- "On the contrary, Thomas. Your student raises a good point. A partnership of sorts, perhaps? You handle the desert, criminals, ancient artifacts of evil and such-like. I handle the University bureaucracy when we return."
Marchand-Renier sipped his drink for a moment, before adding thoughtfully. "You may be getting the safer end of the partnership."
- "On the contrary, Thomas. Your student raises a good point. A partnership of sorts, perhaps? You handle the desert, criminals, ancient artifacts of evil and such-like. I handle the University bureaucracy when we return."
Professor Marchand-Renier paused for a moment in the courtyard, taking the time to check his appearance. It was not normally an activity he indulged in. Although possessed of impeccable dress and fashion sense, he was not a vain man, and when he groomed himself in the morning he tended to stay groomed. This, however, was a special occasion. It was not every day that the Head of the University urgently requested your presence at his personal estate. Marchand-Renier had every intention of taking every minute he needed to look just right. After all, every minute he spent attending to himself was another minute Lord Balfour had to wait on him, and it cheered Sebastian immensely to leave the man to rot.
To that end, Sebastian examined himself in the magnificent crystal panels of Lord Casteele’s door. He scrupulously combed his hair once more, making sure every hair was exactly in place, before combing it once again just for good measure. He heard some rustling in the bushes behind him, momentarily ignoring it in favor of straightening his cravat for the fifth time. Still, it signaled that it was time for him to get moving. With a resigned sigh, Marchand-Renier politely knocked on the door, folding his arms behind his back as he waited for the servants to open it.
The flurry of servants descended upon him almost immediately, ushering him inside, offering to take his coat, suggesting a snifter of brandy. Sebastian smiled politely and lingered in the hallway, accepting the offers one by one, greeting the personnel individually, gratefully accepting the drink. He handed over his coat with a bit of a fuss, but eventually conceded, mentally counting it off as a loss. After delaying the staff with their own offered pleasantries, he finally allowed himself to be guided upstairs, handing the untouched brandy off to some unwitting servant. The staff hung around him anxiously as the door was opened for him. Sebastian mentally filed this detail away.
The room itself was dark, lit only by a single oil lamp. It took Sebastian a few minutes to adjust his eyes to his dreary surroundings. Even now, he could only make out an indistinct figure in the dim light.
“Professor Marchand-Renier, as you requested, my Lord,” he announced himself politely, remaining in the hallway until he had been acknowledged. The light flooding from behind him cast a long, black shadow across the room.
“Sit down,” the Lord’s voice commanded, his voice trembling with intensity. “The servants will leave us now.”
Both Marchand-Renier and the servants obeyed. The door closed quietly behind him. Sebastian could make out Lord Casteele’s form better now, sitting upright in his bed. The Headmaster’s proud face was marred by a broken nose and deep gashes, his posture was stiff and difficult, his breathing was labored. The priests, it seemed, had managed to save his precious fingers - Lord Casteele would cast spells again. A pity.
“It’s a relief to see you are doing well, my Lord,” Sebastian said cordially. “That unfortunate business has cost the University too much already. No one could have expected such a shocking ploy from that madman. Fortunately, the Council fully understands-“
He was cut off by a large dossier flying over to him, magically propelled by Lord Casteele’s will. It hit him in the chest with more force than was strictly necessary. “Read it,” de Casteele ordered.
Marchand-Renier did so, dutifully perusing the assembled documents. He was impressed, despite himself, on the size and thoroughness of the collected pile. It contained quite a few filed reports, sworn statements from University arcanists, transcribed magical divinations, and several professional opinions from respected University personnel, all amounting to the same thing: that he, Professor Marchand-Renier, had broken into the University administration building and stolen a number of documents during the confusion at the auditorium.
Marchand-Renier set the dossier down and looked at Lord Balfour. The other man seemed to be expecting some sort of reply. Sebastian considered his words carefully.
“Yes, that sounds about right,” he said, after some thought. He wondered vaguely if he should call for a doctor. Lord Balfour was nearly choking on his own fury.
