ExcursionByNightIt was dark at the edges of the street. The upper stories of the houses jutted out wider than the ground floor and what lights were set there fell through the windows to illuminate a narrow band down the centre of the street. All else was a place of darkness where one could linger ... unseen. Perhaps a figure had slipped through the shadows to wait at the door of what - by day - was a barber's shop, marked by the long red and white striped pole displayed outside. It was hard to tell - until suddenly a light flared in the darkness - and almost as swiftly died, to be replaced by the reddened glow of a cigarillo. Someone was standing there - waiting. He spoke quietly but a voice that seemed well suited to command. "Your lady suggested that you might show me the very depths of Hell," he said. He himself was covered in a cloak of the deepest vermillion, and as he stepped forward there was a flash of brilliant white in the hood and at the hem. In the dim light it framed his face like a halo. His black booted feet were hidden beneath the long cardinal red coat he wore. Who would expect the current head of the Aquillan church to be skulking the streets in his own clothes. The glow of the cigarillo dropped toward the ground, and then was ground out beneath a booted heel. "It is her command," said a low, husky voice - something that the Cardinal had perhaps heard before. A shutter opened on the other side of the street, and a profile was illuminated in sharp black and white. A page boy, it seemed, dressed in something that was at least dark, with a pale face and large dark eyes, full lips. A deathly beauty on what seemed to be a boy's face. The shutter banged to, and the face disappeared into darkness. "We will be masked. I have brought one for you." The cool plaster of the rigid mask was pressed into his hands. The face was smooth - but there were protruberances at the top. Small horns, it felt like. "Your mistress is thoughtful and generous," the man in red responded. "I'm sure you'll be rewarded handsomely." "Come," the voice said in the darkness, and then they were moving together down the street. Five houses - and then a slight breeze suggested that there was an alley ... "Here." Down the alley, to a door on the right. The shiver of metal as the page took out a key, and then a wooden door was opened. "We go down steps here," said the page. "Wait a moment ... " There was the scrape of flint, and a light suddenly flared. Livid in the light, the page boy's face was suddenly visible - and it was the face of Morine Lagoran. For the first time too, the Cardinal could examine the mask he held. A red devil, with black horns. He would enter Hell as one of its native sons. "At least it matches my outfit," Fiore chuckled. She smiled, her lips dark in the light from the lantern she held. "I assume, madame, that you... your mistress is still as adamant that I see this den of debauchery first hand." His mind returned to what she had confessed earlier that very day, and how close to crossing a line he was by being here. Not for the first time did he wonder if Lady Lagoran was involved more directly. "Oh yes," said Morine with assurance. "She believes you will find it ... enlightening." Fiore nodded and swept his hand in a broad stroke, indicating that she should lead the way. She set off down a long flight of twisting steps. After a few minuttes, they came to a locked wooden door, which Morine unlocked with a key she wore at her belt. The other side of the door there had to be a little awkward manoeuvring, for Micahle had to pass her on the narrow stairs while she locked the door behind them, and then she moved past him to lead the way again. As she moved closer to him than perhaps any woman had been since his mother died, he caught her scent - rich, dark, mysterious. Down again, into the bowels of the earth - and he started to catch the scent of water. And then he saw flickering lights, reflected on water far below. "It's a vast underwater cistern," said Morine. "It extends under half Aquila city. Once it supplied much of the water for the noble Houses ... it still can in a crisis. It was built by the ancestors of my House - we've always been in charge of water, drainage and so foorth. Separate from the sewage system, apart from when the Rostays - damn them! - tried their hand at sabotage. We made them pay. In full." Now they were on the last flight of steps and Micahle could look up and admire the high arched ceiling, with intricately carved pillars reaching up into the darkness. Perhaps it reminded him of the catacombs that were in use of some worlds for the disposal of the Catholic dead, a tradition almost as old as the faith istelf ... The water smelled fresh and pure and torches were set on the pillars, reflected on the water below, creating a place of strange and eerie beauty. At the bottom of the steps was a small jetty - but unlike the one that Romeo and Devon had used, the boat here had no ferryman. Morine indicated that Micahle should take his seat and then climbed in herself and took the oars. She sent the boat gliding across the water almost in silence, pausing when they were halfway across. "Put your mask on now," she said. "We might encounter other revellers." He slipped the mask on and reversed his cloak so the white was now outward, the vermillion shown as he folded it back over his shoulder. She pulled a mask over her own face - plain and simple, black, laced with gold. "For tonight," she said, "I shall be your page, and you may call me ... Virgil - for he conducted Dante to Hell." And then, as she bent again to the oars, they heard the faint sound of violins ... of laughter and song, drifting over the water ... The boat nudged against another quay - the