Gilda and Jessie leaned against the old van. The alleyway next to the theatre was dark and it took a moment to discern the words 'Deep Cold Water' stenciled on the rusty vehicle. Music was still rumbling out of the theatre and promised to do so until the last of the many bands listed in the playbill had performed.
"Jest wish we had a longer set," the smaller of the two women drawled. "Ah mean, comin' all the way up here from Ithaca for just a half-hour set..." she shook her shaggy head.
"That's not why we came to Boston," Gilda said, looking upwards. "Our leaders..."
Jessie snorted, grinning. "The only King in mah book is Elvis."
"You still wanted his autograph. We'll have a return engagement at next year's Battle of the Bands, Gaia willing," Gilda replied and looked at her friend. "Nervous?"
"A bit," Jessie said. She sighed. "But Ah'm more upset that we'll be partin' company for a while. " She stood up. "Gotta go. The bar next door is mah meetin' place."
"And I've got to take the van... elsewhere. I'm sure you'll be fine. Now give me a hug before I go."
The two woman hugged fiercely. "Happy hunting," Gilda said as she tearfully watched Jessie walk away.
"You too." She briefly turned around. "And ye watch mah bass!" she said with a smile, "Don't let anyone snatch it!"
Jessie went into the pub and slid up to the bar. It was like nearly every bar she'd ever been in. Lots of cheap wooden tables and chairs, a row of booths on the side and back, the sweet smell of a grill in the back and the tang of lots of alcohol. Yet almost immediately she felt antsy. Something was very odd about this place. She knew it was a Fianna bar -- but something more was going on.
A large red-haired man behind the bar nodded to her. "What'll ya have?"
She glanced at the available beers and wet her lips. Fianna bars were noted for the good stuff. "Can't go wrong with Guinness."
"No, you can't."
Jessie turned around to watch the crowd as her beer was poured. Some of the people seemed blurry to her. Ears seemed to become pointed and some who appeared to be plain and ordinary became beautiful and striking. Clothes shifted from blue jeans and suits to tunics and fancy silken shirts. She blinked and rubbed her face.
The sound of her beer being placed on the bar caused her to turn. The barkeep was smiling at her. "First time dealing with the Fae?"
"Yeah," Jessie admitted slowly. "Ah got the crash course but mah Alpha told me to steer clear." She looked around studying the livery displayed. "Lots of Apple people here?" she asked placing payment on the bar.
"Queen Mab's people are out in force. There's been some... sorry, got to run."
She retreated from the bar. As one group of musicians rushed out the door to hit the stage, another group of musicians piled into the bar. Jessie stood to one side, quietly nursing her beer, watching. To one side of her she could hear a man with some kind of driving goggles and a woman with goat horns discussing the relative merits of the various guitars that they owned. At the bar a Fianna homid was leading a group in a rousing drinking song. She watched in fascination as some of the people grew large, or smaller, or grew tails and whiskers.
It made her feel edgy, these strange shining people. And knowing she wouldn't be fighting with her pack saddened her. She consoled herself with memories of the performance. The theatre crowd had been demanding and sat on its hands for the first few songs. But the band had given its all and the audience was on their feet by the last song.
She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the time on stage; the roar of the crowd, the rush of the performance... and the promise of the hunt tomorrow. She smiled in anticipation of the stalking, the flushing of hidden game, the kill...
Someone being pushed hard into her back brought her back to the present.
She staggered, spilling half her beer. Recovering from the sudden shove, she turned to see a handsome, pointed-ear man in leathers at her feet. He looked stunned and a bit surprised, on the floor face up on his elbows and rear. He was looking up and through the crowd at the one who presumably had been doing the pushing -- a huge woman wearing a leather jacket with the crest of the Boston Police Department stenciled upon it. The woman was purple -- and shaking -- with rage.
The crowd drew back from the combatants.
She thought back at the picture book Gilda had shown her. She guessed the woman was a troll and the pretty boy must be sidhe.
"TAKE IT BACK!" the troll roared at the man at Jessie's feet. The troll took a fierce step forward towards the sidhe as he tried to scramble away, the troll clearly with physical violence in mind.
Jessie had seen this before. Edgy customers, lots of alcohol, and suddenly everything gets broken. Unless someone put a stop to it.
She stepped in front of the troll and raised herself to her full 5'1".
"SAVE IT," she said loudly. "There be plenty to ass-whoop later. Ah didn't come all the way up here from Ithaca ta watch mah allies whomp on each other. We gots better thangs ta pound on."
The 6'11" troll stopped short. She was still seething with anger but it was held under an even more powerful will. Recognition flickered in her eyes as she looked Jessie over.
"Watch it!" someone shouted. "Five feet of Garou is worth ten-feet of anything else..."
The troll stared hard at Jessie but wisely avoided eye contact.
"You a friend of that punk?" the troll snarled and pointed a finger at the sidhe behind Jessie.
