A Murder of Crows - Chapter 7

Oh, dear Lord... Is this the moment I waited for all of my life? It's only fair that if they die, they die knowing the truth...
"How well do any of you know the history of Jean Laffitte, the Gentleman Pirate?"
By the plain looks in their faces, I guess the answer is not at all...
"Back when Louisianna was still owned by the French, the Mississipi Delta - and what would become New Orleans - lacked a lot in food, goods and supplies, be they wood, iron, gold, slaves or spices... To answer this need arose a man. He was called the Gentleman Pirate, Captain of a Thousand Men. He was Jean Laffitte. He helped defend the coast of the Gulf from Spanish invaders, and two American presidents commended him as a hero. But after Louisianna was bought from the French and commerce stabilized, the American Government decided a buccaneer had no place in their new country. In 1802 Jean Laffitte escaped arrest and disappeared. He was later contacted by the English government, bent on banning slavery from the Atlantic. They were interested in his expertise, for he at one time traded in slaves as well. It was 1820, and Jean was nearing 50 years..."
Weasel thinks he knows where this is heading, but he's wrong... Damn wrong...
"Took them three years, but they finally managed to sink one of the most despised slaver vessels, the Rubramuerte. It was Godfrey's ship. After that, Laffitte was rewarded with a new identity and a new life in New Orleans. But it didn't last long. He was invited to this manor to give a lecture on Nautical History - his new job - but it was a trap. Here he confronted and killed Godfrey, who, with his dying breath, cursed Jean Laffitte.
"Cursed him to live on and suffer.
"... I've been trying to break my curse ever since."
"There it is said. I am Jean-Claude Laffitte Tibeau, the Gentleman Pirate, the Captain of a Thousand Men, the King of Barataria... And I'm 140 years old."

Smiling grimly, I approach Mr. LaFitte. Lightly placing my silver dagger on the bar, I walk up to him hand extended.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. LaFitte," I say, smiling grimly. "I am Math, the Sorcerer."

"Yeah right", said Weasel. "And I'm William Shakespear. Huh.
What a story. Ever thought to become a novelist?"

"But fine. We're making up stories right?
Let's make onther one right now."
Ignoring the plea in Amelia's eyes, Weasel continues, years of frustration pushing him forward.

"Once upon a time, there was a man. A nice man. A succesful man. He had a lovely fiancee, a good job, a reputation that bought him access to the best employees you could find. The Boston Times wanted him, they got him. Life was good.
But then, the tides turned. Our nice, succesful man was on a holiday with his lovely fiancee, when disaster struck. A man, lets name him Bob, cause it doesn't pay to reveal his anme, was ripped to shreds by an unknown beast. people suspected a bear, but our unsung hero ofocurse knew better. Well, he shouldn't have.
He went to search for the truth, because he was certain that truth was important. He took his fiancee, as well as a competing reporter, on a goose chase to the truth.
He found it.
He found the truth, horrible as it was, on a depricate hill several miles north of here. A desolated place, built on what people believed to be an ancient burial site.
There, drawn by the prospect of the ultimate story, he went inside to face what had caused the death, not of just this man Bob, but of hundreds.
You might say he found it."
Weasel fell silent for a moment, then continued.
"Sturb' and I found the place by following the sherriff. See, it was he who had done the killing. And then again, it wasn't, though that may be hard to explain. We never would have found out if he hadn't killed again, and I hadn't smelled the blood on him. We would never have traced him hads Sturben not known about the place.
When he entered what you call the mausoleum, I followed him inside, ordering Amy - she was her, you need not know why - and Sturb' to stay behind. Needless to say, that order wasn't obeyed. Some may say they saved my life. I would say they doomed it.
When the creature inside touched me, it changed me forever. I lost my drive, my spirit. More than that. I lost my job, and, more importantly, I lost the woman I loved."
He cast a look at Amy. "I don't know what you saw. I don't even recall what it was Sturben shot down. But the creature that touched me was not of this world, and it certainly wasn't killed. But I know it was scared by the light. Light is something we need to be close to. Or you may all end up dead. Or worse. You may end up doomed. Like me."

