything from them."

[Detritus]

((Originally posted in the main Anarch meet-and-greet (http://forum.criticalfumble.net/showthread.php?t=11298) thread.))

So, it turns out the story was 10,119 characters in length, so it needed to be split up. Here's the conclusion....

===================

"What about these Tremere from Texas, what will they do?" he asked Sabine, as much to head off any bickering as anything. He had little doubt that they would nominally be on the side of the status quo. At least, of the Camarilla status quo; it took little imagination to see what else might be on their agenda. That might actually be tolerable, were his lot in life to lift with that rising tide. Another night, perhaps.

"They're kind of preoccupied with Lazarus, especially the Dallas pair," said Sabine. "I would guess that Sarah will be available for anything that happens ashore. Maybe Rebekka, too. I think Rebekka is nearly as good as Lazarus. Maybe better, for all I know, the downhill flow of information isn't much more than a trickle most of the time." A touch of bitterness crept in at the end of that statement.

Ramiel did not need any convincing about the competence of the Tremere. He had made sure to read Adrianne's memories of the encounter outside Sammy's mansion. His jaw dropped when he had seen Sarah incinerate one of their attackers with twin jets of flame in a moment of desperation, yet she was clearly the junior member in the partnership with Rebekka. With some effort, he forced himself to abandon taking this line of reasoning to its conclusion. Another night.

"While we're on the subject, who is Lucian?" asked Camille, her face and tone all earnest innocence. Except for that hint of fang she showed. Oh, yes, she had her balance back. She really should have been a Toreador; she did a better job of it than most of his siblings. Not better than Ramiel himself, of course.

Sabine clenched her jaw, but sensed that an evasion would not suffice here. "I really don't know much other than he is considered a blood traitor by my clan," she said. "I'm at a loss for the details, but there is a string of events associated with him -- Paris, Marseilles, Boston, Chicago, Memphis. And now maybe Houston or New Orleans."

Ramiel was sure that "events" was Warlock-speak for "black eyes" in this case, but he kept this surmise to himself.

"A Tremere Anarch, I can hardly credit it," said Bianca.

"You have not worked with him then?" asked Ramiel.

Bianca shook her head. "If I have, he hid the fact that he was a Warlock. I try to limit my contact with them. Present company excepted," she added, a beat late.

Sabine studied the Anarch for a moment before continuing. "Your 'extra activity' on the streets could be Lucian's men?"

"Maybe," she replied, "but I don't think they're Warlocks."

This was going nowhere. It was about time to knuckle down and get some serious planning done.

"What do you think about Mr. Johnson, Ramiel? Has he been compromised?" asked Camille.

So much for planning. Now it was his turn to squirm. He was conscious of forcing himself to draw breath and exhale. "I can't rule it out," he admitted. "I'll have to ask Radeyah about how the presentation of the Anarchs went. It could be another clue."

There wasn't much to say after that. A palpable silence descended upon them, lent weight by the passage of seconds turning into minutes. Knowing what must be done and stating it were two different things.

Suspicion lined the looks that Camille and Sabine gave him soon after the silence came, and even Bianca began to eye him askance after a while. Ramiel was glad for not having to breathe, else he would have heaved a rather wounded sigh. That would not have done at all.

"We will have to leave the Prince out of the loop," he said at last. The women all nodded at that pronouncement. He doubted very much that they knew or even suspected that certain things had already been set in motion that were informed by this conclusion.

"And the Archon?" asked Camille. "What of him and his associates?"

"A Justicar would be better, but the Archon may be all that is at hand," replied Ramiel. "It could not hurt to see how their meeting with Sammy turns out before committing," he said. Bianca gave swift agreement to that last. Camille and Sabine both became suspicious again, but eventually assented.

As if on cue, the chiming of Bianca's cell phone, undoubtedly announcing that the Anarch audience was finished, filled the balcony. A lot could change between now and sunrise, thought Ramiel. There was nothing in it now but to roll where this tide took them, roll with it and do their best to land on their feet when the wave crashed ashore.

[Detritus]

((Originally posted in the main Anarch meet-and-greet (http://forum.criticalfumble.net/showthread.php?t=11298) thread.))

While the PCs are deciding which way to go, here's an Anarch POV piece.

=================

Antoinette lingered on the deck of the Prince's ship as the others boarded the boat back to shore. What she really wanted was to be alone for a bit, but this was the best she was going to be able to do for now, and probably the rest of the night. Black Cat and Yuri hung back for a moment before Antoinette waved them towards the boat. They understood; they were both nearly as close with Jocelin as she was.

She did like the sea. They would be putting ashore much further east than where they were picked up, so the trip back would be more like the usual return trip from the Prince's haven. That was why they arrived to the pickup by foot in the first place. For all their vaunted freedom, this maneuvering to lose watchful eyes felt too much like slinking away. Well, it was a minor irritant on top of everything else.

Uma and Anneke were absorbed in an animated discussion near the bow, she noticed. She couldn't hear a word, seated towards the stern as she was, but it was clear that Uma was getting agitated. In her way, she was as tough, determined, and resourceful as Bianca, but she wasn't sure which side she would pick if the two of them paired up against Anneke.

She let herself be drawn into the memory, unwilling for the moment to sort out her feelings about what she had learned tonight...

It was the first rant for the New Orleans Anarchs, and they had run into Uma's sire. Hector Sosa was an imposing individual, and there was bad blood there. Uma had managed to verbally cut him down to size quite easily, but that only ticked off Hector more. Things looked like they were about to get ugly when a slim woman who barely came up to Hector's chin produced a stake the length of her forearm and proceeded quick as lightning to drive it into his chest. It plunged so deep that you could hold the end coming out of his back the way you would grip a baseball bat! All she had said was that sometimes bad boys needed lessons in manners. Holy living fuck!

Coming back to the present, Antoinette saw Uma in yet another sulk. Anneke was smirking but did not look at anyone in particular. Sparks often struck between the two of them, and this was the usual result. Uma insisted that she had Hector under control, and resented Anneke's "interference," but Antoinette thought that deep down Uma realized that things were a lot more precarious with Hector that night than she usually admitted. She whispered a brief but fervent prayer that Uma would not forget the lesson her sire had learned.

She wasn't sure if she was imagining things, but there were times when Antoinette thought that Anneke felt protective towards Uma. Towards them all at times, but especially towards Uma. It was the only thing she could think of as to why Anneke had come with them when Bianca had asked them to come back to New Orleans.

And why had they returned? Bianca needed help, so they came back. That's all there was to it, Anarchs had to have each other's backs because that's all they had. It was just... The Prince. Warlocks. An Archon. Fuck! Don't just hop into the frying pan, Joss, go ahead and pull the lid on over you while you're at it!

No, that was not completely fair. When you lost your tailgunner, you needed to find a replacement or make do without. It was hard to have someone's back when they were over a thousand miles away, is all. Someone should have stayed with her in Dallas. She should have stayed, but it was L.A.! She had to go there at least once, and the storm was the perfect excuse to leave for a while. She should have made sure that Jocelin had come out with them in the first place. Next time for sure.

"You OK?" Yuri asked to her startlement. She was going to have to talk to Jocelin soon, if only to prevent herself from going blind and deaf.

"Yeah... I think so... I don't know," she finally admitted. She found it strange that her mood began to lighten with that admission.

"It'll be alright," said Yuri. "A Justicar's scabby Blood Doll can't get in the way for very long."

Antoinette smiled, but it was a half-hearted effort. "The purple-haired chick was a Warlock, Yuri. Sarah, Joss said, and it sounds like they might be friends now."

Yuri thought for a moment. "Sabine isn't so bad, at least when she forgets that Warlock by-law that requires the rods up their butts to have rods up their butts," he said with a smile. "I can't see Joss making friends with anyone who is too uptight. She's probably cool, at least for a Warlock."

"I guess you're right," said Antoinette. Her gloominess returning, she had the sinking feeling that she was going to get to know a whole mess of Warlocks better than she had ever dreamt possible.

[Detritus]

((Originally posted in the main Anarch meet-and-greet (http://forum.criticalfumble.net/showthread.php?t=11298) thread.))

Having regained terra firma, Anneke contented herself with standing at the dock's edge, faced away from her companions, permitted them to plan out the night's activities. Their turf, their show. No matter how many grievances the anarchs laid at the feet of the Camarilla, in this one matter at least there was accord between elder and neonate.

A westering gibbous moon lay perhaps an hour away from setting. Anneke indulged a fancy, engaged in rapt consideration of moonlight playing across rippling water, took pleasure in what others believed her clan's weakness. How wrong they all were, but only Malkavians ever seemed to even approach understanding this error.

On a whim, Anneke closed her eyes and cast her second sight upwards. Higher and higher she went, climbed in bliss, reveled in freedom. Gazing back downwards, her reward was a vast tapestry of mottled light and dark. The pattern seethed yet always retained a semblance of cohesion, order and chaos mingled, one coming from the other then going back again. Trite it may be, but the concept had always appealed to her.

Then, just as abruptly as her excursion had begun, she drew her sight back downwards, only much faster than on her climb. She charged towards the sea, raced moonlight to earth, grew giddy in descent. Just as it seemed she must crash into the water, she leveled her visual dive and nearly recoiled when the journey had finished back where it started. Swaying for no apparent reason would have been a touch embarrassing; falling off the dock would have been downright mortifying. Luckily, she did neither this time.

"Are you with us, Anneke?" Black Cat asked her. "We're ready to go now."

At first Anneke's only reaction was to blink her eyes rapidly until she really was all the way back on the dock. Just one of the reasons why she had taken to wearing shades nearly all the time.

"I am here," she said. "What will we be doing?"

"We're meeting Bianca at House of Blues," said Black Cat. "With any luck, Jocelin will show up, too. Alone."

"Do you really think she'll come by herself?" asked Anneke, not quite able to keep her question at a level tone.

Black Cat's lips compressed as she shook her head.

"Not a chance," she said. "She might come to the bar by herself, but her friends will be in the neighborhood in that case. We need lookouts. Sharp-eyed lookouts."

"And naturally you thought of me," said Anneke with a dry undertone. "I'm touched."

"Not just you," said Black Cat, meeting dryness in kind. "Antoinette is Joss's best friend. Yuri and I are pretty close with her, too, but Uma not so much. The three of us should be there, but Uma can help you. She has the needed talents. Just try not to tear each other's throats out when you're out on the street by yourselves, OK?"

"Sounds delightful," said Anneke, and if a hint of trepidation came out in her voice, so be it. It was not as if Black Cat or any of the others would fathom the thoughts behind the emotion. She had thought she would need to convince the others to let her go her own way for a portion of the remaining night. She did like it when a plan came together, but this had a definite feeling of strings being pulled. By whom, though?

"Uma, darling, we're going to get know each other even better. I want you to show me everything the city has to offer," said Anneke with theatrical enthusiasm. Uma favored her with a sour grimace before rolling her eyes. There was a little fun to be had before the serious business got underway, at least.

[Detritus]

((Concurrent with the main Anarch meet-and-greet (http://forum.criticalfumble.net/showthread.php?t=11298) thread.))

Worrying reports were coming back from New Orleans, perhaps the most troubling out-of-town news that Jürgen Strauss had received in his quarter century as Prince of Dallas. The city sounded ready to explode. If it came to that, one could always turn turmoil into favorable outcomes for oneself through astute planning and decisive action. Information was the key there.

Prince Strauss dialed up his operatives in New Orleans. Merill was the one to answer.

"Yes, my Prince?"

"You are free to talk openly?"

"Yes, Sire, Thomas and I are alone with Lazarus at the moment."

"What is Lazarus's condition? Does he show any signs of stirring?"

"None, Sire," said Merill. "We have so far been unable to rouse him, even with assistance from the Houston Chantry."