"Don't know him from Adam," Jessie replied with a shrug. She kept her manner calm, almost friendly. "Don't matter. We'z gonna need every hand on deck fer this here Throw Down. If ye gots personal problems..." she waves towards Fianna, "Why don't ya'll get a Philodox ta sort it out." She grinned broadly, flashing a wry and humorous smile. "Cause ya sure don't want me to sort it out."
The moment hung in the air. For a moment the bar quieted down: the calm before the storm, or before the herd stampedes. The troll's expression changed not a bit from the hard anger that fired her expression, but she clearly considered Jessie's words.
The sidhe rose to his feet, and moved to stand by Jessie's side. His face too was angry, serious, set and determined. There was no fear in him as he stared at the troll, but no recklessness either. He too seemed to be ready to fight or argue, but held himself back and waited to see what the policewoman had to say.
When the troll policewoman finally did begin talking, it was in a serious, level timbre. "Mother was a troll, mother and father were both beat cops. I never wanted to be more than a soldier of Concordia and a member of the force." Many heads in the surrounding crowd nodded in agreement. "I did all right in school; good enough for the Academy but not too much better. That's okay, 'cause that's all I ever wanted to do. I was so proud the day father pinned on my badge, and I still think one of the best things I could ever call myself is a cop."
Replies of "Fuckin A'" and "Right on, Captain," echoed from the crowd, from the rather significant number of other uniform-clad patrons.
"My mother died in the 5th Precinct bombing when I was just starting high school," she continued in an utterly flat tone. "My father was the one who found her body. Wrecked him bad emotionally, it did."
"Now they don't give us cops much, the city doesn't," she said with quiet bitterness, as her fellow officers in the crowd murmured agreement and "Damn straight".
"They don't give us much, and they sure don't pay much for decent health care, or decent counseling, not like rich folks get to help them deal with the trauma of Father putting them on 'only' a five-thousand dollar a month allowance. No, Father couldn't pay for the help he needed..."
"...which is okay, because Her Grace Andrea gave it."
"We couldn't pay her a cent, but she helped my father, made him a whole man again, saved him from the bottle and oblivion, without ever getting a penny in return."
"And my father wasn't the only beat cop she's helped. She's given of herself for years. Dozens of cops and firemen and agents, does it day after day, year after year, for no other reason than that she cares for us line grunts, and because she can. Works tirelessly after hours to give to us. Volunteers for danger duty, walks right into the lion's den, to try to talk down crazies and psychos. And when my father took some Sabbat punk's bullet right between the eyes, Her Grace took it right out of her own personal purse to send my kid sister to college. And Sissy isn't the first police orphan Her Grace has taken care of. There are way too many double orphans of the Force. Her Grace cares for them all. I don't know why she loves us line grunts so much...but we'd fight for her, and die for her."
Jessie nodded. Just like back on the farm with the cows, it was time to ease the herd. "She sounds like a right nice person," she said agreeably.
Fierce "Amen"s and "Damn straights" and "You tell 'em Captain," rang out from the crowd.
"She fights for us commoners," the troll police Captain continued, her voice rose, and more members of the crowd chimed in with their agreement, "She fights for our rights and our equality; she swings in high circles but never forgot us ordinary folk. She's the best friend we have in court. She's our champion, our Lady, and damn proud I am to have her as our Chancellor. And I would follow her right through the gates of Hell!"
Loud cheering erupted from the crowd. Someone began a chant, which is swiftly picked up by the crowd, of "Andrea! Andrea!"
But not all in the crowd joined in. The sidhe by Jessie's side had a face of stone, biting his lip, holding back a response. There were many others, sidhe mostly, who also looked grim and angry, dissenting.
But fully half the crowd were on their feet, trolls and eshu, nockers and Garou and mages, many wearing the uniforms of Boston's various government services, or military fatigues, or undress court finery marked with Queen Mab's livery. More than half this crowd called Andrea's name with fervor, with devotion, with love, and the ferocity of their loyalty is like the beat of a mighty bass drum...
The troll police captain raised her hand to ask for quiet, and eventually she got it.
Jessie nodded to herself. Good. This troll would make a good bellwether.
Virtually the entire bar now crowded around, intent on watching the interaction between the troll Captain, the sidhe she challenged, and herself.
"Now, I'm not as learned as some folks," the troll captain continues, "but I'm not stupid, either. Sometimes I read the books my kid sister brings home from Harvard, learn a thing or two."
"I thought you only read the books with pictures, Captain?" a fae in Boston PD blues called out in friendly jest. All the room there was laughter, and the Captain smiled, wryly.
"Don't make me come over there and kick your ass, Estevez," she mock-threatened.
The police contingent chorused "Oooo..." "You're so in trouble..."
The troll turned serious again. "No, I read the books she brings home. Books on lots of things. Like strategy, and rhetoric, and politics. About how governments and courts work. Learned a bunch of really smart guys figured out how to write down the kinds of things I've always suspected about the way Court politics work..."
"And one of the things I learned," she says, her anger began to return, "Is that words can be deadly. That rumor and gossip can be poison. That attacking a noble's reputation can be even more deadly than attacking her person. Undermine the respect other nobles have, you tie her hands, you destroy her power, you destroy her, as surely as if you pitched an army at her. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words, poisoned words, can really kill you."
