Nanowrimo 2011 - Day 25

Magdalena surfaced slowly. Silk sheets. The air smelled of roses. Warmth of a down comforter. She stretched - arms above her head to feel the familiar carvings on the head board and feet stretching to touch toes to the wood of the foot board. She yawned and put everything she had into the stretch, arching her back and rolling over onto her stomach. She pulled the pillow back under her head and opened her eyes. Warm morning sunlight. A dozen red roses in a crystal glass vase on the nightstand by her side of the bed.

She laughed to herself, despite all the times she woke here to the morning sun, she couldnt convince herself that it was just a simulation. The technicians who had designed the shipboard lighting systems had outdone themselves.

“After that display, your name will be spoken in fear for time to come.” a voice said from the foot of the bed.

Magda rolled back over pulling silk sheets with her as she sat up, arranged two pillows behind her, and sat to look at the person speaking.

He looked exactly the same standing at the foot of her bed as he had done in the inherited memories. Lucas Wainwright, a co-worker on the original project that had launched the generation ship, standing at her bedside. Gone was the white shirt, tie and khaki pants. Today he looked every inch the Victorian gentleman, walking cane in hand, and smile on his bearded face. His hair though, jet black and loose to just below the collar, all these years and he had kept the same hairstyle?

“Something wrong? You’re frowning.” he said, leaning forward, putting his weight on the ever present walking cane, smiling.

“Dreams and cobwebs of sleep.” Magda said, yawning.

“I know what you need. A weekend in the country!” he smiled.

Magda didnt have to force a smile. This was a new step for the relationship - all of their time together had been in the city and as far as she could tell, the interior of the generation ship was entirely given over to the city. Country could only mean one thing: making landfall on the planet below. To do so would be to reveal to her the secret of the ship itself.

Magda broadened the smile even more, “I would love that! I’ve never been outside of the city.” she said, knowing it to be a lie. Would he buy it?

Lucas smiled and nodded, “I’ll have my people make the arrangements. Pack for warmer weather. We will picnic in the park, then travel I think. We need to talk…”

Something cold as ice slid down Magda’s spine as Lucas spoke. His smile, once warm, transformed into the smile of a cobra readying to strike. The glint of morning sunlight in his eyes became cold and predatory. Memories of other people - college professors, grade school teachers, her parents, Mama Rosa herself - that phrase never bode well. Boyfriends had dumped her after saying that. Punishment followed it. Nothing good could come of “we need to talk…”

“Get dressed, I’ll be in the drawing room.” he finished, and with a flourish tuned on his heel and walked out of her bedroom.

Magda took a long hot shower, using the water to scour away the memory of “we need to talk…” It felt like everything she had built was falling apart around her. Has he found out? Did he know how much of the story she’d told him was a lie? Any feeling of pride at the bloody victory she’d won in the sight of the community was lost as her fears began to spiral. Surging up from the depths was the urge to pull on a sensor-net suit and simply disappear. Memories of the explosion - how the sensor net had sealed over the severed stump of Patrick’s arm and the fact that it had bled. It repulsed her, like seeing a fat tick engorged on human blood attached to the skin of a person. She shuddered and scrubbed herself again just to get thoughts of parasites off her skin.

Wrapped in a cotton towel, another around her long black hair, Magda returned to her bedroom. One of their servants had a travel hamper open on the freshly made bed and some arrangements of clothing laid out for her. She smiled. This was service and she could get used to it! She chose a practical arrangement of long walking shirt, forgoing hoops and bustle for simple practicality, white blouse and a deep red riding jacket. Her favourite pair of boots had been manufactured on the “Purgatory’s Lament” and included a hidden stiletto dagger and steel toecaps. She wasnt expecting trouble but she was unsettled by Lucas’s “we need to talk…”. She turned the thin knife over and over in her hands, enjoying its familiar weight. Her hidden stiletto was of Italian design - polished human bone inlaid the handle, replacing its original ivory, with a narrow polished steel blade. The edge was dull with a needle sharp tip; this was a weapon designed to penetrate deeply, delivering a death blow in a single thrust. She spun it in her hands, and hefted it. It was weighted to be thrown if the need arose. She slipped it home into the boot sheath and turned her attention to packing for the weekend in the country.

Lucas was standing by the mantlepiece when Magda opened the doors to the drawing room. A fire was laid in the grate but hadnt yet been lit. The french doors out to their small garden were open and Magda could smell freshly cut grass and honeysuckle. Lucas smiled at her. Nothing in the smile suggested his meant ill by the “we need to talk…” but Magda still carried a knot of fear, cold as ice, deep in her belly … and a knife at the ready in her boot.

“That will be all.” Lucas said, dismissing the staff.

Magda looked around. Sure enough, an old woman had been cleaning silverwares at the sideboard. What was she coming to? This sort of observation was part and parcel of her immersion anthropology. She was losing her edge. She was coming to terms with the luxury of money and power. Staff were becoming invisible. The old cleaning lady bundled up her silver polish and polishing clothes, nodded deferentially to the Lord and Lady, then closed the doors on her way out of the room.

