The Blog of Roon

Commerce, mostly, and lots of it, characterizes Hong Kong. The waterfront is chaos incarnate, and nobody pays any attention to Shirley, Margaret, and Esperanza. It takes a few minutes to find non-cargo transportation, and Esperanza seems to have a bit of difficulty with the language, although she does manage to get the point across.

“I think that they are not all speaking the same—what is the word? Variety? Type?—of Chinese,” she says to Margaret.

“The word is dialect” says Margaret. “And I’ve heard there are a great many of them. China is a huge country.”

“When all else fails, try writing it out, if you can,” Shirley suggests. “I was given to understand by a former client that while spoken dialects of Chinese differ sharply, the writing system is largely the same everywhere.”

“Thank you; I wasn’t aware of that” Margaret turns to Esperanza. “I know you’ve been practicing, but the pictographs are so utterly different from what you are accustomed to—do you think you can manage that?”

–

There is a note for Shirley in Hong Kong, requesting a meeting in Osaka, signed “Colin Ridley, S. Y.” Shirley grumbles something about “bloody cloak-and-dagger foolishness” when he thinks no one can hear him. Esperanza giggles; apparently Shirley’s grumble was not as quiet as he thought. Margaret looks over at him, too. She is twinkling; obviously, she heard him.

Shirley asks at Government House if any additional information has been passed around government circles vis-a-vis the Addison affair. Warnings, alerts, news of additional odd occurrences? He confirms that the contrived labour protest in Malta was indeed instigated by Finnegan at Addison’s behest. No surprise, of course, but it is a certainty now. Also, the Yard has taken renewed interest in Neville-Smythe’s disappearance.

There is a seven-year gap in Mr. Addison’s records. The records from the the last twelve years (1870–1882) are perfectly in order and available. Likewise, records prior to 1862, into early 1863. However, someone is quite intent on concealing records from that seven years. Even the unofficial channels aren’t producing anything.

“Hm. How… curious,” Shirley muses. “Well, he might be concealing a trip abroad or a trip to gaol… but I rather think Stafford and Sheffield is going at this the wrong way ’round, Margaret. No shame to them; they are tradesmen, not police or private investigators. Seven years of concealed records is a bit much. I had rather believe that one document only has been suppressed—a death certificate, dated somewhere around 1862 or ’3. Should that document be destroyed, re-incarnating our Mr. Addison should pose no difficulty at all.”

“In which case the individual in custody quite probably has a record under a different name,” Margaret muses. “I wonder if Addison has any living relatives. It would interesting to learn if they received word of his death around that time… or if they have seen him since ‘Addison’ resurfaced. A certificate can be removed or destroyed or misfiled… but memory is not so easily modified.”

“Nor is a daguerrotype. I wonder if one of the ‘old’ Mr. Addison can be procured? Even allowing for passage of time, I should think Lady Hester and others of Addison’s employers capable of determining whether the Herbert Addison they know is the man pictured.”

“It would also be interesting to learn if the current description of Addison connects him to some nefarious act in the past, under another name.” She gives Shirley an impish smile and a bow. “Well done! It is a simple, elegant solution to an otherwise vexing mystery. I wonder if the Yard has thought of it?”

“I regret that I cannot suggest it to them at this time,” Shirley answers stiffly. “Though I am to visit with an operative in Osaka, it appears that I am not of sufficient consequence for my contact to trouble with leaving me an address at which he can be reached by telegraph. I confess to a distinct sensation of annoyance at this development.”

At that Margaret raises an eyebrow. “I don’t blame you. However, the Yard itself will not have moved, and I daresay any telegram sent there will be read, regardless of to whom it is addressed. If they haven’t the wit to give you a direct means to contact someone, then let them bear the onus of forwarding the information where it will be useful.”

“Ha! Just, indeed.”

“Besides, I daresay any daguerrotype or photograph they would be interested in would be located in England. The idea might actually do the most good in London, although I doubt they’ll give you credit for it.”

He shrugs. “Why should I care for credit? I hardly intend to pursue advancement in Scotland Yard.”