Silence reigned in the bar save for the sound of the Captain's voice.
"Yes, words can be as deadly to a Lady as cold iron," the Captain continued, her rage building, rolling like a landslide, "And if that punk" she pointed straight at the sidhe Jessie intervened to protect-- "That punk wants to spread poisoned lies about Her Grace..."
A low, feral growl came from dozens of throats. It was clearly news to a lot of folks, and news that was not taken well. Glares of hatred threatened to burn the sidhe to ash. But the sidhe didn't flinch and matched anger for anger on his face.
"...he can damn well stand up and take what's coming like a man!" she concluded.
"Somebody's got to stand up for Duke Cambius!" the sidhe finally exploded, unable to retrain himself any longer and shouted over the rising angry hubbub of the crowd. "Someone has to stand up for His Grace and us Chosen!"
Jessie glanced around to see a fair number of other sidhe in the crowd and a few mages murmur their angry agreement, even as the Fae commoners and Garou growled in counter. For everyone who angrily agreed with the young sidhe, there were perhaps three -- or five -- other bar patrons who looked ready to join the troll Captain in turning the young sidhe squire into a bloody pile.
Damn. Wrong bellwether.
"Somebody has to stand up for what's right!" the sidhe shouted and pressed on; the fury and anger boiling out in his voice, unafraid, unashamed, his words flung like a gauntlet.
"And you can't keep away what you don't want to hear just by beating up everyone who's got the guts to call it like it is! And when an honest, long-faithful servant of this Kingdom gets passed up for the position he earned, by a vixen bitch whose major claim to become Queen Mab's second is being whelped by a whore fucked by a prince-"
"Mind yer manners!" Jessie snapped at the sidhe, loud enough for the whole bar to hear.
The sidhe seemed taken aback, as if slapped in the face.
"AND ANYONE WHO STARTS A FIGHT WILL BE SUBJECT TO A BARD'S CURSE!" Jessie shouted.
The crowd was immediately silenced.
She smiled, her grin slightly feral. As she'd guessed, in a town steeped deeply the traditions of the Fianna Garou, the threat of a bard's curse was taken seriously. Now it was time to turn this herd around.
"Words can kill, ya know, and ya wouldn't like to have ta live down what Ah'll sing about ye. Now, do Ah compose a rousin' song of victory, or a scathin' mockery?"
She broke into a clear alto and concentrated on the words to keep them clean of her deep country accent. The melody was lifted from some simple song, the words she slammed together on the spot.
"Shall we work together and save our town? / No! Let us snarl and piss round! / Let the leeches bleed the city dry / We'll squabble about our battle cry!"
"Let the Wyrm crawl in and the Wyrm crawl out / We'll kill each other and spit and shout / Let it crack our bones and chew our flesh / And do it all before our guests!"
She could hear the slow intake of the crowd's collective breaths.
"Now, shall I go on?" She rubbed her hands together. "'Cause Ah'm just warmin' up."
She watched a whole sea of reactions from the crowd, but the troll Captain's anger lessened and her scowl was replaced by a fierce smile.
"If you don't mind, honored Bard," the Captain asked with apparent sincerity and satisfaction, "Just in case some folks," directing her words squarely at the increasingly red-faced sidhe, "Haven't gotten the message yet..."
Jessie looked around the bar again hoping a local Fianna Philodox will step forward and mediate. It wasn't her place to do stuff like this, especially on someone else's turf.
But the Garou were all looking at her. One grey-haired, scarred veteran gave Jessie an enthusiastic thumb's up.
"Naw, Ah think Ah've made mah point," Jessie said easily.
The crowd breathed a sigh of relief.
She turned to the sidhe. "Now Ah don't know yer Duke Cambius but Ah'm sure ye think he's a fine man. And yer a good man, stickin' up fer yer Alpha."
The sidhe said nothing -- but his face screamed frustration and anger, his fists balled with repressed temper.
His eyes met Jessie's. And it was utterly clear Jessie's attempt at being conciliatory was like a glass of cool, refreshing well-water ... tossed into a blast furnace.
Jessie ignored the insult and turned to the whole bar. "This is no time to squabble! Damn it, yer house is on fire! This ain't the time to argue about who's gonna handle the fire hose." She looked up and pointed a finger at the troll, "And that goes fer ye too."
"Aye," the troll acknowledged and conceded the point Jessie.
"'Cause this here guy," she nodded to the sidhe, "Is yer ally and yer gonna have to work together on this. The most important thing we'z gots to do is clean up this here town. We're not gonna fight each other..." she draws a breath, "We're gonna kick Wyrm butt."
She pulled a chair over and stepped up on it. "Who'z with me?" She yelled out. She raised her fists and shook like a hellfire preacher. "No more nightmares crawlin' through yer dreams! No more fomori shambling around! No more banes slitherin' and snappin'! NO MORE BLOOD-SUCKIN' LEECHES!"
"YEAH!" the crowd roared.
"We gonna KICK WYRM BUTT!" Jessie cried out. "KICK WYRM BUTT! KICK WYRM BUTT!"