"Assistance," thought Jürgen wryly. "No doubt Rebekka had taken charge of all of the clan's dealings in the city with Lazarus incapacitated."

"There may be nothing you can do to accelerate the process, unfortunately. Elder Kindred do sleep deeply when they enter torpor. Is there any hope of you finding a temporary haven where you can move his body, off Prince Johnson's boat? Salvaging something from the old Chantry location, perhaps?"

"The former Chantry would not be very secure, my Prince," replied Merill. "I believe the Drake Manor might work out, but it is currently occupied, of course. Rebekka's girl is the only one of us from Texas who has seen the building, however, but she reports that it has already undergone some minor thaumaturgical warding."

Jürgen considered that for a moment before asking his next question.

"What do you make of her, Rebekka's girl? What is her name?"

"She is called Sarah Cobbler, Sire. I have never had more than hearsay to go on about her until very recently. She is a very accomplished mage for one so young, I must admit. She seems to have especial skill at the enchantment of objects."

Sarah Cobbler. Yes, he had heard rumors that Rebekka had a young protege that she was very high on, and it must be this Sarah.

"Is she good enough to take up the post of Regent, Merill?"

Silence met this question for several seconds before Merill answered.

"I would guess so, my Prince, although she is still a bit callow, if I may say, and takes most things altogether too lightly to have the gravitas required for the position."

"Tut, tut, Merill, are you harboring ambitions of your own?" chided Prince Strauss.

"None of which I am aware along these lines, Sire. The position is rightly that of Lazarus in any event, so I am not entirely sure why you asked about Sarah's fitness for the post."

"It may still be quite some time before Lazarus wakens," said Jürgen. "The post would naturally fall to Rebekka in the interim, but if another acceptable candidate were available, that would free Rebekka up to pursue other ambitions. I am not Regent in Dallas, Fort Worth, or Austin, for example."

"I see your point, Sire," said Merill, "but given that Lazarus has never managed to seize Praxis New Orleans for himself, I am not sure if Rebekka could, either, especially since she is a stranger to the city."

"Under normal circumstances I would agree, but my impression of the city is that it requires but a spark to set the Kindred community aflame. Should Justicar Walsh's suspicions about Miss Drake be well-founded, and should further crimes of hers be uncovered that reflect poorly on Mr. Johnson's rule, that may be all that's needed to tip the balance of power away from the Toreador towards the Tremere.

"Should Mr. Johnson be removed from consideration, are there any in New Orleans now who could outmaneuver Rebekka, if it came to that?"

"None that I know of, save perhaps Lazarus, my Prince," admitted Merill. "It seems I still have much to learn about the inner workings of Kindred politics, Sire."

"Do not be too hard on yourself, Merill, there are few who are born to it."

"Thank you, my Prince. Is there anything else you require?"

"Lazarus is vulnerable so long as he is so close to Mr. Johnson. One of you or Thomas should remain by his side until you can move him to safer haven. If Miss Drake is found guilty and either banished or destroyed, do your best to lay claim on her manor for the Tremere. Rebekka may be in the best position to make this claim," said Prince Strauss with some reluctance.

"It shall be so, Sire," said Merill. "Your tutelage is illuminating, as always."

"Good bye," said Prince Strauss.

Rebekka always was one for surprises, thought Jürgen. Under different circumstances, she would have made a captivating partner. Junior partner, of course.

Still, the situation in New Orleans could well warrant an outsider ascending to the throne. In that case, it was possible that Lazarus would be transferred to Houston. With Tremere princes established in Dallas and New Orleans, Houston could be ripe for the taking as well.

Rebekka would never have helped Jürgen bring all of Texas under his control, but Lazarus might. With Texas and Louisiana both under Tremere control, perhaps Vienna would see fit to raising a Pontifex from the ranks of the leaders of those states. And Prince Strauss knew just the man for the job.

[Detritus]

Camille turned off Bourbon Street and made her way to the employees' entrance of Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop Pub. After Bianca's departure from Storyville, Sabine had indicated that she wanted to meet somewhere away from Ramiel.

"What is this about?" Camille asked once she reached the rear entrance.

"Inside," said Sabine, after which she turned and entered the building without another word.

Camille always had liked the candlelit main room of the pub, but thoughts about the decor fled her mind once she saw Rebekka seated with a woman sporting vivid magenta hair at a secluded table.

"Girls' night out?" said Camille as she slowed her pace, looking to buy a little time before engaging the others in conversation. She would bind herself to that idiot Kallista if this was just a social call.

Sabine did not turn until she reached the table, and merely motioned for Camille to come and be seated after she did. All three witches wore curiously expectant looks, she noted, an observation that conjured a butterfly or two to tickle her stomach before she could suppress the reaction. Mentally berating herself for reacting like the greenest neonate, Camille made sure she kept her face smooth as she joined the Tremere.

"This is Sarah," said Sabine, "and you've already met Rebekka. She has some questions for you."

Camille turned her attention to Rebekka but did not speak. If this meeting was about anything like she suspected, it would be better to wait until she was asked something before speaking. An unnerving stretch of silence played out as Rebekka mirrored Camille's tactic, one she augmented by assaying a predatory grin similar to the one she had employed last night at Storyville.

"You are an intriguing specimen," Rebekka said at last, "not at all like your... kin, I would say. Outnumbered at every turn by at least three families larger than your own, you have nonetheless been able to hold your ground in the face of such odds. A remarkable achievement, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Thank you," said Camille, not quite able to keep all traces of derision from her voice at such a clinical description of her position. Intriguing specimen, indeed! It would have rankled less had she been sure that she would be able to prevent the Tremere from squashing her like a bug. Or the Toreador. Or the Brujah, for that matter.

Rebekka inclined her head graciously, either not recognizing or choosing to ignore the sarcasm in Camille's reply.

"Yet your position is no doubt a precarious one," said Rebekka. "Have you never wished for a more secure situation for yourself?"

"The stakes are high, but the payoffs are rewarding enough," said Camille. With any luck, she might be about to bank one such payoff very shortly.

"Forgive me," said Rebekka, amusement plain on her features, "but I believe you have an impoverished view of the magnitude of the rewards that the game has to offer. Someone of your acumen could do very well for herself in a prince's court, for example, yet my understanding of the situation here is that those rewards are presently all but monopolized by the royal family."

"I'm touched by your concern for my well being, but why should I believe that my position would improve after a change in management? Mr. Johnson usually leaves well enough alone, especially for those of us with ancestral ties to the community," said Camille with a nod towards Sabine.

"You do not think his policies, his nepotism, have resulted in his finger slipping from the pulse of the city?" asked Rebekka. "A potentially devastating crisis looms in this situation with Miss Drake. Would it really have come to this with a less insular leader?"

Camille had to admit to herself that Rebekka had a point, but let this conclusion remain unvoiced. She decided also to let the change in subject pass without comment.

"You mention nepotism. Why should anyone expect that to change should your house replace Mr. Johnson's as the ruling family?" asked Camille. "Your family is every bit as insular as our dear leader's. More so, in general, if the truth be told."

Rebekka smiled and said, "there is no reason for me to conceal my desire to improve the station of my family in the city. It does behoove me to call to your attention that our interests are surely aligned. Perhaps not perfectly, yet the overlap is there. Furthermore, should the preeminent member of the ruling house be a relative newcomer, she would certainly require, and welcome, the input of those more familiar with the situation on the ground here."

"It sounds to me like there are a lot of new boots on the ground. Are you sure some of them aren't already in league with you? Who is this Lucian fellow I've started to hear so much about?"

Camille nearly flinched when Rebekka's gaze sharpened. She spent a long moment of consideration clearly deciding how much to reveal.

"The specifics of his crimes are an internal clan matter, I'm afraid. It suffices for now to say that I do not work with him, nor am I otherwise beholden to him."

Camille considered that for a moment when another question popped into her head.

"Bianca's family doesn't get along that well with Mr. Johnson's, yet I am sure they would unite in an effort to prevent yours from gaining ascent. How would you counter that?"

"It seems you were right, Sabine," said Rebekka, "that it was correct to approach her first.

"You could go very far indeed in a prince's court, Camille. I understand that you and Sabine have an effective working relationship with Bianca, if a bit rocky at times. If it pleases you, it would fall to the two of you to convince her that the management situation could stand to improve.

"Also, your Ramiel has desires. Ambition," said Rebekka. "My understanding is that he is perhaps the black sheep of the royal family. Suppose Mr. Johnson were found to be wanting in his leadership role. Demetrious and Adrianne are out of the picture for now. Would either of Kallista or Radeyah throw in their lot with Ramiel?"

"Radeyah did commit certain indiscretions in the meeting with Heather," said Sabine. "Granted, it was in reaction to Jocelin's outburst, but it still might be enough to bring her in line if she isn't agreeable at first.

"She is the only one of the pair worth convincing, if you ask me," said Camille, "and maybe you've got enough on her to do it. I wasn't there, so I don't really know.

"Kallista is a twit, I wouldn't waste my time with her. A well-connected twit," she admitted grudgingly, "but that influence would lessen significantly if Mr. Johnson were out of the way." Camille realized that with this answer, she had in fact committed herself to achieving that very outcome, and that it did please her to do so.

"Excellent," said Rebekka with undisguised self-satisfaction, "I can already tell we'll get along beautifully."

Camille's nod in reply mirrored the whirl of her thoughts. It seemed that some banks were open all night.

[Detritus]

Radeyah curbed the impatience that arose within her from being made to wait on Kallista's arrival to the Old Mint. Normally she would leave after waiting for much more than 15 minutes, but she had questions to ask, the kind that brooked no delay in their asking. She had little choice but to keep waiting this time.

When the sound of leisurely paced footfalls finally announced Kallista's arrival, Radeyah redoubled the effort of her will to keep from rushing to meet her. Since Kallista had made her wait, she could come to her.

"What is this about?" asked Kallista. "You said it was important."

"The Brujah are back in town," said Radeyah. "Mr. Johnson let them back in the city without batting an eyelash. Do you have any idea why?"

"No, why should I?" said Kallista. "Maybe Mr. Johnson just wanted to keep up appearances that he does not favor his own clan too much."

Well, that most likely rules out Kallista, thought Radeyah. I don't think she's bright enough to lie about something like that.

"They picked up a companion along the way, someone named Anneke. She's of our clan. Do you know her?"

Kallista shook her head. "Never heard of her. Is she an Anarch? Why did the Prince let her in the city if that's the case?"

"When did you first contact Gwynnis's network?" asked Radeyah.

"Where are you going with this, Radeyah? It doesn't sound very important to me."

"Just answer the question. Were you in touch with someone from the Justicar's network before last night?"

"No, of course not, why would I have been?" said Kallista.

"What do you know about Mr. Johnson's lineage?" said Radeyah.

"What? These questions aren't making any sense," said Kallista. She made as if to leave, but Radeyah blocked her path.

"Bear with me for a bit longer, Kallista. Who is Mr. Johnson's sire?"

"Elliott Sinclair," said Kallista. "You didn't need me to tell you that."

"No, I didn't," said Radeyah, "but would it surprise you to learn that Elliott's sire is none other than Anneke herself?"

Kallista's reaction rang in the affirmative, clear as a bell.

"The Prince's grand-sire is in town? Why would she attach herself to the rabble?"

"I don't know, but Mr. Johnson never made a peep about this fact. Very strange."

"I still don't see why this is so important," said Kallista. "Maybe Mr. Johnson just doesn't get on that well with his grand-sire. Maybe she hates the blues, or something."

Radeyah shook her head, partially in negation, partially in disbelief at her sister's political tone deafness.

"I don't think that's it," she said. "One more question -- would you care to hazard a guess as to who sired Anneke?"

Radeyah stifled another flash of impatience during the seemingly interminable wait for the spark of comprehension to appear in Kallista's eyes.