And then she thinks briefly; there might be more to this than pique at being dismissed as of little remaining consequence. “Or would you rather the suggestion came from another quarter, or that they thought of it themselves?”

“As long as they act on it, I don’t care if they think the idea came from Oliver Harris’s bilious canary.”

“From what?”

He chuckles. “Oliver Harris of the Times’s London office has a canary that must be seen to be believed. I have a feeling, however, that Mr. Baxter has tarred me with the idiot’s brush, and nothing I say will be heeded. Well, I can only try.” He extracts a telegraph form from his valise and commences addressing it.

The results of his labours read thus:

POSSIBLE ADDISON DIED 1863 STOP REPLACED BY IMPOSTOR STOP SUGGEST SEARCH FOR ADDISON PORTRAIT BEFORE DISAPPEARANCE STOP ASK HIS EMPLOYERS IF SAME MAN STOP PARAGRAPH ALSO SUGGEST SEARCH WILCOX PAPERS FOR FURTHER CONNEXIONS WITH ADDISON OR FINNEGAN GANG STOP GOOD LUCK STOP SEND ANY ANSWER RIDLEY STOP REGARDS SHIRLEY ADDAM

and will be cabled to Scotland Yard in London before Shirley leaves Hong Kong.

Margaret, reading over his shoulder, nods. “That is all you can do for now, I believe. Shall we be off to Osaka? While I do not particularly care about being first in this race, I confess I shall be somewhat annoyed if we are last.”

“Unlikely. Nobody has yet found poor Neville-Smythe. Yes, we might as well go; I have done what I had to do.”

Shirley has been on edge throughout the journey overland to and from Rangoon, saying little but watching his surroundings with the concentrated attention of a prey animal. His taut anxiety does not diminish until all three are safely aboard the Ceylon Moon, en route to Hong Kong. At which point Margaret breathes a deep sigh of relief. She isn’t sure which is worse; waiting for Addison or watching Shirley wear himself to a thread. She has, however, kept her word and said no more about it, only touching his hand or shoulder lightly to point out an interesting sight as they pass—and not so coincidentally remind him that yes, there is someone who dares touch him now.

The customs lines in Hong Kong are interminable; before joining the line, Shirley purchases back copies of the Times from a stand near the stationmaster’s. As is his habit, he starts from the earliest copy and works forward. The three of them have hardly moved from the rear of the line when Shirley lets out a sharp “Thank G-d! They have him!” He holds the sheet for Margaret and Esperanza to see the headline “Addison Aboard Liner Princess Helen.” Margaret closes her eyes for a second in sheer quaking relief.

“Isn’t this curious,” he remarks, taking in the brief article with a sweep of his eyes. “The liner went down the 10th, must have left the mainland even before that—and we had not even reached Madras then. The Yard has been chasing its own tail; Addison did not wait for me.”

Margaret cranes a little to read over his shoulder. “And she was bound for Chile, not for any place on the Ellipse route. Headed for a place quite outside the direct authority of the Empire… the obvious inference is that of cutting one’s losses and running. I wonder what has happened.”

“Well, the Yard might have convinced him to run for South America,” Shirley says, rubbing his chin, “but I should like to know if the Princess Helen had any stops planned between her point of debarcation and Chile. He might have been heading for Hong Kong or Osaka. Do you think Stafford and Sheffield would be able to find out?”

“I should certainly think so. I’ll send a messenger to Mr. Sheffield as soon as we get through this line, so that he can start making inquiries forthwith. It could be the Yard that chased Addison off your track… or he could have received word from those who sent him that either his interference was no longer necessary, or that they were cutting him off on his own. Or they could have ordered him to try to run. His is the only name the Yard has; if they capture him they may obtain others. Those others may have tried to shield themselves by attempting to make Addison vanish beyond the ken of the Yard. Had the ship not foundered, that might well have succeeded, I should think. But either way, while I am devoutly glad he can no longer pursue us… you, in particular… I am not sanguine that all pursuit is likewise removed.”

