Chapter Seven: At the centre of things...

Chapter Seven

At the centre of things

Viscount Tristian Ignacious Augustine of the House of Rerum strode through the ink black corridors of the Fuga Libero, making his way as swiftly as he could to the command and control centre at the front of the massive dirigible. They'd entered pretty near the front, so it was mostly a matter of bounding up the twisting spiral of the staircase to reach the airships centre line, and then striding swiftly along yet another black corridor to the door of C&C.


As he approached two guards in short black silver braided jackets and tall red plumed hats snapped to attention, but dropped their hands to the hilts of the swords they wore at their sides. Tristian rolled his eyes.


"Chaps, if I were here to attack command I would've shot you from the other end of the corridor. Even now if I had ill intent I'd still shoot you before you could get anywhere near me with those damn pig-stickers!"


He clasped each man by the shoulder, drew their heads in towards him and whispered conspiratorially. "You see a threat boys, draw your guns. Leave the blades for ceremonials - bad times are coming and you should never take a sword to a gunfight. Remember that."


With that he pushed the flustered soldiers aside and snapped his fingers. The jet black doors swung open, and Tristian stepped through, the doors swinging shut behind him. The two guards looked at each other, both sharing the same "What just happened" expression. As if reaching a wordless agreement they silently turned their backs on the doors and resumed their guard.

-oOo-

Bunco led Ellie through a series of narrow, black walled corridors to and into a brightly lit mahogany panelled office. Bunco made his way to a large wing backed swivel chair, upholstered in burgundy leather which sat behind a large mahogany desk. He motioned Ellie to take a seat in an identical chair in the other side of the desk with its back to the door.

"Now, Miss Sage," he began, "I'm sure there is a lot you want to know, and I'm sure young Tris has warned you that much of it will be difficult to accept or understand. So before we get started, would you like a cup of tea?"

"I'd rather have coffee," Ellie replied, then, noting the pained expression that mention of that beverage seemed to bring to Bunco's round pink face, and remembering the Viscount's warning that coffee would be a "bad idea" she continued, "but Earl Grey with a dash of milk and two sugars would be lovely, thank you."

Bunco leaned forward and spoke into a brass speaking tube mounted on his desk. "Two cups of Earl Grey, if you would. One civilised, one the way Viscount Tristian takes it. Oh and see if you can't rustle up some scones or something."

 

Ellie frowned as she looked around the office. Something was bothering her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Just to make small talk she commented "Nice to see at least one room that isn't entirely black around here."

Bunco smiled gently. "Rank hath its privillages, my dear." He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him. "I agree, the Black Guards do take their colours - or lack thereof - rather too seriously." He waved expansively around his office. I got quite a bit of flack for this in fact - apparently the wood is too heavy." His smile widened. "I told them to stuff it."

The door to the office slid open and a black uniformed man, his jacket adorned with silver braid entered carrying a large silver tray, full with a silver teapot, two cups, a sugar bowl, milk jug, a plate of pastries and a plate of sandwiches. Ellie's eyes widened - she wasn't sure how long it had been since she'd eaten but those sandwiches looked prettty damn good. The uniformed man placed the tray on the desk, nodded to Ellie, then snapped to attention, saluted Bunco and marched out, the door sliding shut behnd him.

Ellie gaped. Bunco smiled. "Pay the pomp and circumstance no mind, my dear. The Black Guard are an army of sorts, and armies like that sort of thing." He leaned forwards, picked up the tea pot and reverentially poured some of the steaming amber liquid into each of the paper thin china cups. He passed one to Ellie. "It seems the catering section couldn't quite bring themselves to add milk and sugar, I'm afraid Miss Sage. A minor insubordination which, with your permission I'll ignore."

She accepted the proffered cup, dumped in two generous spoons of suger - demererra, she noted with amusement, this place was posh - and sloshed in a glug of milk. "Oh, don't worry on my account, I'm happy to fend for myself." She smiled. "Speaking of which, do you mind if I get stuck in to the sarnies? I haven't eaten since before I was kidnapped, and I don't even know when that was."

"Please - be my guest." Bunco pushed the tray containing the plate of sandwiches towards her and Ellie wasted no time, grabbing a sandwich and ramming it into her mouth. The subtle taste of poached salmon and dill with just a hint of lemon danced across her mouth. "Ooh, these are good" she said, her mouth still full, then remembering herself she put her hand over her mouth.

"Don't worry about it, Miss Sage - I quite understand."

Ellie stopped mid chew. She swallowed and fixed a searching stare on Bunco's pale grey eyes, a penny dropping at the back of her mind. "Hang on. How do you know my name? The Viscount didn't tell you, which means you must have known he'd be bringing me." She leaned forwards and rested the plams of her hands on the mahogany desk. "So. Tell me what's going on."