“Drink?” Lucas asked, “I’ve a 15-year decanted and open to breath.”

Magda had recoiled so hard from similar statements but this time something was different. Oh so different. She accepted the glass from Lucas and smiled. She smelled the deep red fluid, a wine connoseur, with eyes closed. He was right. A good vintage, selected for age but there was more to it. She opened her eyes, raised her glass in salute to Lucas, then drank. Smooth. Far smoother than she’d tasted in recent days - this was something new - and it was good! She downed the rest of the glass with a flourish.

Lucas was smiling, decanter at the ready to refill her glass, “Delightful, dont you think? It was imported, prepared at my country estate, to very particular standards. As were these … sweetbreads.” Lucas offered her a small silver plate with grey cubes.

Magda had seen these before. The Doctor had them! Last time she’d had one it had been potent, an intoxicating inrush of power and energy. Between the bloodwine and the sweetbead she imagined she had gained a flush on her face. This time the flavor was different, more refined, a subtle blend of flavors. The doctor’s cube had tasted mass-produced. Lucas had given her hand-crafted, free-range, something lovingly produced.

“Both products of my estate in the country. Have you ever had anything quite like it?” he asked with a smile.

Ahh. There it was. Subtle probing. Truthfully, the doctor’s grey cubes were bland and tasteless. Magda smiled, “Indeed, I havent. May I have another, that was delicious!”

Lucas picked up a small cube and fed her with a grin, “soon, my dear, you can have as many of those as you like. Plans and business arranagements are coming to a head. We will be able to go live in the country.”

He stepped away, put the small plate down on the edge of his wooden desk and picked up a small box. Lucas’s grin faded to a mere smile as he stepped back and went down on one knee, offering her the box. She accepted it, her smile vanishing, was he asking? She opened the box to see a platimum ring and large sparkling diamond. Her jaw dropped. This was way beyond the manufacturing capabilities of the Victorian society.

“It’s beautiful.” she stammered.

“It was my grandmother’s ring.” Lucas said, “We can have a small ceremony, eiher in the city or, on my country estate…” he said, still waiting on her answer.

Magda was shocked. She had expected the worst, for sure, and this was coming utterly out of nowhere. Position. Power. Coming after the message she just sent, was he trying to tame her and bring her under his power now? Accept his offer and their futures were linked, forever. Her life on “Purgatory’s Lament” would be dead and gone.

Lucas was still down on one knee, waiting, and watching the thoughts and emotions play across her face.

Lucas was on the rise, he had demonstrated that, with a ruthless head for business and drive to succeed. Magda nodded slowly. This could work but it needed to be done her way. She accepted the ring, slipped it free of the box and put it on her left finger. She held it up to catch the sunlight. Truly magnificent workmanship.

She turned her attention to the smiling Lucas, “There will be no ceremony at least not as you conceive of it - I want moonlight, fire, blood and a ritual of the Old Families. This needs to be a blood-fasting. I will accept nothing less.”

She watched, and waited, aware that she was asking something he might not be comfortable with, or depending on his age, even unknown to him. A hand-fasting ceremony would have been one thing - binding on the couple as any other marriage ritual would be - but a blood-fasting was a ritual born of lore and legend, a nightmare to some. A true Matriarch’s wedding ritual. In those moments he would be virtually un-made and re-made. He would be bound to her as none other. She would no longer be bound to his ascendancy, but her to hers. It went against pride. Something shifted in his face. Had he remembered the message of the arena? Was he ready for something more than marriage and a pledge of allegiance? Was he ready to bare his very soul and wait on her pleasure to grant him back life. It would be in her hands what degree of life she would bestow upon him. This wasnt leaving behind a batchelor, playboy existance. This wasnt the superficial fear of losing a his identity “I” becoming “We”, “me” becoming “us” - there was a very real possibility he could lose all, unless his Matriarch chose to give it back to him. Did she want him to serve? Was he ready for the possibility?

Magda watched and waited patiently, allowing signs of fear to pass. Did she catch a glimmer of terror in there too? She didnt let him see how she felt. Elated, yes, but it would be asking more of her than at any point before. Mama Rosa had explained the details to her, much as a mother would explain the ‘facts of life’ to any young girl blossoming into womanhood. Mama Rosa had seen something in her back then, hadnt she? The possibility of a new Matriarch. She had explained, but told her that it was a ritual to be held sacred, there was no play-acting or role-play ahead of time. It would be for real the first time. What manner of Matriarch she would be, would be determined in her actions that night.
But Mama Rosa did more than explain, she shared, knowing Magdalena to be a reader. She invested a taste of herself to the young girl, a sacrament, carrying with it all the instruction that she would need to ascend to the position she was destined to be. The rest would be up to her in the moment.

In a moment born of tradition Lucas brushed hair back from his collar, bared his throat, and said simply, “My lady.”