The response was like thunder. From a hundred throats Jessie's cry is roared back, a hundred fists thrust towards the sky:
"KICK WYRM BUTT! KICK WYRM BUTT! KICK WYRM BUTT!"
The Captain shouted exultantly and egged her fellow officers on. Garou, Fae, Mages, young and old, all took up the cry and doubled it, redoubled it, until one could imagine that every Kindred and Fomor in Boston -- nay, the whole East Coast -- heard. Heard and trembled.
In the midst of the shouting Jessie looked for the sidhe only to discover him slipping out of the bar with a few fellows. He tossed one quick look of purest hatred for the troll Captain...and Jessie.
Jessie looked after him with disappointment. Was this the noble sidhe, full of honor and glory? Sulking like an ungrateful pup? She shrugged off the stare and continued the chant until the just the right moment.
"Woo-hoo! Now that's more like it!"
She gave a little salute for the Officer of the Law and the troll returned it, one soldier to another. She extended a hand. "Birgitta Fridriksdottir."
"Jessie Smiles-of-Sunshine," She took the hand and sniffed it.
Birgitta laughs. "You Garou do the strangest things!"
"We're strange people."
A small crowd of gathered around them. They were fired up, riled up, ready-to-go-bust-heads crowd of fighters of every stripe.
"Great work!" A homid pounded her back.
She tried not to wobble.
"Quick work on the song! Glad to meet another Galliard! Well meet!"
"Ye betcha!" She grinned back.
Another woman stepped up. This one had Get tattoos on her arms. "Fine work the way you handled that! Quite hard work even for the best of Philodoxes."
Jessie quickly looked around. "Ummmm.... thirsty work. I seem to have lost mah beer..."
Birgitta put a hand on her shoulder. "Then let's get the woman a new glass."
"Lots of glasses!" someone called out. The bar cheered.
She blushed, genuinely embarrassed. "Awww... shucks. Ye guys are the greatest. But jest one glass... Ah gotta keep a clear head. But if someone wanted to pay fer a double-bacon cheeseburger...?" She looked about the crowd hopefully, her eyes wide and puppy-like.
All around her wallets suddenly appeared.
"Whoa... hey," Jessie looked about the bar before finding the object of her search; the donation jar. In almost every bar and tavern she'd ever been in there was a jar for donations. Sometimes it was for a kid who needed a kidney transplant, or for the parents who had been devastated by the high cost of medicine. It was a plea to help out the life of someone sicker and poorer than those who frequented the bar. This one had the a picture of a young girl on crutches. Her legs were twisted and bent. The sign said, 'Please help Gloria walk like a normal girl'.
Jessie opened up her own slender wallet and made a deposit. "How's about savin' yer cash fer someone else?"
Within moments the jar was stuffed with bills.
"Now that deserves a song!" Jessie started drumming on the bar. The melody was lifted from an old sea chanty.
"Had a little woman she's strongest that Ah know..."
"SHE'S FR-O-O-OM CHI-CA-GO!" the bar roared out the popular Bone Gnawer song.
"She got her mighty muscles from shoveling the snow..."
"OOOOH YEEEEEAAAH CHI-CA-GO!"
Arms draped around each other's shoulders, the new allies swayed in time to the song that praised the wonderful, if unusual, characteristics of the woman from the Windy City. As tradition demanded, Jessie let others add local verses or new ones that spontaneously bubbled up. A cheer went up as the song ended and a group of Garou launched into a local war song, carrying the momentum Jessie had started.
A full plate clattered in front of her.
"On the house," a woman behind the bar smiled.
On the plate lay a huge, juicy burger fairly oozing with gooey sharp cheddar. The smell of bacon cut through the odor of alcohol. A huge pile of golden, crispy, thick-cut fries, right out of the fryer; plentiful fixings were on the side along with lettuce and ripe tomatoes, tangy red onions and tart pickle slices, a generous serving of creamy, fresh-made coleslaw, a huge dill pickle, and good-sized ceramic tubs of ketchup and ranch dressing.
Jessie's eyes bugged out like a cartoon. "Wow. Now that's a meal."
"Defusing a incipient riot," the red-haired bartender noted, "I would imagine is hard work."
"But the pay..." Jessie waved at the food in front of her, "...ain't bad at all!"
The griller looked up and smiled at Jessie. She pushed her paper cap aside. Even behind a grease-spattered apron and long tangled hair, her unearthly beauty was obvious and overpowering, as were her pointed ears...
"Dame Lorraine Etain ap Scathach," she smiled and offered her hand, after wiping the grease off with the towel tucked in her waist. "And you are?"
"Jessie Smiles-Of-Sunshine," she smiled brightly at the woman. "Ye run a mean fry, purty lady." She bit daintily into a french fry. "Yum."
Lorraine smiled. "We do our best." She turned to the bartender. "Matty! I'm taking a break!"
Matty nodded and waved.
"Want to grab a booth?" Lorraine asked.
"Sure."
"Here, let me take your plate," she said, reaching to take the food-laden plate.