one of slippery marble - a dangerous surface, one would have thought, for such a place. The boat was tied to a great ring, held in the mouth of a metal lion that was firmly wielded to the marble. It was the same entrance that Romeo and Devon had used, a little while before. The man with the devil's face took no initial notice of the lion until he saw it crowned with a star. "These are Old Family crypts," he declared with some distaste. They crossed a narrow marble walkway that lined this side of the cistern, and then passed up several shallow stone steps until they came to a low marble doorway, so low that both of them had to bow to enter it. It was carved with fantastic grinning skulls, dancing skeletons and other images of death. There was no door to bar their entry - and inside flames flickered and leapt up, making the archway seem like the entrance to hell itself. Once inside they found themselves in a small hallway. On all side there were niches in the wall; these contained the urns of long dead members of the lost House, each bearing a carved mask on the side of the urn that was supposed to serve as a representation of the owner of the ashes within. Micahle was enrapt by the death masks as they entered, his fingers playing over their surfaces before his attention was called to the guardians of the gate. Opposite there was another arch - also low. The main room or rooms, it seemed, were beyond that. But to pass into this area was not so easy. Two immense guards, dressed in robes of varying shades of read and armed to the teeth, stood before it. "Who would pass into Hell?" demanded one of them as Micahle and Morine approached. But it seemed he spoke the words by rote, for something in his expression suggested that he recognised the page boy at Micahle's side ... and was afraid. "Tonight? Belial, wickedness and depravity. The duality of man and half of Satan," Micahle answered with some force. "I've abandoned all hope already as Virgil leads me forth." Here he indicated the page at his side. 'Virgil' smiled - and the two guards sprang back. Virgil led them into Hell ... The main part was a long high room, whiitewashed, with two long tables running down each side of the walls, with people seated on either side. A third table was set at the far end of the room - at this sat a group of older men, all masked. Those on the side tables were, it appeared, younger. Some gambled with dice, some were eating and drinking. All the men were masked - but there were women too - unmasked and in various states of undress. They were young and - by and large - attractive; some outstandingly so - and it was clear that their function was to serve the club members in any way required. Indeed, as Morine and Fiore entered, it was to see a couple were on their knees, engaged in pleasuring the gentlemen, while one ardent young man had tipped a girl forward over the end of a table, raised her skirts and was having his will. The public displays appeared to be the exception, though. Most of the patrons seemed to stand, take a young woman (or women) by the hand, and lead them away through one of the low dark doorways that ran along each of the long walls, and which clearly led to more private rooms. Not that one seemed to need a woman to enter them. Sometimes men were leaving together in small groups - sometimes, it seemed, for games of chance - although several might have had other purposes in mind. Morine stood for a second, her head turning slightly as she looked around the room. It seemed she was looking for someone ... someone who was not there, Micahle might conclude - and Morine seemed rather relieved. "You need to make your bow to the Demons of the High Table," she told him. "Then ... you might take your pleasure where you choose." "I'm sure that would amuse your mistress, wouldn't it," Belial answered. He had played games before where another role was how he would be known, but never where he faced such decadence. There were several people seated at the High Table, all masked, but seemingly rather older than those who frequented the lower tables. Two of their number were playing a game of draughts, of all things, to one end of the long table. Another, clearly more into the spirit of things, was attempting to throw small pieces of fruit into the decolletage of a rather amply gifted young lady, whose unmasked state procliamed her status - and her role. She was screaming with laughter at his game. One of the men was dressed in a long, sweeping red cloak. "That's the cloak worn by whoever is declared to be presiding over hell this evening," Morine said quietly. "Wise of you to reverse yours. And this one is not Lucifer - he always wears pure white. And it's not Mephistopheles, who also presides on occasion. No, this is one of the lesser devils, but one that needs to be appeased. The lesser Demon presiding regarded their approach with what appreared to be a jaundiced eye, even through the mask. But more striking, perhaps, was the woman who was bending over his shoulder to pour him a goblet of wine. Ethereally fair ... she looked up as Morine and Micahle approached, and her eyes widened ... in alarm? Shock? For the unmasked woman was Nira, Lady Lagoran The eyes of Belial widened and we just as quickly hidden as he bowed before the chief devil. "Good evening, mi'lord," he greeted. "I am called Belial for the evening, and this is Virgil, that leads me to Hell as he once led Dante to Heavan." The voice was resonant and carried, as if he were comfortable speaking before groups in open areas. "So good to see new... faces," came a voice from behind them. It belonged to a man of medium-height, dressed up in whites and light colors, the mask of a handsome devil- Mephistopheles- covering his face. The