"The Anarchs have acquired a guardian angel?" Kallista asked at last.

"Or an avenging angel," said Radeyah. "One of our siblings had to have contacted a Toreador agent at some point, if my suspicions about Anneke are correct; recently, but before you did. One of our brothers, I would guess."

"Which one?" asked Kallista.

"I don't know for sure. Maybe Demetrious thought that Sammy and Ramiel were working together. You know our brothers don't get along that well. Maybe it's just Ramiel being an opportunistic bastard. Neither situation is particularly ideal for Prince Johnson, or those closest to him."

"Then you think Anneke is here to clean house?"

"It's a possibility, especially if she works with the sewer rat," said Radeyah, nose wrinkled slightly in distaste.

"Will it really come to that? That thing is hideous," said Kallista.

"He's busy with Sammy right now, but depending what he turns up, it's a possibility," said Radeyah.

"How much does Mr. Johnson know? Do we go to him?"

"I don't know," said Radeyah. "I'm pretty sure he recognizes his grand-sire by name, if not by sight. He may have a better idea about how fast Gwynnis could get one of her agents to town. It seems awfully fast to me, though. Now might not be the best time to appear to be too strongly affiliated with the prince."

Radeyah fancied that she could see the gears turning within Kallista's head after this last statement. Turning slowly, to be sure, but turning nonetheless. One big happy family they weren't, no matter how they tried to keep up appearances, and being a bit slow on the uptake did not preclude one from having ambition.

"If Mr. Johnson already knows about Anneke, going to him about her risks our tipping her off that we know for sure," said Kallista. "It can't hurt to just watch for now, I guess."

"Agreed," said Radeyah, "we're in no rush. Leaves us the option of going either way, depending how things fall out, and that's always nice."

"Well, it's a lot to think about," said Kallista after a moment's reflection. "I don't like going behind Mr. Johnson's back, but it may be necessary this time around. Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"No, you're free to go now," said Radeyah. She enjoyed the brief but unmistakable annoyance that flashed across Kallista's face at her treatment as if she were a subordinate.

Once Kallista had taken her leave of the mint, a handsome figure stepped out of the shadows.

"Do you think you convinced her?" Ramiel asked.

"Enough to induce her to keep her distance from the Prince," replied Radeyah. "I don't think she'd make any overt moves against Mr. Johnson, but if the winds of change blow strongly enough, self-preservation will prevail."

"Good," said Ramiel, "she doesn't have to be our ally, but neither is it desirable for her to remain too strongly in the Prince's camp. She might be more effective as an unwitting dupe, anyways."

"And are your eyes on our illustrious sire's throne?" Radeyah asked.

"No, and if you'd care to heed a bit of unsolicited advice, yours shouldn't be either. It's all too true that those most strongly associated with Mr. Johnson's rule will be in for some tough sledding if a change in power does occur. That's only going to be amplified if one of us makes a bid to be his immediate successor."

Radeyah gave Ramiel a canny look.

"'His immediate successor.' Interesting that you should phrase things that way. You have some plans for your unwitting dupe?"

"Kallista could be useful as a stalking horse," Ramiel admitted. "If it comes to that, it might be worth it to reveal ourselves publicly in support of Kallista's ascension to the throne, and gauge the reaction."

"Her head certainly is pointy enough to serve as a lightning rod," Radeyah said with a dry chuckle.

"We should meet again after Sammy's meeting with the Justicar's delegation," said Ramiel with a faint smile. Radeyah simply shook her head in agreement to this and the two Kindred left in opposite directions.

A few minutes after the Toreador had finally cleared the building, a second figure emerged from the shadows, this one grotesquely gnarled in counterpoint to first hidden figure, now come and gone from the premises. Interesting times lay ahead for New Orleans, it seemed, and knowledge would be an invaluable commodity when they descended upon the city, come what may.

[Detritus]

Helena Casimir, Prince of Houston, watched as one of her daughters poured her guest the first glass of this night's 4 am tea. Rare was the occasion when she was not first to be served, but the importance of this particular visitor necessitated the disruption of the usual routine. Tatiana also watched, knowing she would be the last served in this small gathering.

"We are honored that you are able to grace us with your presence at tea time, Justicar Walsh," she said in a demur voice. "I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"Quite so," came the reply, "although I gather from your question that some small amount of doubt entered your mind concerning this," said Arcadian.

And so the battle was joined, with dispatch. Helena knew full well that the Justicar's agents would have already apprised him of their difficulties on their way to the city a few nights ago, and that he knew that she knew. This conversation was going to require an adroit touch.

"It is regrettable what happened to your subordinates," she said, holding out her glass to be served, "but I am afraid that the unfortunate incident occurred in debated lands between Dallas and Houston."

"If you would claim them, you must give surety of passage through them," said Arcadian.

"Of course," said Helena. Little else could be said to that. She sipped at her tea to give her time to think.

"With all due respect, Justicar, my Prince," Tatiana said once her cup was filled, "this is an old discussion. More pressing matters present themselves.

"You cannot possibly believe this story about one of Mr. Johnson's childer attacking a Malkavian," she said to the Justicar. "What possible motive could there be for such an attack?"

Helena made certain that her countenance did not change, but she gave herself a little smile as Tatiana's concern for her fellow Toreador provided a much-welcome distraction.

"The circumstances do seem suspicious," Arcadian admitted, "but suspicion is not proof. Given the serious nature of the charges, a thorough investigation of the matter is warranted."

"But to send a Sewer Rat to investigate the Toreador!" Tatiana exclaimed. "That clan has ever been envious of our beauty and social graces. One might conclude that the choice of such an agent means that the investigation is supposed to turn up something on the Toredaor whether there is anything to be found or not."

"The Nosferatu," said Arcadian, emphasizing the clan's proper name, "are the most adept members of the Camarilla at ferreting out secrets. Surely you are not so blinded by hatred of that clan that you would have forgotten this point, Tatiana.

"Furthermore, I have every confidence in Leo's sense of fairness in this case. It can also be helpful to have the subjects of scrutiny be nudged a little off balance during this sort of investigation. If there is any substance to Miss Drake's complaint," said Arcadian, holding up a hand to forestall Tatiana's protest. "If there's anything to it, the Toreador distaste for the Nosferatu may be the edge that finally allows something to slip. I want every advantage I can get at my disposal, no matter how small."

"Is the participation of the Tremere in the investigation another of these advantages?" Helena asked. "Was it altogether wise to send an elder Tremere with your agent, Justicar? Rebekka can be very decisive in action when it suits her. Has Leo had that much experience in dealing with them?"

"I have every confidence in his ability to remain in control of the situation. The Tremere are stalwart supporters of the Camarilla. Rebekka will remember her place," said Arcadian.

The Justicar gave Tatiana a sharp look when a snort of disbelief escaped her lips. Helena knew there was no love lost there. Tatiana and Rebekka each had the wherewithal to rule Houston themselves, but they schemed against each other as frequently as each schemed against her, and perhaps even more often. She wondered what she would do if the Toreador and Tremere were to ever make peace here.

"I believe what Tatiana meant to say, Justicar, is that the Tremere are a most insular and secretive clan who view the Camarilla as nothing more than a vehicle through which to advance their own interests."

"Are they more self-interested than a prince who would make an entire city's Kindred population to be comprised solely of his descendants?"

"There is that," Helena was forced to admit. A gleefully malicious smile came upon Helena at seeing Tatiana so chastened.

"You might wish that it is Justicar Walsh's agent that gets to the bottom of whatever it is that is going on in New Orleans, Tatiana," said Helena, probing for another opening in which to place her stiletto. "Rumor has it that at least one of Gwynnis's agents has entered the city. I've never had the good fortune to meet any of her childer she has appointed as Archons, but I am given to believe that they can be nearly as precipitate as the Brujah if the situation calls for it.

"Rumor also has it that Prince Vitel has welcomed a sizable entourage recently arrived from Europe to Washington DC. From Paris, to be precise," said Helena, knowing the effect this last line would have.

"Gwynnis is stateside?" Tatiana asked in a breathless mixture of awe and horror.

"If rumor is to be believed," said Helena. "And I am willing to stake my undying existence on this," she continued, gazing at each of her guests in turn, "that the power of her childer is but a candle before the bonfire of her wrath." It took every ounce of her concentration to suppress the memory of the lesson she had received that lent her words such conviction.

"To the continued success of your agent's investigation," she said to Arcadian as she raised her cup in ironic salute before draining it in one gulp.

"Shall one of my daughters freshen your tea, Justicar?" asked Helena once she had licked the last droplets of vitae off her lips after finishing her own cup.

[Detritus]

Anneke left House of Blues with a troubled mind. Such bits and pieces as she had been able to glean so far in her short time in New Orleans summed to a rather unpleasant conclusion. She needed to report what she had found, and a sounding board.

She was annoyed to hear only voice mail on her first call. Leaving a brief message, she went to her next choice.

"Hello, Anneke," said a female voice with a moderate French accent.

"Bonnie," said Anneke. "You are well? You are in Washington?"

"Yes, we have been received by Prince Vitel, and Pontifex Dorfman as well."

"And is Gwynnis with you?" Anneke asked.

"No, I am here with Dee Dee, but Gwynnis has seen fit to have one of her stand-ins make an appearance here in Washington. We traveled all the way from Paris like this. The Prince and Pontifex have been apprised of that particular situation," said Bonnie.

"Do you know where she is?"

"You know how she operates, Anneke, when she goes to ground, you don't find her unless she wants to be found. I would wager she is much closer to you than me, however," said Bonnie.

"I suppose you are right," Anneke said with a sigh. She had expected no other answer, but had hoped she was wrong. A wondrous and terrible thing at times, hope.

"There are agents of Justicar Walsh in New Orleans, apparently sent down to investigate claims of malfeasance between a Malkavian and one of the Prince's brood. They are visiting her haven tonight, before sunrise. There are no fewer than five Kindred that the regulars here have not seen except in the very recent past. Perhaps as short as a few days ago, no longer than a few weeks. They very well could have been Embraced but recently."

"Go on," said Bonnie after Anneke had paused to gather her words.

"When my traveling companions and I presented ourselves to Prince Johnson, one of Walsh's agents made mention of an encounter with a pack of Kindred led by a supposedly renegade Tremere named Lucian. The choice of words may have been coincidence, but I believe this group of Kindred is quite large."

"A Sabbat war party?" asked Bonnie. "Do you have any evidence to back up such a conclusion?"

"Nothing so definite, but there were most likely two Tremere at our presentation. I recognized Rebekka immediately, and am certain she recognized me as well. She had a younger associate with her, too, or so I assume. Thankfully she kept her own counsel concerning my identity, as did my grandchilde."

"Indeed? Rebekka is in New Orleans? I thought she was still in Munich."

"Not for some time, apparently. She was visibly upset at mention of Lucian's name. Few things I can think of that would crack her composure, but a Tremere antitribu lurking about would be one of them. Tremere typically don't defect to become Anarchs."

"No, they don't," said Bonnie. "There is more?"

"Yes, apparently one of the newcomers provoked one of Walsh's agents, a headstrong young Brujah, into a near-breach of the Masquerade. It is a typical Sabbat ploy to compromise the Masquerade as a prelude to an assault on a city."

That lesson had been learned at great cost in Detroit. An unbidden memory made its way to the surface of Anneke's thoughts. Had it really been nearly a quarter century since Sidana had met the Final Death during Devil's Night mayhem?

"Were they working together?" asked Bonnie.

"I don't know," said Anneke. "Only one of Walsh's agents is an Archon. I had a chance to read him briefly. He at least I do not think is a double agent. The girl on the other hand... I do not know."

"And what of the anarchs in the city?"

"They do seem to have some sort of filial concern towards the girl, but only in the manner that Brujah often exhibit. I would not suspect anything so untoward about them were a Masquerade breach not in play."