Jessie's arm darted and gently grabbed Lorraine's hand. "Jest a piece of friendly advice," Jessie said softly. "Don't take put food in front of a Garou and then try to take it away."
Lorraine smiled gracefully. "Gotcha. Let me get a glass for myself and scare up that booth."
Jessie released her with a happy grin. "Ah can handle this." She looked at the hot food with fondness. "Believe me, Ah can handle this."
They came up to a half-empty booth. The drinkers within slid out and graciously offered their seats.
"Thank you, gentleman," Lorraine said.
"Thank ye kindly," Jessie nodded.
"So," Lorraine goes on, "From where do you come? And what brings you to Beantown?"
"Ithaca, New York," Jessie replied between bites. "It's upstate... like most of New York State is. As to what brings me here," she grinned, "Y'all know what brings me here. I wanna rock."
Dame Lorraine smiled. "But what makes you trust us all enough to join us? Not," she adds quickly, "that I think that you shouldn't; the Lady knows we need every ally we can get, especially now! But so many of your brethren -- indeed, so many of those who could be fighting with us -- are sitting this one out, waiting and watching."
"And," Dame Lorraine said with a slightly sad smile, "Who could blame them? So much pettiness, so much betrayal, so much history and so many reasons not to trust each other. It wouldn't be too hard to understand why the majority would choose to wait and see if in fact we can pull this whole exercise off before they commit fully."
"So what made you believe?" she asked, sincerely. "Why were you willing to throw in with the first wave?"
"What made you trust us?"
Jessie munched thoughtfully throughout the speech. "If yer talkin' about me personally? Ah have no feelin's either way, particularly. If yer gonna fight, then that's good. Better ta fight together than alone. But ya gots to understand, mah Elders told us ta go -- so here we are. Ah'm sure there was lots of talkin' and fur a-flyin' over this, but why which pack was told to come here... Ah jest don't know." She shrugs but smiled brightly. "But Ah'm sure proud ta be here."
Dame Lorraine nodded thoughtfully.
"No Elder," she pointed out, "Asked you to get into the middle of the little spat you stepped into. No Alpha asked you to take sides between Duchess Andrea and Duke Cambius; you could have let them settle things on their own."
Jessie made an amused noise. "No elder should have to! Forgive me, but when two cubs are brawlin' and threatenin' to break yer dishes, ya don't need permission from an elder ta box their ears and make 'em behave."
Dame Lorraine smiled. "Still takes guts."
The Bone Gnawer shrugged. "Ah guess."
"But what made you take the Duchess's side?" The sidhe seemed still puzzled. "Forgive me for asking all these questions, it's just that..."
"You were right, out there on the floor," Dame Lorraine began. "If we don't find a way to live with each other, we'll die. If we can't find a way to bridge the gap between the Chosen and the commoners, between us who serve and those we serve, the Long Winter will consume us. Utterly."
"If there is any hope for our people, for all our people, peacemakers like you hold its key. And if there is anything we can learn..."
"Don't know no duchesses and dukes," Jessie said with a shake of her shaggy head. "All Ah saw was a squabble turnin' inta a brawl. Not good." She gave the Fae an inquiring look. "Ah wasn't told about any internal struggle within our allies. Care ta fill me in?"
Dame Lorraine smiled wryly. "I doubt you'll find a single neutral, unbiased view of the whole sordid mess. Least of all mine," she confided. "But I'll try..."
Jessie cocked her ear and tuned out the noise of the bar.
"As you're probably aware, we Fae rule ourselves by nobility, in a line from lords to barons all the way up the line to the High King on the Falcon Throne of Tara Nar," she began. "Queen Mab ni Fiona rules here in the Kingdom of Apples."
"Our sovereigns are the ultimate, final, and total ruling authorities in our Kingdoms. Only death, abdication, or assassination can remove them from that seat which the Dreaming's mandate granted them. They are the commanders-in-chief of the armies, the final judge of appeal, font of all honours, chief executive, and everything else. Every law, every title, every treaty and order and command draws its authority totally from the sovereign's person. She alone can speak for the whole Kingdom, and her word is utter law. Every decision, from the great strategic courses to every nitty-gritty day-to-day detail, is hers, and hers alone, to make."
"Sounds busy," Jessie dipped her fries in both the ketchup and ranch dressing.
"A wise ruler soon realizes it's far more than any single individual can handle and swiftly finds a way to delegate tasks to those they trust. And Queen Mab is most certainly wise," Dame Lorraine says emphatically. "In this kingdom, Her Majesty has retained final right of veto over all actions. Her Majesty herself involves herself mostly in diplomacy and in leading the Star Chamber -- the highest and final court of appeal short of the High King himself. The rest she has delegated."
"The Earl Marshal oversees day-to-day operations of the Lion Armies. The Grand Bard and her people serve as our Kingdom's heralds and judges. And everything else, all the other day-to-day operations that make this Kingdom run, fall under the purview of Her Majesty's Chancellor."