heavy faced devil who had been presiding at the table rose at once and made a formal bow, as though greeting a superior. "Will you preside over our festivities tonight, my Lord Mephistopheles?" he asked. The other devil made a similar bow, a parody of that which the nobility did for one another. "I shall," he said, and moved to the table, arranged himself in one of the thronelike chairs. His mask was made of ivory, they could see, yellowed and cracked a little with age. "Amuse me tonight," he said to all, gesturing for one of the women to serve him. The page boy watched for a moment. The mask hid all expression on her face, but Miccahle might see those cruelly curved lips suddenly seemed a little pale, a little thin, as though set tensely. Beside Belial, Virgil stirred, clearly a little discomposed by the newcomer. "I didn't realize Mephistoples meant to appear this evening," the masked pageboy said. There was an odd tone in the rich voice - a deference to a senior member of the Club, perhaps - but also a suggestion of a dark excitement. "Now that you have been introduced," she said to Belial, "you may choose your ... pleasure." Her face turned - she was looking at Nira, who had set down the wine flagon and was moving away from the table, towards the arches to one side of the room that screened the private rooms. Belial strode forward, intensity in his eyes and took hold of Nira just as she reached the arches. "We must speak," he said quietly. When she looked at him was when he noticed that Lilly was behind the curtain, fixing her skirts and smiling at a masked member as coin exchanged hands. Turning back to Nira, he examined her closer and noticed the differences, unsure of what to do next. Nira looked up at him through long, silky lashes. The expression was perfect; so had he seen her raise her face to his as she knelt before him at Mass. Not by the merest flicker of her eyes, not by the smallest wanton gesture did the woman in front of him suggest that she could be his for the exchange of a some coins. "If you wish, my Lord." Her voice was nearly perfect too - the soft breathy tone that he had heard in the Confessional box, on the witness stand. But the perfect complexion had been achieved by the careful application of make up - something that only one who had been close to the real Nira would know. But her scent, her perfume ... ah ... that was perfect. "We can ... retire," she said - and her tone of voice was not an invitation, but a suggestion that they two were superior beings who should leave the vulgar throng. "Yes, one wonders why one came this evening," he said, carefully keeping the facade in place. "I'm sure you have something to quench my thirst?" Belial asked sweeping the curtain behind them. They were in one of the small rooms off the arcade to one side. It must once had been an individual tomb for some important member of the Lion House. No the stone plinth where the sarcophagus must have once stood was covered by a sumptuous four poster bed. Chains were attached to each of the posts, with cuffs dangling at the end - chains that could be shortened and lengthened by the use of an ingenious machine - truly, members' needs were catered to here. Against the walls were arranged several tall cabinets. Nira went unhesitatingly to one and opened it to reveal goblets and an impressive array of bottles continuing what seemed to be a wide range of alcoholic spirits, some of which looked as though they might have come from offworld. The walls themselves were interested. Once the walls of this tomb must have been painted in brilliant colours, telling in words and pictures something of the life of the deceased who was laid there. Now the paint was faded and cracked. Red and gold glimmered on the walls - here and there a flash of blue. Words suddenly became visible as a sconce on the wall flared up ... "Lion-hearted". "Noble". "Power". Nira turned. "I think I can offer my Lord Belial what he desires," she said, and her eyes were dark in the torchlight. - - - - - - After wine was poured into a goblet, the ivory-masked Mephisto inclined his head and extended a hand to the page boy. His lips curled into a cruel smile, similar to what she wore. His eyes were black, emotionless, frightening. "Come," was all he said. But she could tell his attention was also diverted by the game at the nearby table- and Belial, who had disappered into the nearby room. Slowly she walked forward until she stood immediately before the table. Her head was lifted in a proud gesture as though Dante would stare Mephisto down. But only Mephistopheles himself could see how her eyes slid nervously from meeting his one gaze. "My Lord Mephistopheles," she said formally, but in a low voice. "The demon Belial ... I can explain ... " "I am always happy to see new blood," Mephisto said. His eyes looked back in the direction of the room, then back to hers. "But I wonder what you have brought here in my presence tonight." Her lips parted, and then curved up into a smile. "Perhaps ... a present. Perhaps ... danger. "Shall we talk together?" After a moment, he nodded slowly and stood. "Yes... we shall... talk... together." She moved aside to one of the 'private rooms' to the side. It was - perhaps by chance, perhaps not - the one immediately adjacent to the chamber presently occupied by Belial and his 'Lady Lagoran'. Like that room, this must once had been an individual tomb for some important member of the Lion House. Now the stone plinth where the sarcophagus must have once stood was covered by a sumptuous four poster bed. Chains were attached to each of the posts, with cuffs dangling at the end - chains that could be shortened and lengthened by the use of an ingenious machine - truly, members' needs