That at least would be different than in Detroit. She had had everything she could deal with when half the Detroit anarch population had come in on the side of the Sabbat.

"If it comes down to a War Party plus turncoat anarchs, will you be able to handle them all by yourself?" Bonnie asked.

More memories of Detroit floated to conscious thought. The prince and half the primogen council had been assassinated before anyone realized what was going on. The Chantry lay in flaming ruins by the time any coordinated resistance could be mustered.

It had not taken much longer for it to turn into a rout in which panicked Camarilla Kindred fled the city to keep their skins whole while she and Sidana had fought a desperate rear guard action to buy them time. Sidana's tale must have run to nearly three dozen enemy Kindred slain before she met her Final Death, more than thrice Anneke's own tally, a fact that still brought her shame to this night.

"Anneke?"

"I don't know," she answered in a small voice. Not a very good answer, but, 'I'll try my best,' seemed a wholly inadequate reply, too.

Collecting the fragments of her self-possession, she said, "if you hear from Gwynnis before I do, you must inform her of these findings. I must hang up now, my free time has run out."

"Au revoir, Anneke," said Bonnie before she disconnected.

Turning to head to the meeting place, she gasped as she ran into a what felt like a solid wall.

"We may still have a minute to spare," said Crusher with a crude leer as he offered a hand up, "if you don't mind spending it with me."

[Detritus]

"Why am I here, Camille?" a gruff voice said behind her. "Why am I back in New Orleans?"

Camille jumped, taken off guard as she walked towards her haven, engrossed in the thoughts spawned by her meeting with the witches. She had put out her call as soon as the meeting with Ramiel and the others had ended, unsure of the result until the object of her summons had arrived. Clearly Roman had not gone too far afield from New Orleans.

"It is good to see you again, too, Roman," she said. Roman's face hardened in reply.

"Of course, no need to waste time with pleasantries," Camille said. "Right down to business."

On the verge of continuing, Camille paused and took in Roman's stern visage. This was going to be even trickier than she first thought.

"Did Anastasia return to the city with you?" she asked.

"No, why would she have, unless you called her too?" Roman said.

There was that, at least. The time may well come for a call to Anastasia, but not yet.

"It's Jocelin," she said, "she's in some fairly serious trouble. A near miss of a Masquerade breach, to be precise. It happened earlier tonight."

Roman's look became guarded, his tone agitated, almost defensive. "What does she expect me to do? Or you?"

"You are unhappy to have news of her?" Camille asked.

"No, it isn't that," Roman said after a moment's thought. A disconcerting shrewdness entered his gaze. "You wouldn't reveal carefully hidden abilities just to tell me about a near miss. There has to be more."

Camille knew she had been unable to completely mask her surprise at this answer. A pity that Roman toed the Gangrel party line about remaining aloof in Kindred politics, and it was far from the first time that the thought had occurred to her. He had a surprising knack for seeing around corners. That was perhaps his sire's greatest failure, the inability to convince him of the necessity and even desirability to remain connected to Kindred politics, however tenuously.

"There have been... entanglements in the aftermath of the cleanup," she said. "Sabine and Ramiel did their part, as did a Tremere elder from Houston, Rebekka. The elder will make a power play, of this I am certain." No need now to go into how she was so sure of this.

"Those are your games, Camille, not mine, and not Jocelin's, either. Ramiel may be a conniving bastard and the Warlocks tools of the devil himself, but that just doesn't matter to me, and I don't think it matters to her."

"You are right about yourself, actually, but not for the reasons you think," she said. "Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, the simple fact remains that all those within the city at the time of the incident incurred a debt to those who helped conceal or erase what mortals should never have seen. You fall outside that web of obligation, however, and this is a potent advantage for you in the current political climate of New Orleans. Jocelin's situation is more complicated."

"It's only as complicated as she makes it," said Roman, his patience obviously wearing thin. Camille shook her head.

"The coverup isn't the only entanglement I was talking about, Roman. Jocelin returned to the city as part of a coterie of the Malkavian Justicar's agents, including one of his archons. After a mistake this big, there is no hope for her to be able to blithely wander off and wash her hands of sect politics this time. None."

Roman recoiled slightly from the deliberate forcefulness with which she delivered that final word.

"What would you have me do?" he finally asked, more subdued this time than last. Camille felt relief once she realized that Roman was beginning to understand that he had a role in "her games," whether he liked it or not. The hardest part was over, but there remained work left to do.

"Have I again become responsible for your actions, childe, when I did not see? What do you think you should do?"

A spasm of rage crossed Roman's features for an instant. He stifled the angry retort that was undoubtedly about to pass his lips through sheer exertion of will.

"Will you at least tell me what she, and I, apparently, are up against?" he asked once he was back in control.

"There's some trouble with Sammy, something about an altercation with Demetrious," Camille said. "I think the Justicar's agents are going to pay her a visit. Maybe later tonight. She may have an inconveniently large number of friends to back her up in whatever plot she's hatching."

No reply came as Roman tried to assimilate all that he had just learned.

"Does she know how you feel about her, Roman?"

Roman answered, voice flat and face impassive, save for the murderous light that shone in his eyes.

"No, she doesn't, Camille, and if I find that she learns of it from you, that will be the last mistake you ever make."

"It is not my place to say, of course," she said, making conciliatory hand gestures. "You can still go to her, though. She needn't know why, or how you knew, if you so choose." And he needn't yet learn of what other of her abilities she still held in reserve.

Roman continued to stare daggers for a long moment before giving a brusque nod and leaving without another word.

Camille sighed at what she had just done. What she had had to do, really, though hell if she knew how to convince Roman of the necessity. The Barrens were no decent place for a Kindred, even those so restless as her clan mates. Besides, he really did have a powerful tool at his disposal, and if he wouldn't take advantage of it, she certainly had uses for it.

That did mean the girl had to stay in one piece, and kept in town as long as possible. The staying alive part could be tricky, especially if Sammy's flightiness was the act she suspected it to be. All the Brujah muscle in the world would be of no consequence if her mistake ended in the disgrace or destruction of one of the Camarilla's finest. Well, overcoming obstacles was still one of the best ways to make a name for yourself, and this one had all the makings to be a real doozy. But how did this variable affect her plans? She closed her eyes and let the wheels start turning again.

[Detritus]

This is concurrent-ish with the discussion at Drake Manor

===================

Sarah took the little blue die out of her Crown Royal pouch and placed it before Rebekka.

"You will make us private," said Rebekka to Sabine. There was no hint of a request in her voice.

Sarah thought that Rebekka had been eager to come to Sabine's haven once Camille had taken her leave of them, but for the moment her Regent was serenity incarnate, willing simply to watch Sabine ward her haven from eavesdropping.

"What are you expecting to hear?" Sarah asked Rebekka.

"Moment, bitte," said Rebekka without taking her eyes off Sabine. Sarah blinked in surprise at the lapse into German.

"You were able to store the conversation between Leo and Anneke?" Rebekka asked once Sabine had seated herself.

"Yes, Regent," said Sarah.

"Play it for us."

Sarah's gaze met for an instant with Sabine's before she set about queueing up the section of interest. What exactly was Rebekka expecting to hear?

After a moment's concentration, she had found what she wanted. At first, there wasn't much of interest in the playback. Anneke was good at Auspex; not exactly an earthshaking revelation for a Toreador to reveal herself as such. Then the first jaw dropper hit.

"As is the tradition, I recite the lineage of Anneke, Toreador of the Sixth Generation.

"My name is Anneke. I am Toreador. My sire is Gwynnis.

"My name is Gwynnis. I am Toreador. My sire is Taliesin.

"My name is Taliesin. I am Toreador. My sire is Arikel.

"My name is Arikel. I am sire of the Toreador. My sire is Zillah.

"My name is Zillah. My sire is Caine.

"My name is Caine. I am he who sired all those of the blood. All Kindred are my childer.

"My name is Anneke, childe of Gwynnis, childe of Taliesin, childe of Arikel, childe of Zillah, childe of Caine. Recognize my lineage."

"So she's 6th g..." began Sabine, wide-eyed, before being cut off by a sharp "Shhh!" from Rebekka.

"I'm afraid I can't have you telling just anyone about this, however," said Anneke before a brief pause, "at least not at the moment.

"You will not, through word or deed, by commission or omission, reveal what I have just told you about my lineage to anyone besides myself or my sire. Nor will you speak of it or even approach the subject where anyone you are not absolutely sure who already knows of it can hear. Until such time as I release you from this bond, or you learn of my Final Death, you will abide by these restrictions to the utmost of your ability."

"Wait, did she just tamper with an archon there?" asked Sarah. Holy crap! Rebekka nodded and raised her hand for continued silence.

Several minutes passed without further conversation. Sarah was beginning to think that that was all there was when Anneke's voice sounded once again. She was giving a detailed report of Samantha's manor grounds this time.

"She couldn't get through to see inside the manor," said Sabine.

"Yes, it must mean a ward, different than the one Sarah saw earlier this week," said Rebekka.

As her companions engrossed themselves in discussion of what they had just heard, Sarah felt a subtle yet insistent compulsion intrude upon her awareness. She had to leave. She placed one hand behind her back and mentally recited a familiar incantation, one of the first she had learned after mastering blood magic. Carefully -- it was important not to alert the others what she was doing.

"But it seems like a huge coincidence that she would have attached herself to Anarchs in LA who had a history in New Orleans, doesn't it?" asked Sabine.

Sarah concentrated once more and felt a rush, as though quicksilver now coursed through her veins. Just as Rebekka was about to answer this last question, Sarah pierced Rebekka's sternum with the stake she had conjured.

"Sarah!" was all that Sabine had time to yell out before she was forced to dodge a gout of flame. Having tipped her host off balance, Sarah ignited the table where the three women were just sitting and dashed out of Sabine's haven.

===================

Rebekka opened her eyes slowly. She saw Sabine standing over her, concern in her eyes.

"What happened?"

"Sarah decided she needed to be elsewhere, and urgently," said Sabine.

"How long?"

"It's been a few minutes," said Sabine. "She set fire to the table, with you slumped over it."

Rebekka closed her eyes again. She was afraid that something like this might happen. Foolish of her to be caught off her guard like that.

"Anneke," she said. "She had to have summoned Sarah."

"But why?"

"She had to realize what she was up against when she couldn't project herself into Samantha's manor. She couldn't be sure that she would be able to summon me, so she went for Sarah."

"Because you would follow her," said Sabine.

"Yes, and now I must, although I think I will just watch for now. I will set the wards this time. Will you watch over me?"

"Of course," said Sabine.

Setting the warding to permit her to make psychic excursion beyond its confines, Rebekka laid herself flat on Sabine's floor and closed her eyes once more.

[Detritus]

Camille walked one final circuit of her haven to make sure of its readiness for the coming sunrise. Having satisfied herself of its soundness, she made to retire for the day's slumber. Her heart leapt into her throat after she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

"Your preparations are as thorough as ever, Camille," said Anneke. "And I thank you for teaching me that trick. It was most useful tonight."

"Anneke? What are you doing here?" Now that the initial shock from Anneke's abrupt appearance was wearing off, she felt herself getting a bit weak in the knees.

"I have need of my servire," Anneke replied. "Is that not reason enough?"

"But... why... why now? Sunrise is coming soon."

"I am well aware of the time, and that is the reason I needed to arrive here now. If you must know, there is a sliver of wood embedded somewhere within my body. I believe it is headed towards my heart. I do not know how quickly it will complete its journey."

Camille was amazed at the dispassionate, almost bored, manner that Anneke assayed to describe her predicament.

"But what can I do about that?" she managed to ask. "It sounds more like you need help from the Tremere."

"I quite agree," said Anneke, "and I suspect that at least two of them are on their way here right now."

"You Summoned Warlocks and then came here?!"