“You admit to this villainy? This outrage?” Lord Balfour roared at him. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Ah. My Lord may, perhaps, recall the warnings I wrote to the University on the subject of both Cavendish and the Priestess of Anubis,” Marchand-Renier said, clearing his throat slightly. He gave it a moment before continuing. “As well as the responses I received for said warnings. I felt it may have been imprudent for those documents to be discovered. If it were revealed that the University knew of the impending attack that cost the Councilor his life...”
Sebastian trailed off. At the corners of his perception he could hear slight scratching noises from the walls. There was a long pause as it became apparent he would not continue. “You destroyed them,” Lord Balfour stated flatly, his features still livid with anger.
“They are... safe,” Sebastian replied.
Marchand-Renier did not elaborate, instead electing to wait for the Headmaster to catch up. Lord Balfour tended to be distressingly slow with such crude and mundane affairs as blackmail.
Still, he was a brilliant man. Realization began to creep into Lord Balfour’s features, and if the Headmaster had still had the strength to cast spells, it was likely Sebastian would have been disintegrated on the spot. Sebastian felt increasingly vindicated for the arrangements he had already made, as for a moment it seemed like de Casteele would order him to be hauled out and shot. “Where?” Lord Balfour demanded.
“Safe,” Marchand-Renier repeated. In truth, even he wasn’t quite sure where they were at the moment. It made it harder for the Brotherhood to pry the information out of him.
“You miserable vermin-!” Balfour thundered, gripping his bedpost with all his meager strength, before cutting himself off. The Headmaster could hear the scratching now too, it seemed. Sebastian smiled inwardly at the expression on Balfour’s face as the significance of it dawned on him. A poor choice of words on his Lordship’s part, to be certain.
Sebastian felt the bone-like fingers around his neck far too late to react - of all the things he had anticipated, he had not expected the Headmaster to physically lunge at him. The cruel, hooked talons of a hunting bird pressed painfully into his neck, threatening to slash his throat wide open if he struggled. The claws flexed slightly, restricting his air and drawing blood, as Sebastian found himself staring into Lord Casteele’s face. The golden eyes of an owl stared back at him. “And what do you presume to demand from Lord de Casteele, Professor Marchand-Renier?” Balfour hissed dangerously.
It said something of Marchand-Renier that he managed to keep most of his composure. It might have pleased Lord Balfour to know how difficult it was. The impending loss of air was enough to make any man panic, and the simple sensation of another man’s touch brought agonizing memories of Cavendish flooding back to him. But it was the eyes that truly horrified Sebastian. Some deep, primal part of his mind quailed at the sight of them, instinctually trying to freeze in terror. You are a man, not a mouse, he sternly reminded himself.
“My Lord, I presume nothing. I demand nothing,” Sebastian said, speaking very carefully. Every word threatened to plunge the claws deeper into his neck. “I intend nothing by my actions. If it were revealed that I removed the documents and hid them from the government, I would be ruined along with the University. Even if I somehow concealed my own involvement, my career, and that of my colleagues, would not survive. The documents are detrimental to my own interests as well as yours... so long as I am alive.”
The talons flexed again at the warning, then unhooked themselves, none too carefully. Sebastian put a hand to his neck as de Casteele’s hands reverted, instinctively swallowing. The scratching at the walls, agitated by the sudden attack, was now settling down again. He suspected Lord Casteele had only let him go out of physical exhaustion, rather than the effectiveness of his rhetoric. The Headmaster was a proud man, however, and for the moment, Sebastian had him.
“Then what do you want?” Lord Balfour asked, harshly.
To escape all of this, Sebastian thought to himself, mournfully. To have lived out my life peacefully, without all of these endless, pointless struggles for power.
“Nothing,” he said aloud, straightening his bloody collar. “I am simply ensuring I have a career, and a life in which to pursue it. I am likely to become department chair in a few years, as you know, and I was rather looking forward to it. So long as I am assured to my own safety, I have no intention of doing anything with the letters... nor any of the other documents I procured.”