"The Chancellor is responsible for all the tasks that the Queen could not possibly perform herself. Her Grace the Chancellor oversees the collection of all taxes and tithes. The appointment and removal from all offices from barons on up. The granting of all kingdom awards and recognitions. The scheduling of all kingdom events. The granting of royal recognition to all groups. The establishment of freeholds. Letters patent, marque, or trade. If it is neither military nor judicial, it falls into the Chancellor's domain, subject only to Her Majesty's veto. The Chancellor sets Her Majesty's appointments and charts her Royal Progress, screens who gets to see Her Majesty, takes care of all the thousand day-to-day things, leaving the queen free to chart the big picture and wrestle with the leaders of the other seven kingdoms..."
"Makes sense. Can't be in two places at once." Jessie turned her plate a little. "Fries are public property. Want some? It's okay -- AAh'm offerin'."
Lorraine smiled. "Is this some bonding ritual? The sharing of food?"
Jessie munched her burger thoughtfully. "Not really. Jest Bone Gnawer custom. Everybody eats."
"Then I'll take one," Lorraine delicately chewed on one of the fries.
"For all intents and purposes," Lorraine continued, "For the average fae in the East Kingdom, the Chancellor rules their daily lives. The Chancellor speaks and rules for the Crown. Her commands are the ones that most often affect your life. Forgive the long-winded preamble, but you must understand why it would be such a great bone of contention. It is no mere office -- it is the office, the right hand of the Crown itself."
"When the Queen's late Chancellor was assassinated," Dame Lorraine continues, "The two top candidates for the position were then-Speaker Andrea and Duke Cambius ap Gwydion. The decision was Her Majesty's alone to make. Both had served on Her Majesty's Great Council. Both had served in positions of great authority. Both are, basically, decent, competent, hard-working fae. But their differences became the flash point around which the Kingdom's frustrations polarized."
Dame Lorraine paused, looking troubled.
Jessie waited for the clouds to part from the sidhe's eyes.
"Here is where every teller of this tale gets into trouble," Dame Lorraine said quietly. "For in how the rest of the tale is presented what most would say demonstrates primarily the bias of the speaker. And this issue has gone far beyond the ability of any to speak neutrally. Judge me by my words and bear patience with my thoughts..."
"Take yer time," Jessie said.
"Those who supported Duke Cambius pointed to his years of service as the Kingdom's Seneschal and Chamberlain -- virtually deputy Chancellor, his supporters would say. As Seneschal, he took on the duties of the Chancellor most directly related to the hierarchy of the Kingdom. Duke Cambius, and not the Chancellor or the Crown, was the one who actually set the Queen's appointment book. Scheduled balls and courts. Kept straight who was nominated for what award, who should sit next to whom at the great feasts, and all the other business of court. The great dance of the nobles was almost virtually his show, and a good job he did of it."
"Now yer fergive me, Ah'm jest a Bone Gnawer and a dawg ta boot, and Ah ain't too smart," Jessie said quietly. "But as Ah understands it, this here Duke Cambius, basically he throws good parties fer the Alphas, right?"
Dame Lorraine grinned wryly.
"That 'simple dawg from da backwoods' routine might work on a more gullible sidhe, but I'm afraid your natural intelligence and cleverness is not going to be hidden that easily from me," she smiled. "Someone who can work a floor as well as you do has to be keeping a mind as sharp as a blade behind those simple-sounding words."
Jessie shook her head. "This country accent comes natcherally. Ah gots ta work hard ta overcome it. And Ah ain't the sharpest tool in the woodshed; no, there's better minds than me out there."
Dame Lorraine smiles. "Just because there might be smarter people than you out there," she pointed out, "Doesn't make you any less smart yourself..."
"But no, it's not quite as simple as simply running parties."
"Duchess Andrea had none of that experience. She had never been responsible for the heraldry, or the pageantry, or the ceremonies or protocol or anything else."
"On the other hand, Speaker Andrea's partisans pointed out, what Andrea had spent her life doing was organizing relief programs. Assembling petitions to the Crown for necessary changes. Helping build new freeholds. She didn't sit around organizing pageants and writing thank-you notes, she was out there, in the streets and grime, finding out what people needed to survive and trying to get it for them. It was that kind of work among the commoners that had her elected -- drafted, really -- to serve in the House of Advocates; and then as its Speaker. She was chosen by the commoners of this Kingdom to be their voice before the Crown, and quite effective, frankly, she was, at winning new powers, new offices, and new opportunities for the commoners of the Kingdom. Who form more than 80% of its total populace, and more than 90% of its infantry. Of course, all of that came at the expense of the sidhe."
"So Lady Andrea works fer a living, right?"
Lorraine smiled broadly. "She works for us."
"Good!" Jessie proclaimed.
"And that was precisely the counter-charge leveled against Duke Cambius. He was a congenial man, and even probably a fair one. But he was born to the upper crust -- in mortal seeming as well as Fae life -- and lived his whole life in the rarefied air of court. Never in his life did he ever have to worry about finding a freehold to sleep in at night, never did he have to worry about being preyed upon by vampires. And never did he have to experience, first-hand, the sufferings of the commoners," Dame Lorraine said with building, seething passion. "To Duke Cambius, the commoners of the Kingdom of Apples were merely his subjects. To Duchess Andrea, the commoners were her people. And in that difference is everything that explains why the commoners of this Kingdom rose up to march behind Andrea's standard." She nodded to herself. "And even many of the sidhe like myself."