“Neither am I,” Shirley murmurs. “I should like to know who is issuing orders. Unless the Dutch are more cooperative than seems likely, it may be a while before friends of our Mr. Baxter and our Mr. Addison can enjoy a tete-a-tete. One last possibility, by-the-bye: Addison may have done his job, whatever it was.”

“True, and I had not thought of it… it was such a preciptate change from the course we had been led to expect of him. I don’t know, Shirley… in a way, this makes me a little more nervous. Now I do not know who we are watching for… and we never have known why.” Without noticing it herself, she has stepped a trifle closer to him.

“Ah, but we know we are playing the endgame, do we not? And we know I am not the crippled king.” In his voice, now quite emptied of fear, vibrates the purr of the hunting leopard. “The lesser pieces are swept from the board; only a bare few are left to play. The opening, my dear, is the game of brute force, and it is over. This is the endgame, the game of skill, the game of mind—and I have played a few such games myself, I have. We shall see. Indeed we shall see.”

“My dear, you are obviously at least three mental leaps ahead of me. Would you please back up and fill me in?”

The predatory gleam dies out of his eyes. “Oh, I know no more than you, really. It is that I now genuinely believe not only that I am no longer center stage—but that I never was. It pleases me; I am accustomed to working unnoticed. Perhaps I shall manage to accomplish something, perhaps not—but I can at least think about it now without worrying that one wrong step will put all our necks in a noose.”

“That is indeed a great relief. We are still in the light as Ellipsoids, but even so there are a number of us, and our opponents are probably no more numerous nor informed than we are.”

“Less numerous, probably. Twelve Britons on the Princess Helen? It cannot be much of a stretch to guess that at least some were Addison’s creatures.”

“Still, I believe I shall remain cautious about approaching our designated check-points.”

“Well, of course!” Shirley sounds surprised that this should need to be said. Another step forward; they are nearly in earshot of the officials now. Shirley lowers his voice. “And an added advantage is that no one has the faintest idea where we are. Whereas we know where Addison is, and I daresay soon we shall have some notion where his superior might be hiding himself. Who knows what telegrams may await us at Government House? I have had worse leads.” He follows the line two steps forward. “I had thought to wire Baxter my resignation. Perhaps I shall wait.”

“I would far prefer that. If you resign, we shall lose whatever information they may share with you.” Unspoken is the thought that they will also withdraw whatever protection they may offer, however slight that may have been.

“Ha! They’ve told me nothing, as you perfectly well know. No, what I need from them is that trifling extra crumb of legitimacy, and that they have already given.”

“Indeed. That was also in my mind. Do you know, my dear, we seem to think much alike. We shall have to see what further information we obtain here, and then try to plan. It would be pleasant to be able to act, rather than react. A defensive position seldom wins at chess, eh?”

The gleam returns, this time a trifle roguish. “Pre-cisely, Belle dear.” He drops the subject; the line is moving faster as they near its head. “Will you and Maria be all right visiting Sheffield on your own? I have odds and ends of errands to do myself.”

“Certainly, but I would prefer to check in at Government House first. If nothing else, any information resulting from the inquiries begun in Madras would be waiting for me there, as well as any word for you from your professional associates.” She gives him an impish smile, adding “You can fill me in—or not—later, if you wish.” Obviously, she is curious, but equally obviously both teasing him and recognizing that certain things might not be her business.

“Yes, of course. Hardly be polite to do otherwise. More convenient, too. And you should have whatever news there is before you see Sheffield.” He is quite in earnest; anything he knows, she will.

“Very well; we shall do that then. And thank you, my dear.”

Shirley gets Margaret and Esperanza to go off on their own (or stay put in Government House) while he runs errands. No difficulty there, as Margaret has promised Esperanza another shopping expedition. Not to mention that Margaret needs to visit the Hong Kong branch of Stafford & Sheffield.

