A Dozen Black Roses by Nancy A. Collins Page B
Authors: Nancy A. Collins
Tags: General, Comics & Graphic Novels
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the rear of the Black Lodge. Whoever the stranger was, she certainly wasn't one of Esher's minions.
***
"Relax, Sinjon," Esher said, holding out a cordial glass filled with blood. "Help yourself. It's from my private cellar."
"You're too kind," Sinjon replied, accepting the drink with a gracious nod. He sniffed the proffered liquid as a connoisseur would a fine wine, nodding his approval. "Ah! This one shows fine breeding! Xg, if I'm not mistaken? I'm suitably impressed!"
"I'm honored." Esher's smile never made it to his eyes.
Sinjon set aside the cordial glass, crossed his leg at the knee and placed his steepled hands in his lap.
"Now that we have observed the niceties, Tremere, let the talking begin. Why have you invited me here?"
"I would like to propose a truce."
Sinjon lifted an eyebrow but remained silent.
"Despite what you may believe, I have no desire to be the crown prince of Deadtown, nor do I wish to engage in a jyhad with you, Sinjon."
"You certainly have a strange way of showing it, then! I have it on good authority your progeny slew one of my Spoons at my very doorstep!"
"Decima? You must be mistaken! She would not do such a thing without my knowledge! As it is, rumor has it the death was a retaliation for the murder of one of my Pointers. I suspect this to be the handiwork of mortals, Sinjon. You know how foolish these boys can be."
"Yes," Sinjon murmured, glancing down at the Black Spoons standing in a clot on the floor below, glowering at the Pointers surrounding them. "I'm afraid I do. They're worse than the gypsies ever thought of being."
"You see, Sinjon—that is part of the problem I wish to solve! The bad feelings between your camp and mine arise from our mortal servitors. You and I are, at heart, businessmen. Our business is survival. Yet our mutual distrust and resentment of one another have led to constant clashing and skirmishing. I spend as much time and effort outfitting my men with weapons as I do selling them! That's bad for business. We spend too much of our time scheming and plotting against one another. And it is not necessary! I have no interest in moving in on your rackets, Sinjon! It is a shame that we have not come to an understanding until now."
"I'm not so certain we understand one another even now," Sinjon replied. "You are an ambitious man, Esher. Am I to believe that you have no interest in what is mine?"
"Yes. I am ambitious. But since when has that become a sin in the eyes of the Ventrue?"
"I have my position to consider, wizard. I was prince of Deadtown when you were still sperm swimming in your father's balls! Deadtown is my domain, and you have blatantly challenged my control of it! I cannot allow such an affront to go without reprimand. You know this as much as I."
"I am aware of this. That is why I propose a ritual appeasement that will prove my good will."
Sinjon's eyebrow crept up even further. "Appeasement? Of what sort?"
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) Esher smiled, spreading his hands in a magnanimous gesture. "I'll allow you to decide that."
Sinjon stroked his chin, looking pensive for a long moment. Then he smiled and pointed at Nikola, who was draped about the back of Esher's throne like a silk cape. "I'll take the girl."
Esher's face went rigid. "Not the girl! I'll grant you anything else!"
Seeing his rival's discomfort turned Sinjon's smile sharp as broken glass. "No. It's her I want! Give me the girl, or I'll know you're lying!"
"You call me a liar?"
"Let us say, wizard, I doubt you speak truthfully. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to this evening."
"But what of my offer?"
"I will consider it genuine only if you give to me that for which I have asked—your toy dancer. Until then, we have nothing to say to one another." Using his walking stick, Sinjon rose from his seat, bowing slightly at the waist and touching the brim of his tricorn. "Adieu, my
***
"Relax, Sinjon," Esher said, holding out a cordial glass filled with blood. "Help yourself. It's from my private cellar."
"You're too kind," Sinjon replied, accepting the drink with a gracious nod. He sniffed the proffered liquid as a connoisseur would a fine wine, nodding his approval. "Ah! This one shows fine breeding! Xg, if I'm not mistaken? I'm suitably impressed!"
"I'm honored." Esher's smile never made it to his eyes.
Sinjon set aside the cordial glass, crossed his leg at the knee and placed his steepled hands in his lap.
"Now that we have observed the niceties, Tremere, let the talking begin. Why have you invited me here?"
"I would like to propose a truce."
Sinjon lifted an eyebrow but remained silent.
"Despite what you may believe, I have no desire to be the crown prince of Deadtown, nor do I wish to engage in a jyhad with you, Sinjon."
"You certainly have a strange way of showing it, then! I have it on good authority your progeny slew one of my Spoons at my very doorstep!"
"Decima? You must be mistaken! She would not do such a thing without my knowledge! As it is, rumor has it the death was a retaliation for the murder of one of my Pointers. I suspect this to be the handiwork of mortals, Sinjon. You know how foolish these boys can be."
"Yes," Sinjon murmured, glancing down at the Black Spoons standing in a clot on the floor below, glowering at the Pointers surrounding them. "I'm afraid I do. They're worse than the gypsies ever thought of being."
"You see, Sinjon—that is part of the problem I wish to solve! The bad feelings between your camp and mine arise from our mortal servitors. You and I are, at heart, businessmen. Our business is survival. Yet our mutual distrust and resentment of one another have led to constant clashing and skirmishing. I spend as much time and effort outfitting my men with weapons as I do selling them! That's bad for business. We spend too much of our time scheming and plotting against one another. And it is not necessary! I have no interest in moving in on your rackets, Sinjon! It is a shame that we have not come to an understanding until now."
"I'm not so certain we understand one another even now," Sinjon replied. "You are an ambitious man, Esher. Am I to believe that you have no interest in what is mine?"
"Yes. I am ambitious. But since when has that become a sin in the eyes of the Ventrue?"
"I have my position to consider, wizard. I was prince of Deadtown when you were still sperm swimming in your father's balls! Deadtown is my domain, and you have blatantly challenged my control of it! I cannot allow such an affront to go without reprimand. You know this as much as I."
"I am aware of this. That is why I propose a ritual appeasement that will prove my good will."
Sinjon's eyebrow crept up even further. "Appeasement? Of what sort?"
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) Esher smiled, spreading his hands in a magnanimous gesture. "I'll allow you to decide that."
Sinjon stroked his chin, looking pensive for a long moment. Then he smiled and pointed at Nikola, who was draped about the back of Esher's throne like a silk cape. "I'll take the girl."
Esher's face went rigid. "Not the girl! I'll grant you anything else!"
Seeing his rival's discomfort turned Sinjon's smile sharp as broken glass. "No. It's her I want! Give me the girl, or I'll know you're lying!"
"You call me a liar?"
"Let us say, wizard, I doubt you speak truthfully. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to this evening."
"But what of my offer?"
"I will consider it genuine only if you give to me that for which I have asked—your toy dancer. Until then, we have nothing to say to one another." Using his walking stick, Sinjon rose from his seat, bowing slightly at the waist and touching the brim of his tricorn. "Adieu, my
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