Bank of Westminster

Chapter 14

November 17, 1987 – 11:40 p.m.

Inner London, Prussia Street.

Night flowed like dark water, swallowing every glimmer of light. A silent flash of lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating the hazy silhouettes of the crowd. The ground trembled as if an ocean wave had shattered against a reef. One after another, lions bearing knights stepped onto the long thoroughfare. Unlike the daytime lion-knights, these were pure-white males with eyes of amber, each wearing a mask of chased silver.

The knights themselves wore engraved plate, alchemic longswords etched with runes at their hips. At the center of their breastplates, twin lion eyes had been inlaid in silver—an ancient and mysterious crest. These were the Lion-Pupil Knights, one of the six great orders of the Temple. Their silver lions and amber gaze when invoking the Promise had made them famous across the old-blood worlds of both East and West.

The Lion-Pupil Knights raised their blades to the crowd; the lions let out low, sullen growls, white breath snorting from their nostrils like muffled thunder in the night. Along the street, people froze at that roar; for an instant, their breath stopped and their minds went blank, as though lightning had struck the very center of the clouds.

"Not here. Move out!"

When the roar faded, the Knight-Captain swept the area, confirmed that no trace of the wanted man lingered, and led his riders away on their silver lions.

Only when the Lion-Pupil Knights had vanished did a boy in a newsboy cap, holding a sheepdog on a leash, whisper from a corner, "You can come out now, Mr. Constantine. They're gone."

A dark figure slipped from the alley and followed the boy, furtively entering a clinic whose sign read: Cigarettes & Wine.

...

The boy lit the hearth and the wall-lamps, then poured a cup of black tea for Baron, who sat on the sofa. "It's not yet midnight. Teacher is still asleep. Rest here a moment; I'll fetch some bread."

By the firelight, Baron surveyed the room. The clinic was crammed with a dizzying array of objects—some piled into small mountains, others sealed beneath acrylic or glass.

"Teacher Baggin's collection of Forbidden Objects," the boy explained, noticing Baron's gaze. He had kept his back turned the entire time.

Baron was surprised; the boy seemed to see his wonder anyway. While setting out freshly baked cookies, he said, "Mr. Constantine, do you remember what I told you when I rescued you?"

"That this rescue was free?" Baron asked uncertainly.

He dimly recalled being surrounded by Battle-Sisters, lion-knights, and demon-hunters when the boy had appeared, claiming, "Teacher Baggin sent me to get you."

The boy laughed. "I'm blind. Sanji is my eyes."

Sanji was the sheepdog; the boy's name was Don Quixote. Baron wondered whether the boy's father had simply read too much Cervantes.

Still, the words clarified things. Baron pointed to the leash on Sanji. "A Forbidden Object?"

Don Quixote smiled. "A leash that links a pet's sight to its owner—Class-C Forbidden Object. Teacher Baggin bought it for ten ounces of gold from Westminster."

Baron nodded. The alchemist sounded kind; perhaps the price for lifting the Timed Death Sentence wouldn't be as steep as he feared.

"It's nearly midnight. I'll wake Teacher Baggin. Please wait."

Baron watched the boy carry Sanji upstairs. In the faint candlelight, his back looked thin as a wooden puppet waiting to be oiled.

He sipped his tea and studied the jumbled Forbidden Objects. Unlike Westminster People's Bank, which labeled everything, these items could have passed for a hoarder's clutter.

Old newspapers lay scattered, their once-moving images frozen to stills where the stored mana had bled away. He picked a few at random:

"Poland-Baggin Pioneers Hermetic Alchemy..."

"Alchemy Master Baggin Publishes Magnum Opus 'Etheric Soul Fission,' Inspired by the Twin-Flower..."

"Baggin's Resurrection Rite Fails—Subject Becomes a Revenant..."

"Baggin Vanishes..."

The papers charted the alchemist's rise and fall. From the look of the clinic, Baron guessed he was now on the downslope, version 2.0. Lawrence had read these before going to prison; who knew how many years had passed since then? That Baggin was alive at all was a miracle.

Baron found more articles on Bloodsucker and the dragon-eaters.

Dragon-eaters... He paused. According to the papers, they were a cult devoted to the Dragon Witch. Calling themselves dragon-eaters, they hunted dragons. Every victim had its heart torn out, its body scorched by dragonfire. Rumor claimed the cult believed a dragon's heart—the source of draconic blood—could be forged into wands of dragon crystal and scale, or even something greater.

"Dragon Witch... Carmen... Dragon-Knight contracts... dragon-eaters..." Baron rubbed his temples. "Too many threads. Survival first."

He set the papers aside and noticed a silver-white necklace lying on a nearby table.

...

"Grade-A Forbidden Object—the Necklace of the Death Goddess. I strongly advise against putting it on; one of its powers is instant death for the wearer."

Instant death? Baron snatched his hand back and looked toward the voice—nothing.

"Down here, lad!"

Something tapped his knee. Baron looked down and saw a tiny old man: about seventy, bushy white brows that curved upward, a long goatee, hair like frost laced with glittering metal filings. In his left hand he held a cup of tea; a cookie was clamped between his teeth. His gray robe was short, yet still swept the floor. Most striking was the hammer in his right hand—silver-bright as if cast from the same metal as the lions outside. It stood taller than the old man himself—like the dwarves Baron had seen in papers and on the street today.

Master alchemist Baggin was a dwarf!

"Changed my mind, lad. Get out. The look in your eyes offends me." The dwarf's brows arched, his gaze sharp.

Baron knew this was the thigh he had to hug; no misstep could be allowed. Between the Forbidden Objects filling the house and the dwarf's reputation, the journey had already been worthwhile.

A real chance to break the Timed Death Sentence!

He apologized reverently and explained his request.

Baggin thrust out a hand. Baron hesitated. The dwarf's brows rose again.

"Rescue fee, boy. You're wanted by the Temple knights, the Holy Cross, the Inquisition, the Hunter Association. Getting you out cost me effort. Pay up."

"But wasn't it..."

Baron nearly said "free," but Baggin cut him short. "Free? Lad, I'm a dwarf. Ever heard the first rule of dwarf finance?"

From his hair he plucked a few glittering metal slivers, rolled them into a bead of gold, and twirled it between his fingers. "Gold is the lifeblood of dwarves!"

Baron gave a wry smile. Master Baggin was not quite what he had imagined.