First he wires Lady Hester for money, to await him in Osaka. He then makes his way to the shopping district and strolls the streets stopping at jewelry shops. He has a very clear idea what he wants: a handsomely-carved ring with a moderately-sized, well-coloured sapphire. Diamond accents and an Oriental(ist) style a plus. Nothing garish, of course; a clean design is far preferable. His means are modest—but he’ll spend what he has to; he has some private savings at Home, and what else will he use them for? Margaret ought to have something from him that the girls back Home cannot help but envy.

Shirley finds a ring with a silver band with curves that suggest a wave without actually resembling one. The sapphire is a beautiful deep-sea blue, set at an angle, with diamond accents placed to suggest foam on a wave. It’s at the upper end of his price range, but with a little haggling (mostly accomplished with hand gestures and a bit of translation from the jewler’s small grandson, when he can be distracted from his kitten) Shirley can acquire it for a price that won’t leave him gasping for breath.

The jeweler ties it up in a turquoise brocade silk pouch and hands it to Shirley. The grandson translates his comment, which is “Lady very lucky, heya?” Shirley gives the patented goofy grin of the hopeful lover. A rare sight indeed, and one worth seeing—all of which is lost in the grandson.

Rangoon is peachy-keen-fine—more or less. Father Dean appears to be approximately two years older than God, with none of the benefits of being a deity. When you arrive in his study, he puts down his pen, goes to look for the ledger, realizes that he can’t find his pen, looks for it and picks it up, forgets that he was looking for the ledger, forgets who you are, and upon being reminded, goes through the entire cycle again before you manage to sign in. Also, the token is an odd three-dimensional elliptical item (blimp-shaped), rather than the medallions you have been receiving, as if someone misunderstood the design specifications. Still, he’s very pleased to
make your acquaintance and offers his assistance with… what was it you needed?

Shirley is very patient with him, even kind. He has seen such before; they rarely have long to live.

On the way to hiring your horses, you pass through the market, where a very enthusiastic girl of perhaps ten years is desperate to sell you a basket of frogs. She assures you that they are “Quite fresh and most delicious.” Taste may be open to question, but the frogs are definitely fresh–still kicking, in fact.

I enjoyed this essay on why most slash involves male characters even though I, um, don’t actually read much slash. I think the author’s right on: it’s substantially a power thing.

This bit caught me where I live, though:

If there were ever a universe with two women, each magnificently strong and good at controlling themselves, though with a tinge of hatred that goes deeper than simple surface dislike (a family debt, or class hatred, or something that can’t be written off as being catty for cattiness’s sake), then I’d slash ‘em. Hell, yeah.

Aigh! This means I have to slash Renate and Dorothy Durai! Because that’s their dynamic now to a tee. But, ewwwwww!

With Alan’s usual talent for making everything More Complicated, treacherous Dorothy has managed to irritate even patient Renate past all patience—but Renate has more or less promised to try to bag Dorothy for her Faerie patroness Lyria, and Renate never gives up on a promise. For her part, Renate has been pretty smooth about not letting Durai get a handle on her, which must irk Durai exceedingly.

Which leads us to last night’s Dragonhunt session, a living example of the truism that all rules have exceptions. The rule in question is “never rape a PC,” an excellent rule indeed—but broken (though metaphorically) and intelligently so.

Back in Chapter Two, Renate stole a street gang out from under the non-twitching nose of a vampire named Linetta Jenner. It’s one of the best things she’s ever done, no matter what yardstick you choose—impact factor, audacity, moral courage, coloring outside the lines.

Jenner, however, didn’t take it well, and it turns out she puppet-mastered the vampire murders we’ve been struggling with during the Purgatory tour, purely in order to revenge herself on Renate. During the Eridu concert, she tucked Dorothy Durai out of the way (we’re not sure quite when, and we’re not sure quite how; Dorothy may have been bought off, or she may have been forcibly or opportunistically drugged, or she may have been bit, though I doubt that last) and impersonated her via illusion, pitching a gorgeous Durai-esque temper tantrum that Coris threw Renate at for lack of any better options.

(Exactly how Coris—or for that matter, the real Dorothy—will react to their roles in this little drama I am quite curious to find out, actually. There’s that damn slash again.)

