Tranquil Waters: The Lead Crown
Ch 10.5, Mechanations

Inigo recognized the expression on Nicole's face; she was ready to leave.  With a temporary pause in the fighting the Human woman took the opportunity to break from the battle line.  "I'm going to find a way out.  Help Alvis."

The order was vague but with the scholar trying to move his unconscious friend the meaning was fairly certain.  Having had a fair amount of experience transporting dead weight the Bat moved in and began directing the Husky-Shepherd even as he knelt down to pick up Roland's legs himself.  "Grab his shoulders."

Despite being a scholar, Roland was not exactly a small Wolf-Dog.  The two of them managed to heft him up and with little more than a nod in a direction Inigo motioned for Alvis to go after Nicole.  The woman hadn't chosen the same window through which they had entered, which made sense since there was nothing underneath that exit to break a fall or climb down.  Instead, Nicole had chosen a room two more doors to the right and was busy pulling the sill off of the wall to create more space for an exit.  She looked up as they joined her in the room.  "Set him on the desk over there and help me... we'll need to attached the grapnel here."

Alvis's ears raised even as he and Inigo moved to follow her directions.  "Grapnel?"

Rather than answer verbally Nicole simply continued working, tearing a section of her dress open so she could access the spindle of metal cord and the collapsible hook she stored beneath her girdle.  At any other time Inigo would have had a great quip about her getting naked but he was suddenly distracted by the very prominent sound of several boots striking the wooden floor in rapid steps outside in the hall.  "We've got company."

She hazarded a glance in his direction and she knew him well enough that he knew that the direction of his ears would tell her all she needed to know.  Pulling the spring-loaded spool of metal cord off of her clothing, Nicole pressed a hidden catch on the hook and it unlatched, popping out into its full three-dimensional-glory.  She stuck the grapnel against the wall and gave it a solid kick with her boot, firmly locking it in place; the spool of metal cord was thrown down to the street and it unwound as it went.  "Alvis... you're first."

The Mutt wasn't very accommodating.  "What about Roland?"

Inigo glanced to Nicole and saw the expression he'd come to recognize as an argument in the works but it quickly disappeared and she simply frowned.  "You go down first.  Give the spool down there two tugs and it'll retract.  Once you're down there we'll tie him off and lower him down to you.  We don't have time for more questions.  GO!"

The scholar had nowhere near as much experience scaling buildings as Inigo did and the bat watched as Alvis stared at the window.  He could tell the Mutt was trying to piece together the steps of 'jumping' out of a window in his mind so he moved over to provide a very basic pep talk.  "Make sure you have a good grip on the cord-- you're gonna hold it in both paws and rest your weight evenly on it as you lower yourself down by wrapping it under your butt... here... like this."

The Bat was just stating to trail the cord down the scholar's back when the sound of metal-on-metal pealed out clearly from the street below.  The early-morning road was invaded by a vast melee of University forces as they were pushed back toward the building from around the corner and a moment later another squad appeared, falling back from the other direction.  It was Alvis who questioned what was happening first.  "The militia?"

Nicole motioned for Inigo to abandon the climbing line.  "If there's a fight going on down there then the University's men are routed.  Milhoy's dead and unless I miss my guess the Council of Deans is under a few thousand pounds of rubble."

Inigo was able to assume what she was getting at.  "So you're saying we won?"

She glanced his way and despite the levity of her words her expression didn't match the humor.  "Assuming we live?  Yes."

The sound of boots halted outside in the hall and Inigo heard many voices speaking; they were taking a moment to examine the remnants of the battle the group had left outside and it would be a matter of seconds before their foes realized where they'd gone.  He glanced to the open window and the grappling hook, then to the doorway, and finally to Nicole, who was already looking at him.  They spoke in unison.  "Marin's Tower?  Marin's Tower."

Alvis glanced to the door then each of them in turn.  "What's Marin's Tower?"

