The Lord of the Order

With the campaign over, and having finished his talk with Nancy, John had no reason to linger. He left the god’s library feeling anxious and frustrated. Any good mood from his talk with Nancy had been thoroughly killed by Richard’s prophecy.

He stepped back into the reality of the Brighton’s library and released a heavy sigh. Moments later, his vision was engulfed by lockes of golden-blonde hair, and he was knocked to the floor.

“Where have you been, mister?!” Red demanded, sniffing John as if it was some way of confirming his identity. With her nose, it probably was. “You disappeared for an entire minute; I couldn’t sense you at all! Like you’d been plucked out of reality -- and there wasn’t even a sign of a barrier here. Where’d you go?!” she demanded.

‘So only a minute passed?’ John wondered curiously. ‘Damn, it felt like I was in there for hours. I guess Nancy wasn’t lying when he said time wasn’t a problem.’

“Well?” Red glared at him when he failed to give a response in an adequate amount of time, i.e. immediately.

“Don’t worry,” John assured, admittedly feeling a little pleased by her concern. “I just stepped out to visit a -- well, I guess you could call him a friend.”

“‘Stepped out’? With one of your powers?”

“No, I guess it’s one of his? Some sort of barrier that can appear anywhere; it even runs on its own clock.”

Red’s frown deepened. “Sounds like it’s stupidly dangerous to step into it then, you dunce. That’s some high level barrier building; there aren’t many that could pull it off, and the masters of such barriers have total control within them. You could easily have become his prisoner.”

“Maybe,” John admitted. “But I don’t think that’s what Nancy wants… he seems more inclined to watch me run wild. Anyway, as much as I love the sight of you straddling me, Moira ought to be coming back any minute, and I’d rather not offend the Brightons…”

Red let out a small chuckle and, after a quick peck on John’s lips, sprung to her feet before offering him a hand. Upon their return to the reading area, they found Saccharine busily flicking through a tome twice her size. John wanted to have a chat with her later and see if she knew anything about that fae girl, Aurora; something told John he’d be seeing more of her in the future, and he didn’t exactly find that to be a welcoming thought.

He and Red were happily snuggled into a lounge chair and leafing through fairy tales by the time Moira returned with tea. She frowned as she saw the two of them.

“Sorry,” John said apologetically. “We went and started reading your books.”

It seemed to take her a few moments to register that he’d said something. “That’s fine,” she said dismissively as she set down the tray of tea and began serving them. He wondered why Moira herself was serving them when she had the butler, Reginald, or any other number of servants to do it for her, but accepted the kindness regardless. “The important books are kept in a separate library.”

‘Right. Of course they’d have more than one,’ John sighed.

“My father will be available shortly. In the meantime, please continue reading and enjoy your tea,” she smiled at them, looking a bit flustered, before hurrying out of the room as soon as she’d finished serving them.

‘I hope I didn’t fuck up with our earlier conversation,’ John frowned, thinking Moira was acting a little strange.

They didn’t have to wait long, as Reginald soon came to collect them and guided them into what looked to a nearby study, which the Brightons seemed to have a lot of. This one, however, was by far the largest John had seen thus far. The space was mostly divided between a small sitting area at the front of the room and an office space at the back.

Moira’s father stood to one side of the room with his hands behind his back, examining a large claymore locked behind a glass cabinet. Even from across the room, John felt a height difference between himself and the man. The crimson red hair of the Brightons’ was dulled and showed signs of aging, and the way he held himself gave him an air of stature and wisdom, however you could by no means call him old. Though John had to suppress a chuckle at the gaudy handlebar mustache the man sported. He was dressed in a pristinely well-kept business suit of a charcoal colour and accentuated with a gold tie, causing John to wonder whether he dressed like that around the house all the time or he had dressed up to conduct their business.

And so it was that John came to know the dicksize of Moira’s dad. ‘Note to self: find a way to screen that info out,’ John thought with an inward sigh.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Newman and Miss Perrault,” Lord Brighton said, without looking their way. “Please, sit.”

Reginald gesture to three chairs placed in front of the ornate desk that divided the room and kindly pulled the chairs out for them. The chairs were unsurprisingly of a grander make than what you’d usually find in a study or office and were very comfortable. Shortly after, Moira appeared, but instead of taking the vacant seat beside John, she chose to stand with her father on the opposite side of the desk. The Brighton patriarch nodded at his daughter in greeting, before turning to face John and Red.

“Mr. Newman, please allow me to introduce my father, Lord William Brighton, Protector of the Golden Rose,” Moira said, the unmistakable tone of pride in her voice. Her choosing to refer to John so formally actually hurt a little, and, his curiosity getting the better of him, he sought an answer for her attitude through Observe.

‘Oh…’ John thought sheepishly, suddenly feeling very guilty that he’d pried. Still, it was gratifying to know. If he was reading the Observe correctly, then he had a chance with Moira, contrary to his previous assumption.

“This is certainly an unprecedented meeting,” Lord Brighton continued with the current affair, now seated behind the large desk. “A rogue mage and a merchant warg seeking the Order’s aid. My daughter has outlined your situation to me, but there are a things that need clarification,” the nobleman said.

John tensed but nodded in understanding. “Of course.”

“The circumstance behind your meeting Miss Perrault are unclear. The Perrault family are based in Europe, and by what my daughter described, you visited their manor, so how was it that you came to be in Europe, when according to my daughter, you were present at school yesterday?” Lord Brighton questioned.

“Ah, well… I suppose you could say I teleported there.”

“Elaborate.”