Seeing a dazed, incoherent, pathetic “Durai” on the floor of her dressing room, Renate quite naturally shut the door behind her and went to help, walking right into the vampire’s deadly but irresistibly seductive embrace. She didn’t even have time or will to scream.

Aryk and Rien promptly got medieval on Jenner and took Renate to the Raphaelites for resurrection. They might have done better to let the five minutes elapse that would have wiped Renate’s memory of the event, though. Renate can accept being tricked, can accept being attacked (she invited such an attack at a previous concert in hopes of trapping the culprit), doesn’t think any the worse of Coris for sending her in there—but what she’s going to have a really wretched time with is her remembered enjoyment of the draining. No, she never consented, but is taking pleasure in it some sort of implicit consent? And what does that mean?

This is Dragonhunt canon; vampires create a dreamy, semi-sexual pleasure in their victims, sapping all will to resist. I don’t even want to argue with canon in this case, because it’s a neat coda to Renate’s troubles with her death-wish. (Sex and death; isn’t it just downright literary of us?) She just had that wish fulfilled in glorious fashion indeed. I don’t think it turned out to be quite what she’d hoped.

But wait—there’s more. The real Dorothy Durai staggered out from who-knows-where in the middle of the fight with Jenner—and recognizing Renate’s drained corpse on the floor, actually pitched in, using her bardic gift to keep Jenner from escaping Aryk and Rien. Oh, $DEITY, slash much?

What would really irritate Renate if she knew about it (in my interpretation, Renate’s soul trapped inside Jenner got a hazy impression of events after the draining, but I’m dead sure she missed this) was that Durai called her “Rennie.” Renate has this byzantine, almost Japanese thing about forms of address. Her circle of friends may call her Lady Renate or just Renate, though the latter depends on an explicit exchange of permission to drop titles. (She offers permission pretty freely, but she’s still formal with quite a few people she likes who haven’t given her leave to call them by their first names. They don’t realize they have to, of course, because Renate’s manners are far more formal than is usual in Northrock.)

Coris has settled on “Wren,” which suits her fine. (She calls him “heart” in private, because of the resemblance of his name to the Latin word—I don’t think he’s figured that out, but he hasn’t protested the monicker either.) Only Sabine, Aryk, and Rien get to call her Rennie. (And Aaron, but he mostly doesn’t. Her brother Emil used to have permission but has forfeited it, as I daresay he’ll find out one of these days.)

Anybody else had just better damned well use her proper title. She’s corrected archdemons on this point. Dorothy Durai, of all people, making free with the name reserved for her sister, her adopted brother, and her most intimate friend—well, that’s just beyond offensive.

And, of course, incredibly slashy. Dammit. Grrrrr. As if that weren’t slashy enough, we’ve got a damaged, vulnerable heroine in Renate and a cynical, opportunistic manipulator in Dorothy—with a fully canonical mutual suppressed attraction. The slash just oozes forth.

Resolving the incredible oozy slashiness of it all will have to wait, as Our Heroes have a new problem: another of those annoying Rocks o’ Power has turned up, and we’ve got a three- or four-way race on for it. As usual, Renate isn’t keen on any of the easy answers. If she were, she’d already have signed up with the shadowy “Soleil” (one race entrant) merely because he/she/it is openly and really quite effectively anti-dragon in a dragon-controlled world.

Renate, however, heavily suspects that there’s more to Soleil’s motives than that, and she simply won’t sign on blind. She’s been used by some really talented users just a wee bit too much. If Soleil were mortal, she might be a touch more willing to give him/her/it the benefit of the doubt, because she’s received much generosity from mortals with no expectation of return. Anybody else? Had better lay out cards on the table, dammit, or she’s not playing, because non- and immortals in this game have proven themselves over and over again to be users.

Not that she shuns them; she can’t. Nor does she always turn down a quid pro quo deal, or she wouldn’t have signed on with Lyria. But Renate will always ask questions of a non- or immortal first—and then shoot if necessary.

Come to think of it—nah, Durai’s mortal. One bad apple. No matter how I scrub my brain, though, I can’t get rid of the slash now!