Inigo moved obediently to the wall just to the left of the door and motioned for the Mutt.  "Commere.  You'll see."

Nicole brought the scholar over and pressed herself up against the wall next to the Bat, motioning for Alvis to do the same on the other side of her.  The door knob turned slowly and the door opened inward toward the three of them, blocking the group from view as three University soldiers stepped in.  More were coming but Inigo continued with the same plan they'd used when they had been outnumbered in Marin's Tower two years prior: he threw himself against the door, knocking back the next soldier who had been about to enter.  With a pistol in either hand the Bat pushed one against the door itself and one to the back of the head of rearmost of the three and pulled both triggers.

Nicole was a step behind and had both of her blades slipped into the backs of the remaining aggressors before the body of the shot soldier had hit the floor.  From there, both fell back from the door, turning to face it for the next wave of men courageous enough to face them.  As far as a hold out plan it was a desperate one but if luck was with them they had just thinned out the numbers of their opponents by four.  Assuming there weren't too many left it could have made the pivotal difference.  The door slowly opened again and Inigo's heart fell; there were still a half-dozen, all with long-rifles aimed in at them.  "Shit."

One of the soldiers at the front, a Bull Dog, spoke clearly and evenly.  "Lay down your weapons and surrender, terrorists.  You're being held for--"

His words were interrupted by Milhoy's voice.  At first Inigo was in complete disbelief that the man was still alive, but after a moment he realized that it was some kind of copy.  All eyes turned toward Roland, who was laying atop the desk, breath still coming out at a wheeze, bloody paw gripping what appeared to be a small sound recorder.  "...and with the dissolution of the governing body of inter-study Deans we will be able to take control of the University of Progressive Thought and bar any non-likeminded individuals from practicing science whatsoever."

The Wolf-Dog's paw fidgeted, and the voice reversed, and played back the same thing again.  He managed to wheeze  "...we're... not... terrorists..."

Alvis slowly detached himself from the wall and went to Roland's aid.  He took hold of his bloody paw and looked at the Guards.  "This is Scholar Roland Silverfang... I'm... uh... Alvis Lazarus... a student here. It's Milhoy!  He's the one responsible for all of this."

The Bull Dog slowly stood up from his firing position but his rifle remained aimed.  "If that's what it sounds like then you're worth hearing out... but not until you drop your weapons."

Inigo dropped his pistols; they were empty anyway.  His fingers inched closer to the blades he had hiding in his bandoleer.  The Bat mumbled quietly as he glanced over toward Nicole. "The Hearth-Warming party?"

The Human slowly laid her blades down on the table near her.  "No, Inny... just... wait."

The Bull Dog motioned to Alvis.  "Bring the recorder here, Mr. Lazarus."

The Mutt gently pulled the device from Roland's paw and walked it to the Dog; it continued playing the whole time.  The guard's ears rose.  "This is the Dean's."

Inigo smirked; what little he knew about Milhoy suggested the Human was a pompous prick who was self-glorifying in everything he did.  There was little doubt that the obsessive man had likely chronicled every last bit of his own misdeeds.  The smile disappeared when one of the other guards asked the Bull Dog a very poignant question.  "Sir?  What do we do with the prisoners?"

The leader of the University's men changed his focus from the recorder to Inigo and the rest of the group before looking to the other guards.  "They're not prisoners... they may have just saved the University."

* * * * * *

Umberto's paw had so tight a grip of his sword's hilt that the leather lashings of it creaked almost every time he took a step.  The thought of going into combat hadn't phased him in a long time but the thought of doing battle with church forces and an Inquisitor was not something he had thought he would face in a dozen lifetimes.  More than that, however, was the one thing that stayed on his mind as he led the group up the winding, circular staircase.

Ultimately it was Tobias who spoke the concern aloud.  "What I can't figure out is why the Bishop isn't coming with us?"

Rolf, who was surprisingly naive for a worldly swashbuckler, provided the too-obvious response.  "He said he was going to watch Inquisitor Efram."