Magda shivered. An ill wind blew through the room as she recalled a scene that played out just this same way. Her father, a blond nurse … and the death no vampire should, or even could, die. She now found herself hesitating. Her future - for better or for worse - hung in the balance. She leaned in, taking a moment to take in his scent, it was the cologne she had complimented him on wearing when they went to the opera. He was certainly trying his best. She brushed his neck with her nose and she thought she caught a slight flinch. This moment was hers though. She brushed scarlet lips across the steady heartbeat, a kiss, a lick. The moment became electric with anticipation. The bite when it came was light, she knew better than to give in and feed, this was ritual and needed to measure to the letter. She accepted his blood offering, the formal mixing with the sensual in that moment and those that followed. At least the staff knew not to disturb them.

On the way to the park for their picnic lunch, Lucas commented “You know, there is one small item of business we will have to attend to. A promotion actually. I’ve asked my man, Iaian, to step into a position you very kindly helped to vacate.”

Magda smiled, then pouted, “I thought it would be just the two of us for lunch…” she couldnt maintain the face and dissolved into giggles.

“Certainly. Bring him along.” she said.

“He will be meeting us, with his lover. I am sure that they will be delighted to hear our news and meet the future Mrs. Wainwright.” Lucas said.

Magda’s hand clenched, an involuntary gesture, but with vice-like power. Lucas tried to move his arm but she held fast.

“I will be keeping my own name out of reverence for the Matriarch Rosa, who raised me like a mother, and who’s name I now carry proudly by my own choice.” she said, then let go.

Lucas opened his mouth to say something then closed it again, choosing the path of a quiet and unspoiled journey over forcing the issue. None of this was going in exactly the direction he had hoped, but it was close, and he thought to himself, not unsalvagable.

When they arrived at the park they found Iaian and a blond woman already there and waiting for them. Both Magda and Lucas smiled as the couple recognized them and hurried to their feet to greet them.

“My lady!” Iain said, a hint of Scottish in his accent. He bowed politely, deferentially. Without thinking Magda extended her left hand, now bearing Lucas’s ring. As a gentleman he might shake her by the hand, or perhaps kiss her hand. Magda was pleased to see him pause and turn his kiss of her hand into something else entirely. He kissed the ring. The reputation she wanted to build needed to start somewhere. This gesture would help to cement it.

Lucas stepped in and clasped the stranger in a bear hug, clearly old friends, “My man Iaian here has volunteered to step into the breach and take on the operations manager role, overseeing farming on my country estates.” he said.

Iaian nodded and smiled, “Thank you. This is Alsa.”

The blond smiled and curtseyed, “Pleased to meet you sir, ma’am,” she said. Magda wondered how much Iaian was paying for the privilage of her company, and whatever other … services … she was providing.

The weather was perfect for the picnic and Lucas took Iaian off to the side for a few moments of serious business talk before they returned to continue eating, joking about the way the ducks were behaving on the nearby pond, and how nice a day they were having. Servants, Magda recognized them as from Lucas’s personal staff, arrived as they were winding down to tidy away the picnic items and offer transport away for the next leg of their journey. The young blond, Alsa, was dismissed with the staff as Lucas lead them away to where a taxicab was waiting.

“Where next?” Magda asked, hanging on his arm. It made Iaian squirm to see the public display of affection. She smiled, was he really so isolated and single ? As they got into the cab, Lucas and Magda on the back seat facing the direction of travel, Iaian on the front seat with his back to the driver. Lucas smiled as Magda moved in close, “glad to be inside, out of the cold.” She smiled, watching the little man squirm again, and unable to say or do anything about it.

“We are heading down to the rail yards, to pick up my private locomotive.” Lucas said, “But there are some things I want you to know as we do.”

The cab dropped them off. Lucas paused, “Listen…”

Magda heard nothing but the occasional mechanical noise and railyard traffic. Iaian looked and shrugged.

“Again. Listen and observe.” Lucas urged them.

Magda listened and caught it, Iaian was blank. The railyard sounds were on a loop, and they didnt correlate exactly with the other deeper mechanical noises. The trains coming and going here were phantoms but the sounds were real enough. She smiled. Lucas was playing a game with them both, unaware of her own origins, and trying to break the news to them gently about shipboard life. As Lucas lead them toward a squat building on the edge of the railyard he pulled out a keyring from his pocket. He made a point of waving the keys in Iaian’s direction, who nodded and smiled, again not catching on. Lucas stopped by the door keys in hand.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Iaian reached for the door handle and Lucas quite theatrically slapped him on the wrist, “Not yet. More to show you.”

With a grin he leafed through to the only item on the keyring that wasnt obviously a key - a small metal lump about an inch across - “Aha, found you!” he said and waved it by the door handle. There was an audible “clunk” and the door fell open.

“Let’s see that again shall we?” He said, pushing the door closed with a solid ‘thunk’ of an invisible lock engaging.

He waved the electronic key over the door lock a second time with the same result: an open door.

“How did you do that?” Iaian asked.

“Science.” Lucas said.

“Certainly no science available to the public of this city.” Iaian commented.

Lucas closed the door and handed the keys to Iaian, “Your turn. In your new role as Operations Manager, you’re going to have to grasp a whole lot more than just opening doors. And, yes, those keys are for you. Keep them safe.”

Iaian walked up and parroted what Lucas had done. The door opened. He smiled, closed it, and opened it again.