“I have no delusions to my survival should someone choose to erase us,” he continued quietly. “So if I am convinced that my own death is inevitable, I will have little reason to hold my peace. And, Lord Casteele, if anything happens to the other members of the Expedition... and I will know, if anything happens... I will be making assumptions.” Sebastian leaned a little closer. “Rest assured the rest of the family has precious little stake in the University’s continued existence.”
With that, Sebastian stood up, ignoring Balfour’s outraged protest, and walked out the door without leave. The Headmaster would quiet soon enough, and Sebastian had nothing more to say. He brusquely brushed off the servants as he headed down the stairs, refusing his coat as it was offered to him at the door. There was no point in even affecting politeness now, and the professor had no desire to stay here another second.
He paused near the edge of the courtyard, waiting for his entourage to join him. He leaned his hand against the wrought iron fence that ringed the Headmaster’s estate, closing his eyes for the moment. The professor felt tired, very tired, as bad as he had felt in those miserable days after leaving Kamarn-Quse. He stood there for as long as he was able, pretending that the Headmaster had simply talked about University business, that the petty machinations of the powerful would no longer destroy his life at every turn, that he could finally go home and rest after six months of hell. Sebastian choked slightly, drawing his sleeve across his eyes.
A swarming sensation around him told him the dream was over. “Well, Felise,” he said, addressing the score of black rats that stared at him from the foliage. “As you can see, I am, for the moment, not dead. It seems your services will not be required after all. Thank you for your accompaniment.”
One of the rats chittered in response, but the group did not disperse. Sebastian frowned as he noted many of them sniffing the air and investigating the same spot. Though he examined the air very carefully, he could find nothing that would provoke such interest... come to think of it, he counted one rat too many. The rats moved forward, all in concert, surrounding the interloper and something else. Marchand-Renier reached into his vest with surprising speed, whipping the pistol he kept hidden toward the patch of open air.
“Faster than I thought you would be,” Marchand-Renier sneered, circling around warily. “I suggest you reveal yourself now, or I shall fire and let my companions find you by the blood trail.”
“Don’t shoot!” a very small, urgent voice came. The magical invisibility rippled away, leaving a tall, lanky young man behind. He carefully raised his hands above his shoulders, to prove he was unarmed.
“Remy?” Sebastian asked, absolutely stunned. The gun fell slack in his fingers, the trigger guard the only thing preventing it from falling from his grasp.
-------------------
It was a rather silent walk back to the professor’s office. In truth, Marchand-Renier wasn’t adverse to answering the boy’s obvious questions, even out in the open. The entire Fraternity would soon know everything that occurred, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. Sebastian had little defense against the arcane arts, as Remy had so obligingly proven. Deterrence was the only card he held. If the Brotherhood decided to move against him anyway, no amount of caution would save him. He was hoping the sheer gall of his actions would buy him a little time. Beyond that, he was counting on Balfour’s own pride in his reputation, and the reluctance of anyone, even the Fraternity, to tangle with his family. If there was one thing the Reniers knew how to take advantage of, it was secrets. And if the Fraternity tried to turn his family’s own secrets back on him, and expose him as a wererat, they would run into the very small problem that he wasn’t.
Still, that was no reason to get careless with Remy’s safety, and Sebastian’s mind was elsewhere. He chuckled ruefully, wondering how much of the conversation Remy had heard. The boy was getting far too good at this sort of thing. Given a few years, Remy wouldn’t need his protection anymore - if anything, it would be the other way around. Sebastian wasn’t sure whether to thank Andre or curse him for teaching Remy the art; probably both, in the end. Magic might protect Remy from trouble, but it would also lead him to it, and attract it both from without and within. Marchand-Renier had seen too much of what power could do to people.
He almost didn’t notice the boy whispering a spell of warding, disguising it as an accidental brush of the arm. The boy really was getting too good at this.
“A bit of an odd place to take a stroll, Remy,” Sebastian finally said. The student flushed guiltily.
“I, ah, saw you walking from the University,” Remy said, fiddling with his notebook self-consciously. “I thought I’d catch up with you, but you went inside the Headmaster’s manor before I could.”