"Sounds like someone needs ta spend a little more time with his subjects," Jessie said quietly and her eyes sparkled with mischief. "But ye sound jest a little bit... biased."
"Am I biased? Yes, I am. One can be taught who sits next to whom, which color napkin is appropriate in spring and which in fall, what order the speeches and the ceremonies must be at a grand court, whether the Order of the Fret is higher or lower than the Grant of the Willow, and all that other tom-foolery my sidhe cousins seem so set upon. All of that my cousins prize so highly: bullshit. Nothing but."
Lorraine's voice rose. "Duke Cambius was well equipped to host a tea party, even while our enemies stormed our gates and our people perished thirsting for Glamour. Duchess Andrea was the leader we needed, and needed now, and thank the Lady of the Dreaming that our Queen was wise enough to see it!"
"Hell yeah!" and "Damn right!" came from some of the other patrons at the bar.
"Easy now," Jessie shouted back. "Save yer fightin' stuff fer them leeches. Or else."
A few in the bar shuddered and turned away from them.
"But," Dame Lorraine said sheepishly, "You can see how certain elements might have disagreed. Might have seen Duke Cambius's as the more qualified candidate. Strictly speaking, perhaps he was. And essentially, he remains at his post, doing exactly the same job as he did before, now under Duchess Andrea. And, to his credit, without complaint or resentment. A case could be made that he was passed over for a job he had been training for his whole career."
"So what's the problem?" Jessie asked furrowing her brow. "She's best fer the job and he's still running the tea parties."
"All kinds of wild rumors were spread by 'some parties', " she said with distaste "As to the 'real' reason Andrea was chosen. Wild, crazy, unsubstantiated rumors. They continue to spread them now, hoping to undermine both the Chancellor's authority, and the Queen's. After all, put enough big lies together and it makes a compelling story, no? The Queen appoints a commoner who is really her bastard daughter to keep quiet certain parties? A lie so absurdly insulting it almost can take a life of its own."
"Now that's silly," Jessie replied. "Y'all know who yer mom was. She's the one who bit... birthed ya. One whiff," she touched her nose, "Should tell ya who's who."
The sidhe sighed. "We don't have your senses. Maybe it's a good thing."
"And it's not so simple," Lorraine's voice dropped to a whisper. "The most common form of the rumor is that Chancellor Andrea is the daughter of Queen Mab's late husband and a commoner woman. The fate of Queen Mab's husband is also a subject of much rumor. Most simply put, Queen Mab had a husband in Arcadia -- and does not here. The rest is conjecture. Her Grace would be Her Majesty's daughter by marriage, not by blood."
"But mark my words, those 'certain parties' won't stop at mere rumor-mongering to bring Dame Andrea down. Not while she is a threat to their ill-earned power. She can't be intimidated, nor bribed, nor co-opted. So she will have to be removed. There are many sidhe -- and more coming every day! -- who see Her Grace as merely the tip of an unruly commoner iceberg that must be cut down to size. Sidhe who would rather be the Lords of a wasteland than to be anything less in the glory of what this Kingdom could be."
Jessie raised an eyebrow. "So these lordy people are spreadin' nasty stuff 'cause they see a 'commoner' in what is their place? Feh. Ah've seen it. Doesn't impress me. Makes them look like spoiled cubs." She tilted her head. "What kinda commoner? Ah know ye folks come in as many varieties as Heinz Ketchup."
Dame Lorraine smiled. "Pooka. A vixen, actually. The tricksters and shapechanger kith."
"A trickster as a Speaker? Huh." She considered that. "Could work." And she continued to eat through her food like Sherman marched through Georgia.
"That's why so many of the spineless bastards," Lorraine said, seething, "Are sitting this battle out. 'Not their problem', they say."
Jessie rolled back in her chair in astonishment. "Ain't they goin' against yer Alpha's -- the Queen's -- wishes?" The Garou looked shocked and dismayed.
"It's not the sidhe who are being troubled by the ghouls and the fomor and the leeches and what-have-you-all. How many of them," her true anger now brimming over, "made their own deals with the Enemy to save their own skins, or build their own power? How many of them see the Dreamers, and the commoners, as mere resources for their power and pleasure, like resource chips in some great game?"
"If they'z tainted," Jessie bared her teeth briefly, "Their days are numbered. Are Duke Cambium and his buddies sittin' this one out?"
"Duke Cambius is no warrior, nor, frankly, is he a great power among the Nobles," Lorraine said. "He is their candidate -- was their candidate -- but he himself is not a power or a mover or shaker. The shots are called by others. And many of those others are...less than enthusiastic about jumping into this war."
"Really? Feh. Idle hands are the devil's workshop," Jessie replied with a snort. "Got little use fer lie-abouts."