"I deemed it necessary, yes," said Anneke. "There may be... awkward questions," she said, perhaps showing some pangs of remorse for putting Camille on the spot. "If you apprise Rebekka..."

"Wait, Rebekka is coming here?!" Good God, what was going to happen to her once Rebekka found out that she, Camille, a mere Gangrel ancilla, had ties to someone who was likely one of the most powerful archons in the Camarilla? And she was about to find out where her haven was.

"Yes, I believe she will be best equipped to handle the situation. Please do not interrupt me again, I do not know how long I have before... being rendered inert."

Anneke winced after this last statement. The splinter would reach its target all too soon, it appeared.

"As I was saying, there may be awkward questions concerning my presence here, but once you make Rebekka aware of the situation, you should be able to set them aside for a while. She has her own obligations that will compel her to do right by both of us."

That was barely reassuring, although she welcomed any source of comfort at this point.

"When will they be arriving?"

"I don't know. Soon. Rebekka will actually be following one of her underlings, I suspect. The girl with the bright hair."

Anneke seated herself on Camille's bed and continued in a softer voice.

"You should also know, I have just come from Samantha's. I think it is very likely that Mr. Johnson's rule in New Orleans is in jeopardy, as is the very existence of Justicar Walsh."

"What happened?"

"I cannot say, as I was forced to take mist form to delay any possible adverse effects from the splinter inside me, but..."

And then further speech died in Anneke's throat, the arrow having finally hit bullseye.

[Detritus]

Rebekka found Sarah just in time to see her casually approach a parked car and open the locked driver's side front door with a flick of her wrist, just as if she had the key. She managed to start the car on her second try, and then sped away from Sabine's neighborhood. Unencumbered by the limitations of her body, Rebekka had no trouble keeping pace with the car.

At first, Sarah headed toward and beyond city limits, in the direction of Samantha's haven. About half way through the trip, she abruptly changed course, back into the city. After a bit of dithering, she approached a gated compound filled with duplexed town houses.

"That sounds like she's going to Camille's," said Sabine after Rebekka explained what she had seen.

"Indeed?" said Rebekka.

"I'm pretty sure. If it's Anneke who's summoned Sarah, where does she know Camille from?"

"There is only one way to find out," said Rebekka. "Shall we go?"

Sabine nodded, and Rebekka released her wards. On her way out, she picked up Sarah's Crown Royal bag. A wayward childe might need her toys taken away for a while.

[Detritus]

Sarah pulled up to the gate and scanned the directory by the intercom. She gave Camille's unit a buzz once she found her name amongst the list. She had not expected it to be her giving the call.

"Yes?"

"It's Sarah. What the hell am I doing here?"

"Please come in. I'll explain when we meet."

The gate opened. Sarah felt for a direction to drive, and then turned to the left once inside the compound. Soon she was parked and headed towards Camille's unit. She saw Camille waiting for her at a side door. To her amazement, Sarah realized that the urgency to meet with her summoner did not abate once she reached the door.

"Not much further now," said Camille, beckoning for Sarah to enter her haven. "I take it you're alone?"

Sarah nodded and followed Camille inside. She found herself in tastefully appointed living quarters, but barely noticed the decor above her distraction to meet with her mystery summoner.

"We'll skip the tour for now," said Camille. "This way," she said, and opened a door at the end of a short hallway.

Sarah stopped short once she saw who it was that rested on Camille's bed. She had been the object of a summons from Anneke?! Oh, fuck. Could she possibly know that they'd been spying on her tonight?

"Surprise," said Camille. "You should see the look on your face," she said with a smirk. "It sure scared the hell out of me when she showed up here, I will say that."

Her sense of urgency gone, Sarah stood irresolute, still trying to come to terms with what had just happened to her. It was then that she realized the manner of her flight from Sabine's haven. She had staked Rebekka! Sarah began to grimace in mortification.

"Can you tell what's wrong with her?" Camille asked.

Sarah walked over to Anneke, closed her eyes, and placed a hand on her chest. After a moment, her lips curled into a grin.

"She has been stabbed with a Morgûl stake. It is beyond my ability to heal. She needs elder medicine."

Camille gave Sarah a blank look for a moment before replying.

"She thought that she needed help from the Tremere. She just showed up from Samantha's and said that a piece of wood was lodged inside of her and was headed towards her heart. Then I think it got there just before you arrived. Does any of that ring a bell?"

"Sort of," said Sarah, once again serious. "But if it's what I'm thinking of, it usually takes hours, if not days, for the splinter to reach its target." And just who would know how to do that besides the Tremere? she wondered.

"Would Rebekka know how to do it, or to fix it?" Camille asked in a soft voice.

"Probably," said Sarah, "but I have to admit I don't know for sure."

"Should we call her?"

"Yeah, we'd better," said Sarah. Dread started to press upon her when she thought of seeing her Regent so soon after putting the stake to her, but Sarah dialed up Rebekka, as duty dictated.

[Detritus]

"Hello, Sarah."

"Regent, I am at Camille's haven."

"Yes, childe, Sabine and I are on our way. To whom do we owe the pleasure of this late-night escapade?"

"It was Anneke, Regent," answered Sarah, but she was sure that Rebekka already knew if she was on her way to Camille's.

Sarah heard Rebekka let out a sigh before she responded. "I was almost certain it was she."

"I'm... sorry for what I did on my way out of Sabine's. I owe both you and her an apology."

"Thank you, childe. We will set the matter aside for the moment. Do you have any idea why Anneke summoned you?"

"A Shaft of Belated Quiescence," said Sarah in a low voice. "Except... the quiescence wasn't very belated in this one. It sounds like she was pricked no more than half an hour ago."

Rebekka considered that for a moment.

"Even a near miss would have taken hours to reach the heart," she said. "Peculiar. Very well, we will arrive shortly, and then we will see what we see."

[Detritus]

Sabine followed Rebekka into Camille's haven. Camille pulled her aside once Sarah began to lead Rebekka to Anneke.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Camille asked in hushed tones.

"Not really," said Sabine in the same soft voice. "We were all at my haven. One minute, everything is normal, and the next, Sarah gets the sudden urge to leave. She staked Rebekka before she left."

"You don't say," said Camille, turning to look the direction that Rebekka and Sarah went. "I would not have dreamt she had it in her to do something like that."

"Did Anneke say anything to you?" asked Sabine. She noticed a subtle change come over Camille's demeanor. She was nervous. That was understandable given the numerous late-night visitors to her haven, Sabine supposed. But what was she hiding?

"She implied that she already knew Rebekka, maybe that Rebekka owed her one."

"Hmm, that's interesting," said Sabine. And very unlike Rebekka, from everything she had heard. She had the reputation of being someone very difficult to entangle in prestation debts. She had certainly gotten the drop on most of the city's Kindred after Jocelin's unfortunate explosion.

"Come on, let's go to the bedroom," said Camille. "It's where Anneke is," she said in response to an arched eyebrow from Sabine.

"Maybe later," Sabine said with a sly grin, receiving only a roll of the eyes in response.

Upon their arrival, Sabine saw Rebekka fingering the scarred and burnt area around Anneke's glass eye. It was a delicate probe. Tender, Sabine would have said, if such a description could ever apply to an elder of her clan.

Sabine focused on Rebekka's eyes. There was genuine feeling there, she was sure of it. Camille seemed to only have eyes for Anneke, but Sabine thought that Sarah was eyeing Rebekka a bit curiously herself. She looked more closely at Anneke's features, and then back to Rebekka. Back and forth. If that burnt area were smoothed out and colored like normal...

And then a revelation came upon Sabine. It wasn't a debt that brought Rebekka here tonight.

"You're sisters!" Sabine exclaimed. She flinched at the gaze Rebekka turned on her, momentary but blazing hot, before she lowered her eyes and nodded. Amazement registered on the faces of both Camille and Sarah.

"Yes, and now my sister has need of me," said Rebekka. "I am afraid I must prevail upon you to give us all shelter for the coming day, Camille. We will need to get an early start if we are to finish with enough time for us to relocate tomorrow. You are welcome to participate if you wish, you will not need any familiarity with Thaumaturgy for you to do so tomorrow night."

"Will I really be any help?" Camille asked.

"Yes, you will," said Sabine. "Maybe not as much as a Thaumaturge, but more strength of body and mind is always helpful for this sort of work."

"I should warn you, the purification ritual, it gets rid of all impurities," said Rebekka. "It will have to be done... skyclad."

"I've nothing to be ashamed of there," said Camille, giving Rebekka a look up and down her body. Sabine already knew, they were real, and spectacular.

"Very well," said Rebekka with a ghost of a twist in her lips. "I suggest we retire, we have a long night ahead of us tomorrow."

[Detritus]

Sarah busied herself with the final preparations for the ward that would provide protection during the cleansing ritual. She smiled, an almost involuntary gesture. This was one of her favorite parts of being a Tremere. Although she would not have said so during her breathing days, she was a mere dabbler in the arcane arts before her Embrace. Just under two decades ago, now, and it had been quite an education so far.

"Sarah, please come here, you should see this, too," said Rebekka just as she had finished her work.

Sarah walked over to the side of Camille's bed where a massage table had been set up to hold Anneke during the ritual. She fell in beside Camille, and stifled a jealous prickle at seeing the pale perfection of the Gangrel's body yet again. Rebekka stood at the table's head, and Sabine at its foot.

"I believe I have determined what lent such speed to this particular splinter. Its maker was skilled at Celerity, and was somehow able to imbue the wood with some form of that power. Place your hand on Anneke's chest and concentrate as if you were about to activate your Celerity, but do not actually activate it."

Sarah did as she was instructed and then gave a nearly immediate gasp. The fingers on Anneke's chest felt like they were vibrating at a speed much faster than humanly possible. When she looked at her hand, though, her fingers were perfectly still.

"What do you feel?"

"My fingers feel like they're wiggling really fast, but they aren't visibly moving."

"Yes, that is the resonance that you feel. What else might we conclude about the thaumaturge who made this?"

Sarah closed her eyes to think. It was definitely a magical object, but one imbued with Celerity. Her eyes popped open.

"An Assamite?" she asked. A soft groan of dismay escaped from Camille. She knew it was petty, but Camille's display of vulnerability heartened Sarah. Sabine looked grim, but remained silent.

"Good, good," said Rebekka, although it was a cold encouragement. "It is not a certainty by any means, but speed and magic are both traits associated with the Assamites. We shall have to remain that much more vigilant in the coming days."

"Yes, Regent."

"Are the preparations for the ward complete?"

"Yes, Regent, it just needs to be set now."

"Very well, I will set it shortly. You have all divested yourselves of all objects not of the flesh? You will lose any such things if they are inside the ward."

Sarah and Sabine merely shook their heads yes. Camille gave a little shrug that set off a rippling effect across her torso. Yeah, yeah, they were real.

"You may dance for me another time, childe," Rebekka said to Camille with the arch of an eyebrow. Camille smirked for a reply.

"There is one last thing that needs to be done," said Rebekka, her hands moving to Anneke's glass eye. It began to glow with a soft inner light once Rebekka actually touched it.

"You made that for her?" Sarah said, only half-asking.

"Yes, and I do not wish to have to repeat my work," Rebekka answered. The eye made a moist squelching sound as Rebekka extracted it from its socket.

"What does it do?"

"Another time," Rebekka said with a little smile. She took the eye and wrapped it in a silk kerchief, and then placed it on the dresser, which lay outside the boundary of the ward.

"Take your positions, please," Rebekka said. "The ritual is not complicated, but it will take much longer to complete and require more energy than normal because I must cleanse more than myself."

Camille had taken up position next to Anneke, and Sarah was on the opposite side of the bed, with Sabine between them. They all joined hands, including Camille taking Anneke's left hand. She had insisted on being the one next to Anneke during the ritual. Sarah wondered what exactly the relationship was there; Gangrel usually did not befriend Toreador in her experience.