"All right then," Amelia said slowly, "It's obvious we can't go anywhere just yet, not until all of us are ready. We are all linked, one way or another, but we must be linked in purpose as well. And I think it might be wise for one of us to attempt to calm Mr. Trent down firstly. I worry for his safety if he strays too far on his own looking for a way out." She looked at Mr. Lafitte and the Briefcase, both so suddenly renamed and yet still a mystery to her in many ways. I hope one of them has a plan in mind, especially if we end up at the mausoleum, she thought grimly. "Besides," she said finally, after a long pause, "William and I must speak for a moment."
"I didn't need a premonition to tell me to follow you that night, William. I would have done so no matter what. I was the one who dragged you into this mess of light and dark, nightmares and truth, in the first place, because I, like you, believed that truth was important."
"As for that night, it was dark, and at first we couldn't see anything. Sturben never saw what I did, or I never would have been able to grab his gun out of his hand. I know you thought it was Sturben, but I shot the thing. Maybe if it had been him, things would have turned out differently. The creature...took something from you-ripped is more like it. It was terrible to watch, like seeing a bit of life, of vitality, disappear. But you were young, William, you should have recovered. Something else happened when that creature touched you, something that made you give up on life and living. And I knew it was my fault, my doing. I thought-foolishly-that it would be best for you if I disappeared, dreams, magic and all. It was a childish, cowardly thing to do, and I can only hope that someday you'll forgive me for it. Then, when I dreamt of this place, and you, for the first time in years, I knew I had to come, to confront the past, and undo what had been done. In doing so, I thought you might gain back some of what you lost."
Her voice trailed off, and she waited for William to speak before saying more.

I shake the stranger's hand, painfully remembering my own dabbles in wizardry over the last century.
"I heard of you, when I was in the Laughing Man case. Your reputation reaches into the Caribbean."
Sliding slowly back into the role of captain I played for so long, I face the others, my still-wet hair smelling a little like seawater. The house plays its tricks again...
"Okay, here is what we do: Trent, you and Weasel take the girls to the chapel. Keep your gun ready. While it won't harm the house itself, it can be of assistance against its agents. Briefcase, me and the others, we hold the library back while you four make good for the oratory. If, for ANY reason, we fail to reach the oratory's doors in time, don't ever, EVER open the door again, no matter how much we plead, beg and scream."
Almost incidently, I add:
"Oh, and don't touch the holy water."

"Ow..." Weasel stammered. "I didn't want it to sound like that... I never blamed you. Or Sturb.
It wasn't your fault, but mine. I shouldn't have gone in. I couldn't face you truthfully after what happened though. I wasn't just drained. Something... something was replaced. There is something of that beast _inside_ me.
And when I first found out what that meant, I couldn't tell you. I feared you would hate me. Or worse, that you would fear me. But I would never want to hurt you..."
He slumped down.
"That's when I wanted to die. And if I wasn't such a coward, I even might have."

You've been many things to many people, William, but you aren't a coward. I've never known you to give up on anything you cared about." Amelia faced him squarely, forcing him to look at her. "My dreams, my abilities-whatever they are-did and still do frighten me badly at times. You've seen them work, seen how they affect me, and you heard the rumors that surrounded my father...but you never flinched, not once. No, William, I could never fear or hate you. And I don't intend to give up on you either. If there is something of this beast inside you, then we'll deal with it...together. No more running, for either of us."

Trent, who has been leaning against a wall with his head in his hands, straightens up. The near terror that was in his eyes has dissolved. "Alright, I don't know that I agree with you, but we do have to stay together, of that much I am certain. We'll get the ladies to the chapel", he nods to Fudgwick, "you take point and I'll cover the back." Turning to the others. "If you do get trapped, I suggest that taking your own lives would be a much more merciful course of action than letting phantom shades rip you to shreds." He removes a four barreled pepperpot from inside his hat. "It won't stop THEM, but it may save you from..." He places the small pistol on the table. "Ready when you are." He tries to grin, but fails.

"Oh sure. Feed the reporter to the traps ahead. Figured it would turn out that way." Weasel mutters, secretly relieved of the sudden change to something practical.
He smiles weakly to Amelia, then pushes open the kitchen door. Horrible creatures and avalanches of deadly traps fail to appear, so he moves forward, heading towards the stairs.