Umberto explained the hole in the man's observation.  "There's more to it than that.  He could have had us do that for him.  Inquisitor Ignus is at the center of this... there's got to be a reason the Bishop isn't doing this himself."

Tobias offered a genteel smile.  "Well, I would say he doesn't want to get his talons dirty, but, then again we SAW how he handled Inquisitor Efram."

Rolf shushed everyone.  "Shh... we're getting close to the top."

The dark horned Antelope pushed past Umberto, clearing the last few dozen steps two at a time before easing up to the door at the top and pressing his ear to it.  Umberto, whose armor clanked every time he moved came to a stop to provide Rolf the opportunity to listen; a moment later the Prong Horn threw himself against the wall as a resounding boom heralded an explosive eruption from the door where his head had been a moment before.  The swashbuckling cervine recovered quickly, noting flippantly "It appears as though we're expected."

Content to bypass subtlety, the Wolverine ascended the last few steps and barreled into the door, shoulder leading the way.  The damaged barrier broke inward, splintering the moment his pauldron plate struck it.  The Templar stood facing a large, black-scaled Dragon with a short-barreled musket in one talon and a large canvas supply bag hefted over his other shoulder.  Pointing to the Inquisitor with his sword, Sir Umberto declared "Surrender, Inquisitor.  You are done here."

The Dragon stared at him for several seconds until the reptile's eyes glanced past; Rolf and Tobias had stepped up beside the Wolverine.  Inquisitor Ignus' eye ridges raised.  "And where is the good Bishop?  I was expecting Fulgaré, not his underlings."

Rolf stepped forward, brandishing both of his swords.  "I'm sorry you're disappointed, but if it's any consolation I'm sure the Bishop will find some time in his busy schedule to visit you while you're rotting away in a dungeon somewhere particularly unpleasant."

Tobias likewise stepped forward, holding his walking cane up in as aggressive a gesture as was possible considering it was just a piece of wood.  "You're a disgrace to the church."

The black horned swashbuckler sighed, mumbling aside "We'll have to work on your trash talking, Budder... that was a 3-of-5, at best."

Umberto watched in angry disbelief as the Inquisitor rolled his eyes and began to CASUALLY reload his weapon with a single talon, heavy duffle bag still held on one shoulder.  "You don't really expect to defeat me, do you?"

The Wolverine stepped forward, sword point aimed at the Dragon's chest.  "That's enough.  Drop the firearm."

Rather then letting go of the musket, Inquisitor Ignus dropped the bag instead; it landed with a heavy thud, accompanied by an audible "Oof!"

The Templar was taken aback... even more so when Ignus raised a leg and rested his foot atop the discarded luggage, his largest claw digging into the canvas.  "In the event you haven't figured out what's going on, allow me to enlighten you..."

The Dragon's claw cut into the bag and a frenzied, muffled cry emerged from it, accompanied by a damp spot surrounding the puncture.  Despite not needing the answer vocalized, Rolf did so anyway.  "You coward... hiding behind--"

The Inquisitor interrupted him "Behind 'a person of importance'?"

Sir Umberto's sword remained pointed.  "Release your prisoner.  NOW!"

The Dragon snorted, and his claw dug deeper.  "Would you care to rephrase that, Templar?"

The Wolverine took a step forward, but he halted at the sound of Rolf's swords hitting the ground.  "Sir Umberto-- don't."

Inquisitor Ignus' grin widened.  "Smart man."

The Templar's attention shifted from the Dragon to the duffel bag, which was squirming beneath his foot.  "You won't get away with this."

Rolf huffed. "Cliché... but true."

Tobias took a step forward, grip tightening on his walking stick.  "We're at an impasse, Inquisitor.  Do more people REALLY have to die?"

With weapon reloaded, Inquisitor Ignus leveled the firearm toward them.  "This isn't as much of an impasse as you think.  And, no-- no more people have to die as long as you drop your weapons."