Renate never wanted to be a hero. She wanted to be a sidekick, specifically, her brother’s—and failing that, she wants to raise cattle and kids (the human variety) and lavish love on all the people around her who deserve it.

No ambition, some would say of her. I disagree. She’s got plenty of ambition. Just not the personal kind. I mean, really, if keeping your home safe from the depredations of the meanest damn dragon in the world plus all his badass henchlings isn’t ambition, what is?

I don’t think most of the people she meets manage to read that off her. In a way, that’s good; it’s why the more-Kahanite-than-Kahan Dorothy Durai keeps failing to shove her off course. It does point to a possible weakness, however. The first person or dragon who offers her what she knows perfectly well is her deepest wish could succeed in removing her from the board entirely. I imagine we shall see.

This musing arises because I myself seem to confuse people. Because I’m puppy-dog enthusiastic, don’t mind work in a good cause, and don’t have any speaking phobias, SLIS handed me the “ambitious” tag and I’m still rather boggled about it. Because, c’mon, me?

There’s stuff I’d like to see happen during my career, sure. It’s got jack-all to do with fancy titles, fancy pay, or fancy office space. Everything to do with righting wrongs, kicking butt, and taking names. Fighting the good fights as they come up.

Yeah, I’m almost as corny as my characters. There’s a reason I’ve got Don Quixote on my office bookshelf.

Renate, at her most helpful and compassionate: “I’m sorry if I’m disappointing your death-wish. Believe me, I understand how frustrating that can be.”

Renate has a Grand Plan for chucking a monkey wrench into the Purgatory tour. IM commentary on it from Aryk’s player, Matt:

Matt: Would we actually be able to get them to do that? Because if we could that would be hilarious!
DorotheaSalo: dunno
DorotheaSalo: we’ll see how persuasive Renate is
Matt: Ha ha, that’s awesome.
Matt: Serve ‘em right, too.
DorotheaSalo: but, hell, how *else* do you take down a rock band?
Matt: We could kidnap [band member] Hermit.
DorotheaSalo: LEGALLY.
Matt: Oh, legally, right.

Glad somebody likes my plan…

(Crossposted from Alan’s blog, mostly because of the Dragonhunt comment. And because I didn’t want to lose it, though it’s a little profane for CavLec proper.)

Saw Kingdom of Heaven yesterday. Thought it kicked Gladiator’s ass all over the screen.

I totally see why some people didn’t like it, and I totally disagree with them. This is not a heroic film, which everyone seems to have been expecting. This is a film about snatching what small victories you can from the Inescapable Logic of Fate. About not being a fricking hypocrite, even when half the world around you is—and about the discovery that when you’re not a fricking hypocrite, the people around you do strangely heroic and non-hypocritical things in order to follow your example.

It’s a very Dragonhunty film, actually, aside from the near-total absence of women (in the flick, not in Dragonhunt!). Tell me the Templars aren’t Heaven/Hell all over.

And I dug it. Really good flick, I thought, and one more people could stand to see and think about.

It’s a very anti-religion film. Very. I suspect that’s where some of the reviewers’ hate comes from, covertly. Me, I loved every anti-clerical moment of it. Which isn’t to say it was one-note about religion; there are decent and honorable religious characters, the main difference between them and the indecent and dishonorable ones being (again) the lack of hypocrisy.

Ridley Scott films a mean mass-battle scene. As good as Jackson. My husband says better, but I disagree; the focus in this film is different from LotR, so of course the techniques are different. There’s one post-battle scene that’ll haunt the hell out of you. I don’t know why no one’s done it before, but there it is.

Kingdom is significantly less manipulative than Gladiator; the manipulation scale isn’t at zero by any means, but most of the manipulation happens early in the movie in order for the Logic of Fate to take over about one-third through. I felt manipulated by the whole long-lost-daddy setup (I would rather have seen than been told of Godfrey’s basic humanism), but I didn’t feel manipulated at all by the fate of the King of Jerusalem (which I won’t spoil).