were catered to here. Against the walls were arranged several tall cabinets. The nearest, both Dante and Mephisto knew, goblets and an impressive array of bottles containing what seemed to be a wide range of alcoholic spirits, some of which looked as though they might have come from offworld. The walls themselves were interesting. Once the walls of this tomb must have been painted in brilliant colours, telling in words and pictures something of the life of the deceased who was laid there. Now the paint was faded and cracked. Red and gold glimmered on the walls - here and there a flash of blue. Words suddenly became visible as a sconce on the wall flared up ... "Betrayed. Abandoned. Lost." Dante turned and faced the devil, the same cruel little smile on her lips. "My Lord Mephisto." The white-clad devil had picked up a lit candle, tilted it so that a drop of wax fell to the floor. It slowly hardened as they watched. "My Lady Dante," he replied. Later, as he unlocked one of the handcuffs to allow her to stretch out her arm muscles, he said, "Tell me of Belial... and what use he can be to us." She shook her dark head so that the smooth hair fell back from her masked face, stretching her arm out, the hand clenching and unclenching. "He believes himself to be a good man. All his life he has served his cause ... and the challenges he has met may have been hard, but easily answered for a man as strong as he. Life has been painted for him in black and white - and he has chosen the white. But now he is on Aquila - and he is realising all the delicious and beautiful shades of grey that exist ... "Some of which, I believe, he is beginning to discover tonight." She tilted her head back, the lips almost pouting. "That he chose to come ... suggests possibilities. But he is powerful, and could be dangerous too. It might be that he seeks to discover ... what use we can be of to him." "Belial..." Mephistopheles moved to each of the metal cuffs in turn, unlocking them. "What an interesting choice. If you have read him wrong, my dear, he could be our undoing. But if you are right... we may be his." A cruel smile stole upon his lips. "And his choice for a companion... like a thirsty man in a desert. We must not let shame take over, when he thinks about what he has done. We must spend some time with him, draw him out. Exploit what we know." She smiled, arching her back to stretch the muscles. "After tonight ... he will be wary of me. I brought him here - it was a risk that we had to take. And ... yes. He had eyes for only one. And he will know that I know this. "What he will need is a friend, a confidante. Not someone of the Church now ... how could he tell a man of the cloth about this? Someone loyal. Discreet. Reliable. Someone who will not betray him. Someone who will not judge him." Again the smile. "Someone who will not impede his desires. "Do you have any demons, Mephisto, who will do your bidding in this?" "I have a few in mind," Mephisto said. "He'll need all the support he can find. Already, the conflict... he will want to confess, eventually, to expunge this sin. But he will not, for he will lose his position. I do not think he'll confess. With our foot in the door, we can make it widen." "Oh yes," agreed Dante. "But there is one other who must be convinced of this." She smiled. "Although you can leave her to me." "I could always count on you, darling Dante," he said. "Perilous is the path of those who follow you." He chuckled. "And when Belial is more... inured... to our existence? Have you thought of how to use him?" "Apart from swinging him to our party?" said Morine. "We are open to further ... temptation, my Lord Mephistopheles. Do you have any thoughts yourself?" "Let us bide our time," the white-clad demon said after a moment. "Perhaps he will be seduced by the charms that are offered him. Or perhaps a harsher line will have to be taken. The choice will determine how far he will go. There is no point in making plans before knowing this." He paused, licked his lips. "I do not want him in a crisis, however, until the last necessary moment. Let us give him the illusion of choice as long as we can." Dante nodded her dark head in agreement, and faint smile on her dark red lips. "And ... our Lady?" she asked. "How aware should she be of the bars of her cage?" "It would be all the sweeter if she were not aware of it at all," Mephisto said. "I do not wish to gamble everything on her sense of conscience, however... how would she react if she knew what was happening?" Dante frowned. "If it can be made a matter of her duty to ... the boy - then she will be as committed as we might wish. If she were to rely on her own heart ... " The dark-haired page was silent for a moment. "I ... begin to wonder," she said softly. "It is a long time for her since she trusted her heart. Longer ... than she pretends. And all the more dangerous if she starts to do that now. "Perhaps she needs ... a salutory warning." "You know her best," Mephisto said with a slight incline of his head. "My resources will be at your disposal in this matter." Dante smiled, her dark head bowing in acknowledgement. Then her hand, with its dark red painted nails, lifted to rest on his sleeve. "And how," she said softly, "might we serve you?" "You have always served me well," Mephisto said. His gaze strayed to the rumpled bed. "In many ways. Just where you are, what you do. Your loyalty... pleases me." The dark head tilted back, the silken hair falling like a straight curtain. Behind the mask, Dante's eyes seemed unfathomably dark, and enormous, and her painted red lips parted. "Then ... let me please you further," she said. (OOC - fade to black? Followed by rejoining the company at a later stage?) (and a fade to black :) |