“And decided you’d wait for me inside the grounds?” Marchand-Renier asked, very amused. “Invisibly?”
“Well...” Remy trailed off. Marchand-Renier gave a small chuckle.
“How long were you following me?” the professor asked.
Remy gave his notebook another twist. “Since you left your office,” he admitted. “I heard rumors...”
“No doubt,” Marchand-Renier murmured. They’d only brought back one of the greatest archeological finds ever, assassinated the Lord Governor’s chief advisor, caused a riot, blown up the University auditorium, and burned down the Opera House. “Any good ones?”
Remy gave him a perturbed look.
“Cavendish was an ancient Akiri mummy come seeking his treasure, and the Opera House was destroyed by the curse of the pharaohs. The Anubite was his wife,” the student started, ticking them off on his fingers one by one. “Helen du Suis and Marcos Vedarrak hired Guy Benoit to assassinate D’Honaire and overthrow the government. Lia Mournswaithe wears the mask and gloves all the time because she was made out of spare parts by her father. Khalil and Fassahd didn’t come back because they were fanatic Akiri tomb guardians who tried to assassinate us... or we murdered them to take their share of the treasure, take your pick. Professor Theroux murdered Professor Pelletier to summon up a demon, which got loose, stole his skin and took his place... that we fed Captain Harris’ soul to the Akiri gods in exchange for the treasure... that Sascha...” Remy trailed off.
“Never mind what they say about Sascha,” Marchand-Renier said quietly.
Remy stared at the ground for a while before going on. “They say you... ah...” he tried, cautiously, before stopping again.
Sebastian waited patiently for the student to proceed. “I’m used to rumors about me, Remy,” he eventually prompted.
Remy self-consciously lowered his voice. “They say even the other Reniers are afraid of you. That you’re Jacqueline’s son.” Marchand-Renier’s eyebrows shot up as he unlocked the door to his office. That was definitely a new one. Remy continued. “That’s why Louise hates you, but doesn’t dare to do anything about it. They say one of your uncles-“
“Gauderic Renier?” Marchand-Renier interrupted, with a small, surprised laugh. “They managed to dig that up?” He was surprised. It had been almost thirty years. Admittedly, the event itself had been a bit of an affair in Richemulot at the time, given how far across Ste Ronges the body had been strewn. He hadn’t expected anyone in Dementlieu to have heard of it, much less remember it.
They’d been so convinced that Gauderic had infected him. All it would have taken was a playful nip, or a careless scratch. Gauderic had left a bloody swath across his chest deep enough to scar. His father had agonized over whether to put down his own son; if Sebastian couldn’t control his transformations, he would be a danger to human and wererat alike. And yet... for once in his life, some miracle came through for him. Against all odds, he never transformed. His father, fighting against hope, had hired an arcanist to magically trigger his lycanthropy. The spell had washed over him with no effect. Sebastian Marchand-Renier had somehow managed to cheat fate.
Gauderic hadn’t been so lucky. Sebastian suspected no one except his father had really cared about what had happened. But his father had a great deal of money with which to make his displeasure known.
“Good,” Marchand-Renier finally concluded, letting the office door swing open. He invited Remy inside, then shut the door and sat down at his desk. “That should give any would-be-assassins food for thought.”
“That’s what they say, sir,” Remy said, looking troubled. “They say that’s why you’re not afraid of the Headmaster. That you robbed the Unviersity because you’re untouchable. Sir, I can’t believe you-” Remy actually clapped his hand over his mouth, absolutely at a loss for words.
Sebastian leaned forward, his hands folded on his desk, his face stern. The first thing he had done upon getting back was hire someone to ward his office, something he was certain he’d be grateful for in the months to come. “How much did you hear?” he demanded.
“Just the end of it,” Remy confessed. “I don’t know exactly what you did, but- Professor, they’re going to kill you!”