The cast is pretty darn good, and Orly actually mostly manages to hold up his end of things despite being up against the likes of Liam Neeson and the totally kick-ass Jeremy Irons. Props to the casters for actually casting Arabs as Arabs (even though Saladin wasn’t an Arab, he was a Kurd, but oh well—I can forgive that one, especially as the actor was fabulous).

Orly’s got two basic problems, one of which he can probably fix and one of which he may be stuck with. The first problem is his utter lack of irony. A few moments in Kingdom needed a shit-eating grin or some other indication of Orly’s awareness of the irony he was surrounded with, didn’t get one, and fell a little flat because of it. The second problem is Orly’s reedy, weightless voice, and honestly, I’m not sure that’s fixable. Still, he did okay, and he was certainly pretty to look at.

So was Martin “Celeborn” Csokas, playing a total asshole. Wouldn’t have thought he could do it, but he was great, creeptastic without having to chew scenery.

Good film. Dorothea-Bob says check it out. If you stay for the credits and are a total LotR geek, watch for the impressive number of LotR people involved with this one. Good to know those folks aren’t going hungry.

Be afraid. Be very afraid. Renate has another plan.

Okay, I admit the last time I had a flash of screaming genius, it worked out okay. This plan, however, depends not on Renate’s friends, but on a bunch of crazy wannabe-terrorist thugs in Eridu. If it backfires, it’ll backfire big.

Right, so here’s the situation. Renate is working security on the Purgatory tour of the Silver Coast. The wannabe-terrorist thugs, who call themselves the Knights of Destiny, got to the concert venue in Eridu and made nuisances of themselves. Purgatory’s Heaven bodyguard, Darm Sobredaño, suggested to Renate that they strongarm the Knights into something so stupidly violent that even the corrupt Eridu police would have to arrest them.

Renate was not pleased with this plan; not only does it endanger Eridu (the Knights not being terribly careful with crossfire), but it scores Purgatory big pity points if it works. Darm as much as admitted that was part of his reasoning. So our Rennie made a counteroffer. Let me talk to them, she said. I’m one of theirs. They’ve had their fun already. Maybe I can convince them to back off.

Darm chewed on that, and bought it. Much to the good of Rennie’s plan, mind you. Mua-hahahaha.

If this works, it’ll be a beautiful, beautiful thing. The big bad Heaven knight, outwitted by a no-account little backwoods farm girl. Purgatory goes down in flames. Sleazy promoter Hadley Domingo burns right along with ’em. And best of all, Renate will have broken neither the law nor her word. I’m talkin’ beauty, do you hear me?

If it works. Which it may not. And Darm wants to take Renate out somewhere he can talk to her privately, which frankly scares the daylights out of me. What can he possibly want? But she’s a game little thing, so she’s going to dress up pretty and go along.

She’ll have to depend on Darm to keep vampires off her. The Purgatory tour has been marred by two murders, both done by vampires. And it just so happens that Purgatory has a vampire on staff. Rennie established through a fairly solid logic chain that Purgatory’s vamp didn’t do it—and somebody (not sure who yet) on the local Camarilla-equivalent did. Also not sure whether the frame-up was for convenience or in malice; could be either. Rennie being Rennie, she went straight to the press, and the Camarilla is, shall we say, less than pleased.

In other news, Renate and Lyria had a little chat, in which they drew up the first plans for establishing Lyria’s religion. I had been afraid that I’d have to turn Renate into a fire-breathing evangelist, which doesn’t suit her one bit, but in fact I don’t. All I have to do is recruit people with dreams—and I’ve got two or three in mind already. One is a former member of the demon evangelists we defeated along with the Ruido Grande. Another… is Dorothy Durai, and I’m really not sure how that’s going to play out, because there’s a really weird kind of, um, go-away-closer thing going on between Dorothy and Renate, so weird it bewilders even me. Just weird. But Lyria says she’ll help with the Dorothy-wrangling, so we’ll just have to see how it goes.

The third candidate… had better wait until Lyria’s a bit stronger, I think. But she definitely fits the profile, oh, yes…