"Pleasant dreams, childe," said Rebekka, taking Sarah by surprise in the middle of her contemplation of Anneke and Camille, and before she knew it, her Regent's touch had put her to sleep.

[Detritus]

Anneke woke up, naked and on her back. That stirred ancient memories for a moment. She opened her eyes. Her eye, she realized; she was not in possession of her glass replacement. Looking up, she saw an equally nude Rebekka standing over her, looking even more pale than usual, but also pleased with herself.

"You came," she said to her sister.

"Immer und ewig," said Rebekka, her speech a touch labored. "You must know this."

"It is nice to receive a reminder every few decades or so," said Anneke, bringing a little smile to Rebekka's face.

"Did I lose my eye in the end?" she asked.

"A side effect of the cleansing ritual," said Rebekka, shaking her head. "It does not discriminate between foreign objects lodged in the flesh. You would have lost it, had I not taken it out beforehand."

Anneke nodded, and in doing so, found that she was holding someone's hand. Camille's, she learned, after looking to her left. Sabine and Sarah both lay beyond.

"How are they?" she asked, keeping hold of Camille's hand. They did not look any worse for the wear, but even after all this time, an unbreathing Kindred in repose still gave Anneke pause.

"They are no doubt fatigued, but otherwise unharmed," said Rebekka. "They will not waken tonight, but all will be well with them tomorrow evening." An unspoken question formed on her face.

"What was it?" Anneke asked, ignoring her sister's question for the moment.

"A splinter that seeks the heart," said Rebekka. "A venerable and fairly simple ritual, but one enhanced by Assamite work, I would guess. The splinter would normally take days to reach its target instead of minutes."

Without conscious thought, Anneke had let go of Camille's hand and drawn her own to the scarring on her face.

"Yes, I am sorry you had to learn of it in this way, but I fear the conclusion is sound," Rebekka said.

Anneke watched her sister turn her head to Camille, and then back to her, to give herself time to regain her composure.

"Why here?" Rebekka finally asked. "Why her?"

"She is my servire," said Anneke.

"She is bound to you?"

"She is. Given the unusual power structure in New Orleans, I felt it prudent to have an agent here to monitor the situation. She is surprisingly adept at courtly intrigue for a Gangrel."

"Yes, I have already arrived at that conclusion," said Rebekka.

"Have you?" Anneke asked. "Testing the waters, are you?" Rebekka merely shrugged.

"It is unfortunate that I could not give her the Embrace myself," said Anneke.

"Perhaps," said Rebekka, "but if you had, she might not have been able to teach you that which you used to escape your predicament last night."

Anneke considered that for a moment.

"Hmm, you always were the smart one," Anneke said at last. Rebekka gave another shrug, once again pleased with herself.

"She would make a fine Primogen," Anneke said in a soft voice. Rebekka dropped her eyes for an instant before replying.

"That thought had already occurred to me, too," said Rebekka, her voice just as low.

"And has it also occurred to you that Mr. Johnson would never recognize her as such?"

"Yes," said Rebekka in a whisper.

"But you would?" asked Anneke. Rebekka nodded in affirmation.

"Who else would receive such recognition?"

"Sabine, for one," said Rebekka. "And Ramiel, I think. He is of the Prince's brood, but harbors ambitions that Mr. Johnson blocks."

"And what of the Brujah? There are enough of them that they should have representation."

"That is problematic," said Rebekka. "Their natural leaders have defected, it seems. What of those who came back with you from LA yet remain nominally on our side?"

"Uma could one day be an exemplar Brujah Primogen, but she does not yet believe in the necessity of the inner workings of Elysium. I have tried to convince her, but it may be something that only sinks in after a demonstration. We will all be better served if she is in the field for now."

"A leader from outside then?"

"Most likely," said Anneke, "but that leader would have to win over Uma, I would guess. It is the usual plight of Brujah Primogen, to maintain credibility both on the street and in Elysium. May Caine send us the right Kindred for the job."

"Shall we look for this candidate together?" asked Rebekka. "Surely there will be a Conclave regardless of the outcome of the immediate investigation."

"We will have to," said Anneke. "And while we are at it, I shall pray for my eye to grow back."

Rebekka smiled. "In the meantime, let's put your glass eye back."

Anneke returned her sister's smile and motioned for her to lead the way.

[Detritus]

You shut your eyes, mind reeling from the sheer magnitude of Gwynnis' presence. As you struggle to keep from completely losing your mind to this psychic onslaught, a vision comes over you.

It is dusk. You see Gwynnis, wracked with sobs that produce no tears, seated upon the ground. Her golden hair is in disarray, her pale dress torn in several places, and a streak of blood descends from one corner of her mouth, yet these things do not detract from her loveliness. She cradles a lifeless figure, a man arrayed in mail, dark-haired but with no color in his face, an expression of rapture on his features. A graying man in robes of earthen tones approaches her from behind, leaning on his oaken staff as he walks.

Gwynnis does not react to the man's approach, even when he stops within inches of her back. He speaks in a resonant baritone, but his words are soft.

"That is all the time you have to mourn, childe. You must come with me now."

She does not turn at first, but instead makes an effort to regain her composure, an effort only partially successful.

"Gwenhwyfar," the man says, and she finally turns at hearing her name.

"M-M-Merlin?" she manages to stammer, and then draws a ragged breath.

"The Merlin, childe," says the man. "It is a title, not a name. I am called Taliesin."

"Why do you call me child?" she asks, and her tone is commanding despite her distress. "I am a woman grown."

"You are, but the life that woman led is over now. Your new life is but minutes old, and I am your Sire."

Gwenhwyfar struggles to comprehend this, and then looks to the west.

"The sunlight burns," she says, half fearful, half puzzled, "and I thirst. I thirst for blood to feed a ravenous monster in my belly."

"The vulnerability and the appetite will be your constant companions in your new life," says Taliesin.

"My life is over," she says in a broken whisper. She looks down at the fallen knight she holds, and gently brushes some loose strands of hair off his brow. "I loved him."

"And he you," Taliesin says in agreement. "He would have come after you. Best to leave that part of your life behind now, instead of having to do it when he found you."

"I would have let him destroy me! Anything to be released from this!"

"I do not think so," says Taliesin. "It brings me no joy to gainsay you on this point, but by the time he found you, you would have clung to your new life with all the strength you could muster. He would have been no match for you by then."

Gwenhwyfar's sobs return at this statement, and despite his earlier words, Taliesin lets them wind down of their own accord.

"Caledfwlch is yours now," Taliesin says once Gwenhwyfar stops crying. "Its prior wielder has no further need of it."

"My husband," says Gwenhwyfar. "He was my husband."

"He was your husband," says Taliesin. "That part of his life is now finished, too."

"And what need have I of it? I am no shieldmaiden."

"Master its use, and that part of him, of them both, lives on," says Taliesin.

After a moment's reflection, Gwenhwyfar grips the fallen knight's sword hilt, her equilibrium returning.

"Morgaine," she says, a name she invests with great malice, before letting go of the hilt.

"Morgaine will not trouble you further," says Taliesin. "There is no need for her to any more. And no need for you to seek her out. It is an accommodation we have reached with the Lady of the Lake."

"She who bewitched you?" Gwenhwyfar asks in alarm.

"I would not put it quite in that manner," Taliesin says. "She is my Sire, just as I am yours, and I am hers to command. Her true name is Arikel. As you would now reckon, she has waited quite some time to meet you, although it has not been much more than the blink of an eye for her, and now I must take you to her."

With that, Taliesin turns and heads back the same way from which he approached Gwenhwyfar. At first she does not follow, and a woman's voice says "Come," from all directions and nowhere in particular. Gwenhwyfar shivers and tries to forestall the compulsion, but to no avail, and she leaves the fallen knight to follow where her Sire leads.

[Detritus]

Ramiel watched with Kallista as a tall, strikingly handsome man approached them, a woman on either arm. All three wore simple yet impeccably tailored clothing. Who the man was, Ramiel did not know, but he recognized the dark-haired woman in pearls to the man's right, and that made all but certain the identity of the golden-haired woman to his left. He wondered if the rumors about her mortal life were true.

"Good evening," the man said. "Madam. Sir." The women had dropped their hands, freeing the man to make small, precise bows to both Kallista and Ramiel himself.

"My name is Jürgen Strauss, of the clan Tremere, whom Caine has seen fit to rule over the domain of Dallas. As is the tradition, my companions and I present ourselves to the ruler of this domain."

"Meaning no offense, Sire, but you've picked a damnably inconvenient time for you and your... escorts to pay a social call," said Kallista, casting a look tinged with disdain up and down each woman next to Prince Strauss. "A lot has happened in the past week and we don't have much time to figure out what to do next."

"Kallista, I..." was all Ramiel could say before Kallista cut him off.

"You know it's true, Ramiel, and also that things started turning south when out-of-towners started flocking here a week ago. Not that you would do anything untoward, Sire," she said to Prince Strauss, "but unfortunately your arrival is a bit of a distraction."

Ramiel started to say something, then let it go. This would be interesting to watch, although dreams of Kallista the stalking horse most likely died the instant she opened her mouth. Regrettable, but it had really only been an idea.

"I quite agree," the dark-haired woman said in a slight French accent, "although I must point out that it is not only the Kindred of New Orleans who value their time. It is fortunate for you that matters here are so grave, and that our arrival here is not wasted on petty concerns."

"That voice," said Kallista before trailing off. After a few seconds her eyes snapped over to the other woman, who merely smiled. What little color that remained in Kallista's complexion drained from her face.

Still smiling, the golden-haired woman said, "I do not believe this will take very long," to Kallista before turning to Ramiel. "If we may?" she asked him.

"Of course, Justicar," Ramiel said, favoring Gwynnis with a bow much deeper than Prince Strauss had given him.

"Please follow me," he said, and watched the visitors file past a dumbstruck Kallista from the corner of his eye. Honestly, at times Ramiel marveled that she had made it through her mortal days without forgetting how to breathe.

Ramiel reached the War Room in a matter of a few dozen strides and entered to see Mr. Johnson and Radeyah deep in conversation.

"Majesty, we have visitors," said Ramiel.

"Very well, bring them in, but let's make this fast," said Mr. Johnson before Ramiel could step aside. Gwynnis breezed through the door as soon as the way was clear, freezing further speech in Prince Johnson's throat.

"You are displeased to see me," she said with the same smile she had given Kallista.

"Um, no, not at all," Mr. Johnson said as the others entered the room. "It's just that I hadn't expected..."

"Of course not," Gwynnis said before Mr. Johnson could finish. "This is Jürgen Strauss, Prince of Dallas, and one of my agents, Bonnie. I'm afraid the formalities will have to be abbreviated for now, although no doubt there will be time for more elaborate introductions later. I understand that some members of your household are presently incapacitated, and I would see them straightaway."

Mr. Johnson began to look around the room, but Ramiel dropped his eyes before they could meet the Prince's.

"I... yes, yes, I will take you to them," said Mr. Johnson. Ramiel hung back and exchanged a guarded look with Radeyah once everyone else's backs were turned. He saw his concern mirrored in her face. Turning to leave, he saw Bonnie standing in the doorway, looking over her shoulder, a knowing smile on her lips. She left before Ramiel took his first step.

"How did it come to this?" Gwynnis asked in a deceptively mild tone once everyone had reached Demetrious and Adrianne's resting place, a small interior cargo hold. Gwynnis had knelt next to Demetrious, and lifted open one of his eyelids with her index finger.

"Sammy fooled a lot of people," said Mr. Johnson. "Myself included, and it makes me sick to say it."

"It was your job not to be fooled," Gwynnis said, still kneeling.