-oOo-

Tristian stood with his back to the doors of C&C surveying the scene before him. The room was huge, most of the sloping walls and ceiling taken up by the huge multi paned window that took up the whole front of the dirigible and provided a panoramic view of whatever was in front. It was clear that in the twenty or so minutes since he'd climbed aboard with Ellie that the craft had climbed to a significant altitude - the huge glazed panorama revealed nothing but blue. From his vantage point at the back of the room there was no sign of either the ground or clouds, but he suspected that the were well above both. Nowhere near the colossal airship's maximum altitude of 137,000 feet - if they were that high the sky outside would have appeared black, not blue, but they were undoubtedly well on their way.

Given the size of the space, the room was surprisingly empty. At the front of the room, mere feet from the massive expanse of window two long black consoles covered in silver buttons, screens and levers flanked a large, high backed chair which sat right at the pointed centre of the glazing. Two black uniformed men, hatless but with similar silver braided jackets to the guards outside sat at each console, their full attention focussed on their tasks. Tristian knew that he could probably let off fire-crackers right behind them and they probably wouldn't flinch. Indeed, he made a mental note to test the theory when the situation was less serious.

There were other consoles and work stations dotted around the gloss black floor, but they were currently unstaffed. Tristian centred his attention on the imposing figure of the man seated in the centre chair. Tucking his bowler under his right arm, he strode forward, snapping a crisp salute with his left hand.

"Admiral Stoici. Viscount Tristian Ignacious Augustine of the House of Rerum, Black Guard Free Operative reporting for de-brief as instructed." He stopped and stood to rigid attention, gazed fixed firmly ahead.

The chair slowly spun around and it's massive occupant stood. Admiral Stoici of the Black Guard was well over six and a half feet tall with a swarthy, muscular build. His perfectly cut black uniform was relatively unadorned, the silver braid splashed so liberally on the jackets of his men limited to one broad strip and four narrow stripes in each cuff, with scroll detail on the top stripe. Aside from the two dazzlingly bright rows of silver buttons down the front, his jacket's only other adornment was a silver laurel wreath crossed by two swords and capped by a silver skull on the epaulets of each shoulder.

"Viscount. His Excellency Sir Bunestrum of the County Marches has been keeping me updated on your progress." The man's voice was so deep Tristian could almost feel his molars vibrate. The Admiral's scowl suggested that he hadn't liked what he'd heard, but then Tristian knew that the Admiral was not especially famous for his cheerful disposition.

"I should tell you that things are worse than I feared." Tristian figured that he might as well get the negative news out of the way first. "I was able to free The Fulcrum from within The Office, and evaded the Clerk they sent in pursuit. However, the pocket reality I used as a staging point has probably been compromised and will have to be abandoned."

The Admiral's scowl didn't soften, but his voice sounded slightly less hostile. "We knew that was likely. Acceptable loss. You got the Fulcrum and evaded pursuit - I'd chalk that up as a successful mission. Given that you allowed the Fulcrum to be taken by the enemy, it seems to me you rather pulled your fat out of the fire."

The Admiral had moved behind him but Tristian remained rigidly unmoving, eyes fixed ahead. "So, Viscount. Why so tense? For that matter why are you standing there like a loyal Marine? Every report I've ever read suggests that you're an insubordinate n'er do well who abuses his Free Agent status and that we tolerate you in the Rebellion only because of your extrodinary abilities. You've certainly never cared about protocol before, and yet here you stand." The Admiral had circled Tristian and was now looking down into the Viscount's eyes. "So, what is it that I don't know?"

-oOo-

Bunco leaned back in his chair, hands steepled in front of him, an expression of mild amusement on his face while Ellie continued to eat like it was going out of style. So far she'd ploughed through all the sandwiches, there'd been the poached slamon, some salty ham with some kind of mature cheese and rare lean beef with horseraddish. She'd scarfed the lot almost without noticing the flavours, and was now making short work of the mound of patstries.

Ellie swallowed down the last bite of a sugar glazed jam filled confection and noticed the round faced man's gaze almost for the first time since the food arrived. She stared back, inwardly mortified at her display of gluttony, but outwardly calm. "You've stopped talking," she noted levelly. "You were going to explain everything, yes?"

Bunco tilted his head to the left and nodded slightly. "Just so. I presume young Tristian has explained the multple nature of reality?"

Ellie nodded. "Not sure I buy it but I get the idea - and there are certainly no aircraft like this here I come from, so yes, I accept I'm definately somewhere different. So, for now I'll accept that there are an infinite mumber of me spread all across the universe all slightly different. So what? I mean, why did those pasty blokes in pins-stripe kidnap me? And why did Viscount What's-his-face bring me here? I mean, what has any of this shit got to do with me?"

Bunco sighed and looked at his fingernails for a second, and then made eye contact again. "Because what you just said isn't quite right. There are an infinite number of me. But there are not an infinite number of you." He leaned forward slightly and tapped Ellie on the hand. "You, my dear, are utterly unique. There is only one of you. In the whole of the universe, there are no other versions of you. Indeed, there cannot be." He gave her hand a light squeeze which he hoped would be reassuring. "We've been looking for you for some time - I knew that you had to exist, but an infinite number of realities take a little while to search. You, my dear, are The Fulcrum. You are the pivot upon which all the realities balance."

He leaned back and smiled. "Basically, Miss Sage, you are quite literally the centre of the Universe." He paused. "More tea?"