‘Shit,’ John thought realising that the nobleman was looking for insight into his powers. Nancy had warned him not to tell them too much. “I’m sorry, as I’m sure you’ve been told, I only became aware of the Abyss recently; I’m still trying to figure out the technicalities of things. Basically, I wanted to learn as much as I could to get my bearings, and in my research, I stumbled across a spell book that explained how to get to some place called ‘Gaia’s Barrier’. So I tried it out and ended up over there,” he explained. It was more or less a slice of the truth, and John hoped it would be enough.

Lord Brighton’s eyes bored into John, searching for the truth within. John could only smile nervously in response and hope the lie was enough to alleviate further interrogation. “So you are a mage,” the nobleman said, the trace of a sneer entering his voice. “And it seems that with a bit of training you could be quite a capable one, at that.” Nothing in the Lord’s tone suggested this was good news.

“Is that a problem?” John asked, his tone deliberately apologetic.

Lord Brighton twirled the curl in his mustache with his thumb and index finger for a moment before answering. “So long as you remain unaffiliated with any Mages’ Guild, no. However, I suggest you do not go blithely exposing yourself to the tomes of such guilds; it is far too easy to fall off a righteous course.”

John had just decided to amp up his reading and didn’t plan to stop learning spells any time soon. Of course, he didn’t voice this to the Lord. “Yeah, I’ve seen a lot of that in a few short days, too many people without their head on straight,” John said glumly. “But if Moira’s any example to go by, the Order is an exception. I don’t want to lose my conscience to this world. That’s why I’ve come to you.” John had meant for his words to be a simple deflection but had somehow lapsed into a spirited plea.

A blush involuntarily spread on Moira’s stern features, and his relationship with both Brightons ticked up several digits. “I see,” Lord Brighton nodded. “It is becoming of your character to both recognise and act on this. I would like to help you both, Mr. Newman, and Miss Perrault as well, but the situation is complicated. Proof of the Perrault patriarch’s transgressions is required before a decision is made either way.”

“Is my word not enough?” Red chimed in, her knuckles whitening.

“The situation as evidence at hand portrays is simply that of a girl seeking liberation from her father,” the Brighton patriarch stated. “And I will not offend a prominent Abyssal household on the basis of words alone. As a father myself, I can understand Perrault’s position.”

“Can you really?” Red snarled back, unable to hold her tongue. “So you’d like to **** your daughter into submission, would you?”

“Red,” John said firmly. They couldn’t afford to offend the Brightons. He reached his hand under the table and wrapped his fingers in hers, squeezing gently to show his support despite his word of warning.

“My apologies,” Red sighed, dipping her head towards the Lord and his daughter. “I’m just… weary, and concerned for the rest of my family.”

Lord Brighton nodded. “Of course. I see I touched on a tender wound, allow me to apologise as well. I meant only in the most binary terms, of a father seeking to protect his daughter. Should your words hold true, we would be in complete agreement that your father is a… deplorable character.”

“They’re true,” John sighed, taking out his phone. “I have evidence.”

He opened up the pictures of Vulpis’ dungeon and offered the phone to Moira’s father. He glanced at it for only a moment before passing it to Reginald. “Check for any tampering, magic or otherwise.”

The butler bowed and exited the room, John’s phone in hand.

“When can I expect that back?” John asked, irritated. He figured it was futile and even detrimental to demand it back immediately, but that did nothing to ease his anxiety. John might trust Moira, but he by no means trusted her father, or the Order as a whole for that matter. He wouldn’t put it past them to install spyware on his phone.

“With respect, Father,” Moira began, stepping forward on John’s behalf, “I don’t think Newman is the kind of person to deceive us in such a way, much less being capable of doing so,”

“Perhaps,” Lord Brighton acknowledged. “But the Order cannot afford to carelessly make another enemy at this time, not with the Cabal lurking nearby.”

“Yes, Father,” Moira sighed.

“Do not worry, Mr. Newman, your phone will be returned to you shortly. In the meantime, I’d ask you explain exactly what it is you want from the Order,” Lord Brighton said.

“Fair enough. Vulpis is going to hunt Red and likely try to kill me, and he didn’t strike me as the kind of man that gives up easily. But it’s not just us at risk either; as you saw, he’s abusing Red’s family,” John didn’t intend on sugarcoating details, either. “They were abused, **** and then left weary and malnourished in that basement...” John paused as Reginald returned. ‘Wow, that wasn’t long at all,’ he frowned, as the butler passed his phone to Lord Brighton.

“The photos were magically taken,” Reginald informed his master. “But beyond that, they appear to be authentic.”

“Just another spell I picked up,” John shrugged. “It wasn’t like I could just take out my phone with Vulpis watching, I had to be subtle.”

“It seems you truly do have a high aptitude for magic,” Lord Brighton commented as he returned John’s phone. He didn’t make it sound like a compliment. “But back to the matter at hand, I believe you were explaining what it is you want from us?”

John nodded. “What Vulpis is doing is horrific and cruel. I can’t just sit on my hands and let him get away with it. But Red and I, we can’t fight Vulpis on our own; we need help; we need experienced fighters; we need people we can trust, that are willing to do the right thing because it’s what needs to be done. That’s not to say I want Vulpis to die, I don’t, but there are too many victims, and he needs to be held responsible for his actions-”

The Brighton patriarch held up his hand to silence John. Leaning back in his chair, the Lord closed his eyes and caressed his mustache as he pondered on the issue. Finally, after what felt like minutes of tense silence, his wizened eyes reopened to meet John’s expectant gaze.