"I know," Mr. Johnson said in a miserable voice. "I made some mistakes."

"Mistakes? This is a disaster," said Gwynnis, her voice rising for the first time. "Do you know what I think? That it has been too long since you have had to play for your supper. That we have indulged your idiosyncrasies for far too long. That you are unfit for rule."

"Gwynnis, please, be reasonable," said Mr. Johnson in half-pleading voice.

Ramiel watched, transfixed, as Gwynnis lifted a finger to her mouth in a shushing gesture. Then two-inch talons sprouted from her fingertips. An instant later her index finger had plunged through the right eye of Demetrious. His body wasted away at an incredible rate, until all that was left of him was a pile of dust loosely surrounded by his suit. It took Ramiel quite some time to realize he was leaning, weak-kneed, against one of the walls of the hold, and that Gwynnis had risen from her crouch.

"You ask me to be reasonable, when your inattention has brought madness and destruction upon your domain? You are disgraced, my dear fellow, and I see the causes of your unfitness all around me," said Gwynnis. Shards of ice pierced Ramiel's stomach, and for the first time since his Embrace did he truly fear for his existence. He slid to the floor during his effort to quell the panic rising in his breast.

"This deal shall I offer you, that you may continue to rule in New Orleans if you submit all of your line now in the city for execution. Is that not reasonable? Will you sacrifice your brood to continue your rule? I think your effectiveness would increase dramatically without the cocoon of your Get to insulate you from the happenings in your city."

Gwynnis reached out an arm, and suddenly Kallista began to move. Stark terror was written on her face as she approached the Justicar. Clawed fingers grasped her throat, the caress of the angel of death. Ramiel realized that Radeyah was weeping at the same time he felt the dampness on his own cheeks. Mr. Johnson looked around the hold, a wild, hunted expression on his face.

"Would you have me destroy them all just to preserve your station?" Gwynnis asked, contempt dripping from each word. She tightened her grip on his brood mate's neck, and points of blood began to well up around the tips of her claws. Kallista's frantic struggles to release herself from the Justicar's hold ceased, although they had had no effect save for damaging Gwynnis's clothing.

"Would you lay your cowardice, your vanity, bare, open to see for all who care to look?"

"No," Mr. Johnson said at last, unable to meet Gwynnis's eyes. "I would not. I could not," he said, and managed finally to raise his eyes level with the Justicar's. "Please let her go, Sire."

"Good that you finally exhibited a spine," Bonnie said as Gwynnis released Kallista, her claws retracting. She licked thumb and forefinger of her other hand and sealed the wounds on Kallista's neck.

"I believe I have enough blood on my hands," Gwynnis said, "at least for tonight. Although the night is still young," she said after Kallista heaved an undisguised sigh of relief once she had backed out of arm's reach from the Justicar.

"There will be Conclave, to convene on the evening of Easter. You will serve in your present office for precisely as long as it takes for a suitable replacement to emerge," Gwynnis said to Mr. Johnson. "You will have no say in naming, or even recommending, a successor. We will meet tomorrow night at midnight for preliminary hearings. Please make arrangements for it."

Gwynnis left the hold without bothering to listen to Mr. Johnson's reply. For that matter, Ramiel would not have been able to repeat his words even if the Justicar were to have her hand around his own neck. Someone had surely trod upon his grave, but it was his greatest good fortune that it had been done with only one foot.

[Detritus]

This conversation occurs shortly after the PC leaves the aftermath of the battle outside Al's. Technically OOC knowledge but what the hay.

=================

"I guess that about sums it up," said Dee Dee. "Crusher located and with a sizable escort now, Samantha possibly a childe of Don Cruez, Mr. Johnson assassinated, another engagement outside a gun shop. Lots of bloody noses for the Kindred involved in that last battle. I left the parting gift with a female Assamite. The owner of the shop is in critical condition. Yuri is with him right now. Still not sure if he pulls through this one. I was about to Embrace him, but there was an argument with Walsh's archon, so I let it go."

Gwynnis took in her Get's report and thought in silence. Did the Sabbat still think that Mr. Johnson was Prince of New Orleans? That didn't fit with the uncanny tracking of Arcadian's agents. And how on earth had Crusher been careless enough to let some of his Regnant's vitae fall into Sabbat hands? That raised more questions than it answered, to her mind.

"You aren't upset about my taking the initiative on Al, are you, Sire?"

"No, that's the least of our concerns right now." Gwynnis let out a sigh. "I'm sure Rebekka would have understood, but Arcadian's man did just lose his Regnant."

"Yeah, and that had nothing to do with overly stiff-necked adherence to the Traditions, I'm sure." There was surprising bitterness in Dee Dee's voice.

"Yes, and I'm quite certain this has nothing to do with your fast-tracking yourself for a Get of your own."

"What? I wouldn't have touched this guy with that spear of yours, except that he could be the second arms connection we've lost tonight if he doesn't recover from his injuries. I don't think this is a coincidence."

"Very well, we will take up the matter when I have returned to New Orleans. A 330 meeting? I think I can have the Councilor on my plane by 200, now that I can give her a focus for her work. You are sure that there are no witnesses loose from either incident tonight?"

"As sure as we can be for the hit on Mr. Johnson, but you just never know. The other battle took place in a pretty tough neighborhood, I think people keep their noses down when the shooting starts there. I'll have another look around the area when I'm done here."

"We are done. I have already kept Meerlinda waiting too long. I will see you before sunrise," said Gwynnis, and then hung up her phone.

"Forgive the interruption, Councilor, but I have just received word from New Orleans. One of my agents was able to wound one of our enemies, an Assamite, in fact. Carnwennan will serve as our beacon."

"You are certain that you wish to walk down this path?" asked Meerlinda. "Are your childer not of sufficient ability to thwart this attack?"

"They, and the new Prince, are all very capable, as you well know, Councilor. But it is far easier to sow discord and chaos than to clean up after it. Tonight's actions will be but the first of many before the main assault. We both know this. I mean to quash our enemies, to cut out the heart of their leadership as fast as I can."

"The day awaits each of us when we must return to the nether shore. Even thou, stepdaughter of Avalon. Does hatred for our enemies drive you into rash action?"

"Does fear of our enemies keep you from acting at all? I'm the one who's going to be at the sharp end of knife."

Meerlinda's lips compressed and her eyes tightened. Just as her lips parted, Gwynnis averted her gaze, but with a purpose. Her eyes landed instantly on what she sought, an age-darkened harp with three rows of strings. She had spotted it with a glance upon first entering the room and had not looked at it since, until now.

Gwynnis felt Meerlinda's hesitation and closed her eyes. She kept her face smooth, but smiled inwardly, remembering fondly how she had carried that same harp on her back for an entire journey on foot from Venice to Vienna. It had been a gift to Meerlinda, one of the first triple harps to make it beyond Italian lands. She and the Councilor were two of the three people who remembered how the triple harp had become the Welsh harp, after the Thirty Years' War. How they had made it the Welsh harp while they brought the British Isles once and for all under the umbrella of the Camarilla.

"Your hands have always had a deft touch with my strings," Meerlinda said, voice rueful, in the direction of the harp. "I should do well to remember that you have been Kindred as long as any two of the Seven. We will go to New Orleans together."

After they both stood, Gwynnis moved to the Councillor and took her by both hands. "Neither should you forget that there are no other hands I would rather have on the knife than these," she said, and gave Meerlinda's hands a brisk shake. She had forgotten just how tall the Councilor was, nearly a head taller than Gwynnis herself, but in the time the thought had occurred Meerlinda's self-possession had returned.

"We will see if you give the same answer after we have finished," the Tremere Councilor said with a look down her nose, until the corners of her mouth began to turn upward in a smile that softened her stern expression. Gwynnis laughed, delighted to see that her old friend had finally decided to appear, and allowed herself to be led out of the room.

[Detritus]

((The timing of this conversation should be evident in that in coincides with Jocelin's destruction and the Justicar's encounter with blackfire in the "Beware the Violent Welsh" thread.))

Sarah stopped inches away from the ward, holding the box of ammunition that Jocelin had given her. The five inside the pale dome lay deathly still. They all seemed at peace, even Jocelin, despite what had happened to her earlier tonight. If the elders could find her quickly enough, she thought that Jocelin would be OK, but if they didn't... Rebekka had not thought to make the Deep Umbra part of her education, but the bits she had heard rumors about froze her unliving marrow.

"You're worried about her, aren't you?" The speech was soft, but Sarah still gave a start, surprised that someone had come up next to her. She turned to see Antoinette gazing into the ward, a subdued expression on her face.

"Yeah," was all Sarah could manage in reply. It was a wary word. Antoinette had known Jocelin a lot longer than she herself had.

"I guess you're worried about her, too."

Antoinette lowered her head without turning towards Sarah, although her eyes did flick sideways at her for an instant. She closed her eyes and nodded. After a few seconds, she went back to looking straight through the ward.

"What's happening to her?"

"I don't know. I'm not really sure even what could happen to Jocelin. I think if the others find her, she shouldn't be too much the worse for wear, though."

"The only reason she's out there in the first place is because of them," Antoinette said, turning to Sarah for the first time. After a few seconds, she turned back towards the ward. "Because of her."

Sarah followed Antoinette's smoldering gaze, and turned to look at the Justicar. The memory of the harrowing blindness that had come upon her in that first meeting with Gwynnis forced her to close her eyes with its intensity. Turning back to Antoinette, Sarah opened her eyes to find the Brujah's glare trained on her.

"I didn't send her on this mission, Antoinette. Please don't take your anger out on me. I don't want any harm to come to Jocelin, but..." Sarah struggled for a way to frame her next words in such a way to keep the legendary Brujah temper from exploding on her. "I think it was a penance, kind of, to help make up for what happened last week."

"What the fuck are you talking about? That blonde bitch isn't a nun." Despite her best efforts, Sarah could not prevent a touch of heat from entering her reply.

"No, she's a lot more powerful than that. A Justicar was destroyed on Jocelin's watch, and it was her screw-up that set the conditions for Samantha to be able to wrangle a meeting with Arcadian. Gwynnis would have been well within her rights to summarily put Jocelin to the Final Death as soon as she could have gotten her within reach. I think part of the reason she was tapped for this mission was for a chance for her to atone for that mistake."

"Those are idiot elder rules. There was no reason for Walsh to meet with Samantha because of something Jocelin did. She could have skipped town and let them figure it out."

"That's not how they see it!" Something that felt like pebbles fell along Sarah's leg, and she looked down to find that she had crushed the box holding the ammo, which now leaked out of its ruined container. She threw it down in disgust.

"Are you too busy being pissed off at elders just because they're old to have failed to figure out the first goddamn thing about how they operate? If she would have run after the meeting, it would have been her ass after Walsh died. It was a big fuck-up. I was there, I had to put the stake to Jocelin to keep it from being even worse than it was. It would have been worse for Walsh not to have shown up after that. If one of your envoys attacks the envoy of the other side, you can't just brush that aside!"

Antoinette opened her mouth, but Sarah didn't give her a chance to interrupt her tirade.

"Do you really think that Jocelin would have had any a chance if she had run? Walsh was going to meet with Samantha no matter what, and he bites it no matter what, I'm guessing. That means Gwynnis and her brood show up here no matter what. Do you think Jocelin could have kept Anneke from hunting her down? Or Dee Dee? Or the two of them and Gwynnis together? Hell, with a little memory reading, they could have learned just enough about her to just sit here and Summon her to return, and she would have had to do it.

"And then what? If Jocelin goes on the run and Walsh bites it a day or two later, do you really think they would have cared which order it happened in? Did you not see Gwynnis use the sheer force of her presence to send the Prince of one of the largest cities in the country to torpor? Did you miss her blinding me in that meeting? As good as Jocelin is with that katana, I don't think she would have stood much of a chance if the Justicar would have lowered the boom on her."