"But there are still a few of us," the sidhe said, quietly defiant, "Who still remember what we sidhe were supposed to be: defenders and guardians, not leeches and looters. Those of us who still remember that our lives were meant to be in service, not to enslave. Who have given our lives to fight the darkness. Remember that, Jessie, on that day when the civil war finally breaks out, when what was started during the Accordance War is finally finished. Not all sidhe are the enemy."
Dame Lorraine's fist was clenched so tightly that her skin was almost white, and the strength and resolve in her eyes were like the fury of stars.
In that moment, Jessie could see Lorraine on the field of battle, defiant, unshakeable, a sword or gun in her hands and armor upon her shoulders. In a moment, she didn't see the foppish caricature that the picture books showed but the warriors of legend. She could almost hear the trumpets of a distant past or future ... And for a moment she could imagine herself next to her, in full Crinos ready to leap into battle together. "Whoa. Cool," she murmured.
And then the moment passed and the anger disappeared, replaced by sadness.
"This must all seem very silly to you, doesn't it?" Lorraine said sadly.
"Damned straight it does," Jessie said with a sigh. "But we must seem very strange ta ya folks... especially when we get all big and nasty." She leans in and stage whispers, "We don't take well to small talk when we're in fightin' form."
Dame Lorraine smiles ferally. "Funny," she grins fiercely, "Neither do I."
"Hot damn."
The sidhe looked tired. "Bard, you wouldn't happen to have any wisdom to impart to us feuding Fae?"
"Don't fight in a burnin' house?" Jessie suggested. " 'Cause if the Wyrm wins, then nothin matters. The world is lost."
"Aye." Sadly. "With all the bickering and the in fighting, I have my doubts this is going to work."
"Well Ah had mah doubts too, especially with what almost happened back there," She thumbed over her shoulder to the floor where the brawl almost erupted. "But Ah feel better now talkin' ta ye."
Dame Lorraine nodded seriously. "If you remember that the true face of the fae are the hard-working, decent, commoners living in terror yet still willing to fight, and not the fops and the arrogant nobles, then we still have a chance." She spoke in a grim tone melded with a quiet pleading, as if she was asking for mercy for her people.
Jessie resisted the urge to lean over and lick her sad face. Instead she touched the sidhe's hand. "Hey, no problems. The Garou are here. How can there not be victory?"
Dame Lorraine smiled. "Aye."
Dame Lorraine raises her ale and looks to Jessie. "Something to drink? Something with which to toast?"
"A toast...to victory, and freedom!"
The two clinked their glasses together.
A loud barking was heard over the singing. A moment later a part-mastif, part-poodle, part-something else padded up to them.
"Woof wrrr woorrf?" the dog said peeking over the table. Its tail swished slowly, its body tense.
"Yeah, Ah'm her. Ye must be Aaron?"
The dog's tail wagged wider, thumping into the legs of some of the surprised patrons. It looked at the last of the burger and fries and gave Jessie a hopeful look.
"Of course! Ah saved some for ye." She placed the plate on the floor.
The remainder of the meal was noisily vacuumed up.
"Lady Lorraine, Ah thank ye fer that deeeelicious meal." She stood and flashed her two thumbs up. "Catch ye on the flip side."
The two Garou had not gone two steps when two ferret pookas descended on them.
"Tell us true! We're not gambling folk!" one said.
"You'll lose your twenty, Simon! Philodox!"
"Galliard!"
"Philodox!"
"Galliard!"
Jessie looked at them in confusion for a moment. Lorraine chuckled. "Pookas, Jessie. Tricksters. They have a problem speaking the truth directly."
Jessie eyed them carefully, watching their body language. Then her eyes widened. A light bulb appeared almost visibly over her head.
"Ah'll whisper the answer to ya, and the loser puts the money in the barrel," She gestured over her shoulder to Gloria's donation jar.
"No!" they both agreed.
They huddled together and she whisper to them. The two pookas looked at each other, looked at Jessie then looked at Lorraine. The pookas' smiles were as bright as those of children treasuring a secret.
"Oh man, I hate you!" one said as they each put twenty dollars into the jar.
The Garou and the pookas quickly left. Lorraine returned to the bar. A whiskered Garou leaned over to her. "What do you think of her?"
"She's great," Lorraine replied. "So easy-going and friendly."
She gave the veteran an inquisitive look. "She said she was just a dawwwg," she imitated Jessie country drawl. "Is that a ranking order?"
The Garou laughed. "No! She meant she's a lupus -- a Bone Gnawer lupus."
Lorraine's jaw dropped. She covered her mouth to cover her laughter. "Oh my... you mean Miguel de Majorca ap Gwydion was saved from an ass-kicking by..."
The Garou grinned. "Too funny, ain't it? Seeing them standing side by side. And she ain't even a pure-bred."
"Oh, by the stars!" Lorraine chortled like sweet bells. "He'll never live that down."
She looked at the donation bar. Something was nagging here. "The pookas both donated... but that would mean..."
The Garou started chuckling. "The joke, my dear, is on you. She's a Ragabash."