Supprisingly Trent manages a proper smile. "Thanks Weasel, Thanks." He mummers. "Ladies if you would stay close behind Mr. Fudgewick." He holds the door open behind the journalist

I watch Trent and the Weasel as they muster up the courage to face the unknown. The ladies, Sarah and Amelia, don't seem to be frightened. I'm sure they are as frightened as we all are, but they are pretty much holding it together. That's good.
"Go past the stairs, and turn to a corridor on the left. The Library is some 20 meters... eh, sorry... 60 feet down. Small double doors on the right wall. The Oratory is on the other side. "Have you all heard of the houses of the night?"
I see the rcognition in Briefcase's eyes, but the other seem lost.
"Something I saw at the Harvard Museum, right? Something Egyptian...", Weasel asks.
"Right, William. According to the Egyptian tradition, the sun - Ra - crosses the underworld during the night. The underworld is divided in 12 houses - 12 hours - and must cross them all before emerging again. As the sun goes from one house to another, the night gets darker, and the chaos demons get stronger. At the 12th house, the battle is so fierce that the horizon gets red with blood.
"It is" - I pull out my pocket watch - "9:30 PM. In 30 minutes, we'll enter the 4th house. At each house, the powers of darkness get stronger. At one point they will try to enter your minds. Then they will try to break your bones. Be careful."
I turn to the rest of these cursed people. All of a sudden they look a lot like crows.

Amelia moved into position beside Sarah and behind William. She looked back at the rest of the group. "Take care, the rest of you, though I have no doubt whatsoever that you'll make it through safely." She smiled and turned to go.

"Amelia," I say as she turns away.
Picking up the silver dagger, I hand her it as she turns back to face me.
"Use it wisely," I say. "It is capable of harming just about anything, be it spirit, flesh, or fur. Watch your own back in this house, for even the noblest of hearts may turn with fright."
I turn to face Weasel, Trent, and Sarah.
"That goes for all of you. You do not know what you may be facing tonight. It may send pain into your body, fear into your hearts, and cold into your souls. Be brave, but do not be stupid. Survive."
With that, I turn back to Wolffeman and Claude. Holding my briefcase in one hand, I straighten my tie in the other.
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends?"

Even after all these years, my body still shiver in anticipation. Adrenalin, they are calling it these days.
"We take the study, adjacent to the library, and handle anything that moves on its own. This will buy them some minutes. I know from experience that the Manor can only afford to move things for a short while. Either a large thing, like an armor or a statue, or several smaller ones, like chandelliers and swords. The bad news is: there's a collection of blades in the library.
"Ahoy, mates! It's upon us now."
Right. Like bravado would help mask the terror that's creeping up my neck...

Having heard the proceedings, I consider what's going on as I check the two-over-two derringer I keep in my cloak. One silver, one lead, one copper, and one cold iron. It's ready.
"This band of brother's who did fight, upon Saint Crispin's Day. Yes, Math, we face the Dark, in many forms, this evening. What this cannot face," I hold my gun gently in hand, "I pray to all the gods this can." I gesture slightly towards my cane.
"Out of curiosity, Math, do you have any spells that might help us in a fight? I have a problem that keeps me from using mine except in very rare occasions. And I only prepared one spell for a fight this evening - I would rather not use it unless I had to." I thought about our odds of living through the night - not good odds, I feared, but we did have a chance - if we ignored the Darkness that was beginning to rise in this house of death...

Smiling grimly, I turn to Mr. Wolffeman. I nod slightly.
"Aye, I have spells prepared, Mr. Wolffeman," I say. "This night did not catch me unaware. It has been a long time in coming."
"And if my spells should prove inadequate," I begin, holding up my briefcase, "I always have this."
The smile turns near vicious as I nod to LaFitte.
"Let's get on with it then, lad."

I came prepared as well.", I said. With the events I witnessed over the past few weeks, I figured a bit of paranoia wouldn't be a bad thing." With those word, I took out my small gun and checked if it was loaded. "Just ordinary bullets I'm afraid. Same deal with my sword-cane. How 'bout we reduce some of the furniture to wooden stakes?"

"Consider, if you will, that the house is our enemy. Should we use our enemies arms and legs against it? Can we?
"I should think that anything we use from this house will be tainted, useless against our foes - for the House will not fight itself.
"Consider what the Weasel said - this house is filled with powerful illusions. Are the chairs real? For that matter - are we real in this house?"