[Detritus]

((The conclusion, since I wasn't able to rein in this piece until it was nearly 11,000 characters in length.))

"Your voice is carrying, childe." Sarah whipped her head around to see Rebekka standing in the doorway leading out to the mansion's entryway. She managed to clamp her jaws shut with an effort, then took an involuntary step backwards when the Prince's expression hardened.

"And you will not strike someone while her head is turned." Sarah looked back at a snarling Antoinette, her feet now perhaps six inches off the ground.

"We will discuss matters as adults, or I shall have no choice but to send you to your rooms. Without supper." Sarah saw a momentary twinkle in the Prince's eyes, swiftly replaced with seriousness once she released Antoinette from her hold. She stumbled in her landing after her abrupt release. Sarah thought that Rebekka might have given gravity a bit of assistance.

"Setting aside Sarah's overexuberance, she is correct on the essentials concerning Jocelin's plight. From the moment she lost control and attacked Heather at that initial meeting at Jackson High, a meeting between between Miss Drake and Justicar Walsh was all but inevitable. Had Jocelin taken flight, Mr. Johnson would have been in no position to refuse telepathic contact with Gwynnis or one of her agents. Nor do I suspect he would have been the least bit unwilling to make such contact after Arcadian's demise, and after that, a Summons for Jocelin would have swiftly followed."

Sarah watched Antoinette struggle with the Prince's words, then dropped her eyes when the Brujah glared at her. She did feel sorry for her, but Sarah knew that she had been correct even before Rebekka had backed her up. Having been Caitiff for most of her existence, perhaps Antoinette really didn't know how to keep score in political disputes, but still, it was pretty easy to get a read on this one.

"Maybe you're right," Antoinette finally muttered.

"There is no maybe about it," the Prince replied. "I said as much myself as soon as it happened. You may question Jocelin about it at your leisure if you are not willing to take my say so on the matter."

It was Antoinette's turn to retreat a step from the Prince, sensing the menace in Rebekka's chill tone and stern eyes. Sarah tried to will Antoinette into letting the matter drop here, and swallowed a sigh of relief at her sullen nod of acquiescence.

"Very good. We will not speak of this matter further." Eyeing the spilled contents of the now ruined box of ammunition, Rebekka floated a single round to her hand. "These work better if fired from..." and then she cut off.

"Jocelin!" Sarah turned to face the ward at Antoinette's cry. She watched, stunned, as Jocelin's body began to turn translucent. Suddenly, the Justicar's eye dropped out of and rolled away from Jocelin's now wraithlike form.

"What's happening to her?" Antoinette demanded. She began pounding against the ward.

"That won't help," Rebekka said, seizing Antoinette's arms. "You will only injure yourself if you do that. Jocelin has taken grievous injury, I'm afraid. Perhaps the others have not yet found..."

The Prince's words were once again stopped short when the Justicar's sword began to glow bright as the midday Sun. Then the luminance flared outwards until it enveloped all who lay within the ward. A chunk of the brilliant aura vanished, as if overlapping with a globe of utter darkness. Then the halo was gone, the sword flew out of the Justicar's hands, and Gwynnis was covered head to toe with some kind of charring, though her skin did not seem to be burned.

"What..." Sarah said, trailing off. She had to pull her jaw shut once more.

"Blackfire," said Rebekka, sounding as if she were coughing to dislodge the word from her throat. Sarah gasped, and had to lean against the ward for support.

"What's that?" Antoinette asked. Sarah was impressed that her voice was so steady.

"It is grave peril," Rebekka replied, releasing Antoinette's arms. "All those with the Justicar are in mortal danger." The Prince's eyes went to the sword lying just beyond Gwynnis's outstretched arm.

"With luck, she managed to dispatch her attacker." Sarah thought that Rebekka was trying to call the Justicar's sword to her, but the blade lay unmoving. The Prince let out an exasperated sigh.

"The key to opening the ward lies within, yet it is out of my reach. The Councilor's warding is impeccable."

"You can't get it?" Antoinette asked. "What are we going to do?"

"All we can do here is watch, and wait. None of the others have fallen to blackfire, though, so perhaps there is still hope." Sarah turned at the tightness in Rebekka's voice, and saw something she had rarely seen before on her face. Worry. Sarah sank to her knees and picked up one of the rounds Jocelin had given her.

"Jocelin gave these to me to make into Dragon's Breath rounds, but... I don't know how."

"It is a relatively simple enchantment," Rebekka said, her face and voice once again smooth. "Gather the rounds you wish to enchant, and I will instruct you." The Prince looked into the ward one last time, then turned to Antoinette.

"We will be in the kitchen. Please let us know if anything else happens within the ward. And I urge you to consider carefully what we have told you about Jocelin's situation. She will require patronage stronger than that a mere Prince can give her, even one who is the host of a Conclave, and if she survives whatever has happened to her, perhaps she will have earned it. Just as importantly, however, is that she will need her friends."

Sarah rose as Rebekka was turning to go to the kitchen when Antoinette took hold of an arm.

"Would you save a few of those for me?" Antoinette dropped her eyes after she spoke.

"Sure," replied Sarah, and she put her free hand on top of Antoinette's. The Brujah nodded and pulled her hand away, and turned back to watch the inhabitants of the ward. After her own last look back at Jocelin, Sarah followed her mentor to the kitchen.

[Detritus]

"If you haven't yet learned, Bonnie, be warned that Gwynnis is missing her eyes presently," said Rebekka.

"Oh? What was that for? Something to do with... Rosalyn?" She had to watch out for that, given how cagey the others had been about mentioning Sidana's name. Funny, she had only been gone from New Orleans for a night longer than her Sire, but apparently that was a very eventful night, and undoubtedly more engaging than having to listen to Prince Casimir's complaints at tea time.

"Not directly, no, although the end result was that the Justicar's donor eyes ended up leading their recipients to both Rosalyn and Sidana."

"And who received them?"

"There were four recipients altogether, the three remaining investigators that Arcadian sent from Dallas, and the new Brujah Primogen." Bonnie knit her eyebrows in momentary consternation.

"Curious choices. I find it hard to believe that Gwynnis would consent to make such a personal offering to the Nosferatu. Or Jack, for that matter. I vow, I am mystified as to what either Arcadian or Jürgen saw in him."

"Prince Strauss seemed to find him useful," Rebekka said in a noncommittal tone. "Those choices cannot be unmade, but I believe the recipients of the eyes had enough of a personal stake in matters here to be worthy donation vessels."

Bonnie eyed the Prince askance. Worthy donation vessels? Rebekka had been one of the first Kindred outside the Toreador clan that she had spent any significant time with, but her clinical turns of phrase still caught Bonnie off her guard every once in a while.

Casting back in her memory, Bonnie recalled how at first she hadn't even realized that Rebekka was Tremere instead of Toreador, in her first weeks as Kindred in Paris. Then there had been the ritual, and the move to London that preceded it. Lammas Night, 1940, Bonnie's first trip to Glastonbury, and it was there that she had first met Sidana. And Meerlinda, and Etrius, and other Tremere besides. And Anneke, too, she could not forget. Deeds both great and terrible were done that night, when Rebekka had finally demonstrated herself as a mage of no little accomplishment, when Bonnie had finally grasped in full the revelations made to her concerning Rebekka's lineage several months before Lammas Night. Rebekka had held her own, and indeed had been an integral part of a ritual involving two of the ruling Tremere Council of Seven.

That had also been the night when she had learned of her warrior's heritage. She had not believed the strength of Meerlinda's insistence, reported secondhand during the planning stages for Lammas Night, on Gwynnis and her childer being the sentinels to guard them as they worked, and spoke openly of her doubts to Rebekka. Would not Brujah, or Gangrel, or even other Tremere have been better? Then, pretty much all Bonnie could have done was to make sure everyone was well-dressed, but the clothes would have turned neither blade nor claw, or stopped a bullet. Rebekka had merely smiled and said that at Glastonbury she would truly learn what it meant to be a childe of Gwynnis.

And she was right. Bonnie had had her sidearm, but had little to do with it, a blessing she was immensely thankful for. But the others... They had been magnificent. Tireless. Indomitable. Sword, spear, and dagger had been a bristling wall of edges and points that permitted the Tremere to complete their work unmolested by those who would have stopped them. It was a humbling experience.

That Lammas Night ritual had been the only time all of them had been together, the Toreador and Tremere there at Glastonbury. So many of them were gathering again now, including Sidana, apparently, that Bonnie could not help but wonder what it portended. In 1940, at least, the stakes had been apparent, and Bonnie nearly shivered with the thought that a similar threat could be brewing now, save that this one had yet to be identified, not to mention the hand that was the moving force behind this putative threat.

"You have not yet asked the questions you most wish to," Rebekka said, snapping Bonnie out of her reverie.

"I suppose I haven't."

"You were thinking of the first time you met Sidana, were you not? I have been thinking about that night myself."

"What do you think our chances are of restoring her?"

"If she can be brought before the Councilor and the Justicar, I would say chances are excellent. Getting Sidana to them will be a matter of some doing. On that, much will depend on Rosalyn and those who will be assisting her."

"And what about Anneke?" Bonnie asked softly.

"I have been thinking about her, too," Rebekka replied in just as soft a voice. "She took it quite hard when Sidana fell in Detroit."

"When she abandoned Sidana, she would probably say."

"She would, and I do not know how she will react when she sees Rosalyn. In the depth of my uncertainty, I have hesitated even to call her. I must confess, in naming her dux bellorum, I had not considered the possibility of Sidana, or especially Rosalyn, appearing in New Orleans."

"You haven't called her for tonight's council? It will be hard to plan battles if the field marshal is absent."

"Not yet," replied Rebekka, "not without a way to soften the impact of Rosalyn's appearance on Anneke, if possible."

"And if no way presents itself?" The Prince did not reply at first, and Bonnie made a mental start at the look on her face. "You aren't thinking of relieving her of command, are you?"

"No. At least, no more than idle thoughts," Rebekka amended, but there had been a pause. "Gwynnis will not take the field in her condition. You I will need to help with arranging the Conclave. I'm not familiar enough with Dee Dee to assign her any duties beyond those she already holds as Sheriff. There are no others in New Orleans I am willing to task with military command of the city. Anneke remains the best choice to be field marshal."

"They seem quite carefully organized, and thorough, for idle thoughts," said Bonnie.

"It would be foolish to discount the possibility out of hand, but it is not that complicated, Seneschal. And despite all that has passed between us through the centuries, Anneke is still my younger sister. That will never change, though we are no longer of entirely the same blood." Bonnie heard the affronted Prince in Rebekka's voice, and saw it in her eyes.

"Of course, my Prince," Bonnie said as demurely as she could manage, and she supposed that Rebekka was allowed a bit of latitude to worry about her sister. That still did not solve the problem at hand, however, unless...

"I didn't see any spears in the parlor," she said. "If Rosalyn really is a part of Sidana, then she will not be properly armed until she has one. If you or the Councilor conjured her one in a separate meeting, and then we brought in Anneke for a private briefing before main council," said Bonnie, when Rebekka interrupted.

"Then at least that initial meeting would only be in the presence of those most familiar to Anneke," Rebekka said. "That's probably the best we can do with the council time approaching. Well done, Seneschal."

"It wasn't that complicated, my Prince." Bonnie couldn't prevent herself from puckering her lips at Rebekka, who gave a wry grimace in reply before turning towards one of the seemingly innumerable bedroom doors in the mansion.

"Cute. We have arrived at the prisoner's room. You will speak with your sire, and then bring Rosalyn up when we have finished. I will call Anneke and tell her to find us before main council, and we will see what happens. Shall we?"

Rebekka entered the room without waiting for a reply, and Bonnie followed, when the sight that met her drove all thought of Anneke or Rosalyn from her mind.