“Much as they would have before,” Marchand-Renier said mildly, leaning back in his chair. “I am not so optimistic to think we would have lived. For a few months, perhaps, as they picked us off one by one. Going for the ones who lived furthest away first, disguising it as accidents, so we didn’t even realize until much too late. No, Remy, I feel I am no worse off now than I would have been. Save for a few arrangements I was forced to make with my aunt...” Sebastian gave a tired chuckle at the aghast expression on Remy’s face. “My other aunt, Remy. I am not quite so far gone as to ask Louise for the time of day.”
Remy looked back at him, eyes pained; Sebastian hadn’t completely hidden the bitter resignation in his voice.
“We could have found another way...” the student whispered. “If you’d only told us...”
“Given time, perhaps you shall,” Marchand-Renier said. “Time you now have. These are not men we can simply fight off, Remy. One of us would have had to bargain with them, one way or another. And I did, after all, promise the Expedition I would help them with the University bureaucracy once we returned home. Let it never be said I break my promises.”
Remy stared at his fingers miserably. “Sir... there’s a difference between helping and getting yourself killed!”
Marchand-Renier sighed. “The others may well agree with you. If only now that it’s too late to stop me.” Remy’s eyes shot up, completely taken aback. Marchand-Renier continued. “I am well aware of some people’s opinions on those members who declined to risk life and limb.”
Remy blanched. “Professor, that’s completely different! No one would think that of you!” he protested, jumping to his feet and gripping the desk hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “You were never a traitor...”
“I merely shot a boy while he was begging for my forgiveness, and tried to drown the entire Expedition,” Sebastian murmured ruefully. The professor immediately regretted saying it. Remy winced at the memory, staring down at his fingers, unable to even look at his professor.
“I would have done it anyway, Remy,” Sebastian said, gently. “You are, of course, right. That was entirely different.”
Remy was clearly not mollified by this, but Sebastian didn’t say much else. He was just too weary to keep pretending he was alright. It had been safe here, not so long ago. Once it had become apparent he would not return to Richemulot, Louise had mostly left him alone. He had been free to do as he saw fit, provided it didn’t interfere with his family’s schemes, and he agreed to that with great relish. Then came the Expedition. Now it was all gone. The Brotherhood would recover quickly, and they would never allow anyone with a hold on them to survive - it would be a desperate struggle to keep even a single step ahead of them, and he couldn’t do it on his own. To effectively oppose the Fraternity, he’d needed Jacqueline’s backing; in siding with Jacqueline, he’d earned Louise’s ire anew. He’d made too many bargains to ever untangle himself, too many enemies to ever outlive them all. He would spend the rest of his life watching for assassins at his back, until the day he finally missed one.
The professor felt Remy’s hand on his shoulder; Sebastian tried not to flinch at the touch. The student wordlessly fetched a bottle of brandy from the cabinet by the door, pouring the both of them a glass. Sebastian sniffed it, slightly, to ensure it was actually made of peaches; Remy cast a spell over both glasses, looking for poison beyond the brandy itself. It seemed strange to Sebastian, watching the clean cut student drinking strong alcohol like that. He lifted his own glass up to his lips. For the first time in quite a while, the two men actually looked at each other, eye to eye.
And they talked. Not about the horrors they’d seen, the things they had lost, or the dangers that still awaited them. They talked about simple, everyday life, as if the whole trip had never happened. After all, even after everything, Remy still had a thesis to write.
It was late in the evening when Remy finally departed, seeking out Professor Theroux on some minutiae of magical theory he wanted to discuss. Sebastian watched him go with a pang of regret. He’d declared war on the Brotherhood, and despite his best efforts, he knew Remy would be a target once they recovered. Even if the Fraternity left Remy alone, he knew the boy well enough to know this wasn’t the end of it. Remy was far too intelligent and ambitious for that. The student would not be satisfied to simply sit back and leave things be, not with his growing power and unfortunate loyalty. It would sit in the back of his mind, turning itself over and over, until a possible solution came to him - regardless of personal cost. It was only a matter of time before he sold his soul to the devil to try and save someone else from the fire.
Just like his professors.
“Your move, Lord Balfour,” Marchand-Renier growled aloud. “And if you ever think about touching my boy... you’ll find this old rat still has teeth!”