Sir Umberto's sword tip never wavered, still pointing at the Dragon's chest.  "Why?"

Rolf's hand reached out to grab the Wolverine's wrist.  "Drop your sword."

The Templar glanced at the swashbuckler in disbelief.  "What?"

The Prong Horn sighed.  "He has the Bishop's son."

Sir Umberto snorted. "So THAT'S why he didn't join us... he--"

The Inquisitor stepped down harder and the muffled cry from within the bag reached a fevered tempo.  "He's a coward... yes.  Now: Drop. Your. Weapons."

The Templar's grip finally slackened and his blade fell to the ground.  "You're not an Inquisitor... you're a monster."

The Dragon smirked, removing his foot from the bag.  "Now turn around, and drop to your knees."

Umberto did as was requested and turned around to face the rest of his party; Rolf likewise turned and lowered himself to the floor, but Tobias remained standing.  "You won't get away with this, Inquisitor."

Rolf sighed.  "Still cliché... and still low on the trash-talking scor--"

The swashbuckler's objection was interrupted as Tobias pulled his arm back and launched his walking stick right at the Inquisitor.  The darted piece of wood didn't do any real damage to the Dragon but it was enough of a distraction that the Scholar was able to follow it up by charging the short distance and hurling his body, shoulder-first into the Inquisitor's gut.

Sir Umberto stood immediately, grabbing his sword from where it lay on the ground; being covered in armor, however, he was much slower than Rolf.  The Prong Horn swordsman was up in an instant, likewise charging the Dragon; he arrived just in time to fend off the Inquisitor's blade, which had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and started a downward arc toward the scholar with whom he was grappling.  Rolf deflected the attack and struck the reptile's wrist with the flat of his other sword, disarming him neatly.

By that time Umberto was in the fray and used a metal arm-guard to parry a nasty claw heading right for Rolf's throat.  Tobias managed to disengage, falling back through an opening between the Templar and the swordsman.  Inquisitor Ignus grinned, opening his maw as little rivulets of liquid fire beaded out from beneath his serrated teeth; with no time to spare, Umberto raised a gauntleted first... and, with all his might, slammed it into the Dragon's lower jaw.

The uppercut knocked the Inquisitor's aim off, launching a powerful conflagration straight into the wooden ceiling overhead.  Umberto readied his sword to deliver the killing blow, but Rolf's weight slammed into him from the side, knocking them both out of the way as the ceiling collapsed.

It took a moment for the dust, smoke, and cinders to clear, but Umberto was on his feet well before that.  He stood at the ready, prepared to continue the fight, facing the Inquisitor's last known position... but it turned out to be unnecessary; the Dragon had fallen, pinned to the floor by several heavy pieces of debris.  The Inquisitor was no longer paying attention to them, rather, his focus was on the large wooden beam that had been nailed into his sternum.  The Templar nodded in confidence.  "NOW it's over."

Ignus turned to regard him, blood seeping out of his nose and ichor spilling from his muzzle.    Stil, he laughed. "It's... ALL over..."

The Templar didn't realize that the Dragon still had the musket until the weapon discharged... but it wasn't aimed at him... or Rolf... or Tobias.  The shot tore cleanly through the duffle bag and the squirming ceased.  The damage had been done; Inquisitor Ignus died smiling.

* * * * * *

Bishop Fulgaré felt the exact moment his creation was been destroyed; first, as a stabbing phantom pain deep in his chest and then as a soft, gentle breath flowing back into his lungs.  There were those within the Church who knew enough about True Dragons to realize that they were tied to their creations, but few without The Breath of Creation understood it fully; Fulgaré at that moment had no doubt that Ignus had destroyed his 'child' fully expecting it to cause harm to the creator.  He was only partially correct.

In truth, any destruction of a creation into which the Breath had been exhaled meant only that the portion of soul would return to the Dragon who spawned it.  Unfortunately, every time it happened the Dragon was left lessened by it; in his long life Fulgaré had lost eleven creations in such a way and the destruction of his future body made number twelve.  He didn't truly know how many creations a True Dragon could have destroyed before his ability to Breathe life into something new but he had a feeling it wasn't many more than ten.  Regardless, he had much to accomplish and couldn't dwell on something he couldn't change.

The Dragon sat in the tower atrium with his back to the stairs as he spent time gently working a damaged flange back into place on his scepter; it had struck the wall fairly hard in his altercation with Inquisitor Efram and he held a long-standing belief that all symbols deserved to be flawless... a belief that had caused problems for the last hundred and fifty years in ways he had been unable to foresee.  Like his scepter he was in the middle of correcting it.  Unlike his scepter, the Mechanists were not so easily bent back into shape.

What had originally been created as a secret order to protect the secrets of the Dragons after the Menzylian War came to an end had become a far-reaching secret organization with the goal of providing not-so-gentle corrections to the world by manipulating events from the shadows.  Fulgaré would have liked to have thought that its deviation from the original plan was without his knowledge but, in truth he had not only been ignoring the signs but he could have been guilty of some assistance with its metamorphosis 'here and there' for over a hundred years.  The fact that only felt wrong in the decade-or-so made him worry for himself... and the lies he continued to speak.

When he said he wished to stay behind to watch after Inquisitor Efram the Bishop was only telling a half-truth; in actuality he had soldiers come to take him away.  The real reason he wished to stay behind was because he knew he would be unable to face Ignus while the Inquisitor had his creation hostage; if he was forced to choose between bringing Ignus to justice and saving his new body there was no doubt in Fulgaré's mind that his own self-interests would prevail.  In that he had great fault of character-- one he could not overlook.

The tower room had balcony off to the Dragon's left and he didn't miss the sound of the double doors opening; someone entering from the balcony meant only one thing.  The Dragon didn't bother turning around as he addressed the newcomer.  "I assume he found you."

Fulgaré had met Kesst only one time and that had been shortly after Wiesen created him.  Considering his brother always made his bodies ten years before taking them he was fairly certain that it had been about a decade since he'd last encountered the Clockwork Dragon and yet his voice was still unmistakable.  "Hello, Bishop Fulgaré."

He didn't miss the formal title given to him by the visitor; standing, Fulgaré turned to face the visitor and was surprised to see that he was accompanied by a young Mouse woman.  Setting the unexpected guest out of his mind, the Bishop turned to regard his brother's creation.  "You're really you then... and not Wiesen."

The red Dragon nodded.  "I'm sorry if you're disappointed with his decision."

Fulgaré laughed, collapsing back into the large armchair he'd chosen as his seat.  "Disappointed?  Hardly, lad... Wiesen had always been that much more courageous than myself... it's why he set you on the path to flee from the Church... why he set out on his own... and why he ultimately decided that it was time, and chose to let you life your life."

The Mouse glanced between the two of them, one paw pressed to her throat in surprise while the other shuffled within the pocket of her petticoat.  "I apologize, Your Excellency, but I must interrupt at the behest of Sir Wiesen."

The Dragon chuckled, turning to regard the fetching young Mouse woman.  There had been a time when his interests had extended beyond those of Dragonkind and perhaps if he had been a few centuries younger he might have considered her attractive, but he had long since passed that inclination.  "Is that so?  And what is your place in all of this, my child?"

Kesst reached out a talon and took gentle hold of her arm before she could approach Fulgaré.  "Before Wiesen came to me he asked Dr. Brownell to deliver something to you."

She pulled her arm free of the Red Dragon's grasp. "I can speak for myself."

The bemused Bishop managed to keep his expression neutral despite his lips' interest in curling into a grin.  "She's a Doctor, and she doesn't need a man to speak for her, young one.  The University truly DOES foster progressive thought."

The comment made her frown, but she took another step closer.  "I don't know what it is, but I was told that he was making it for a traveling companion... and he asked that I seek you out and give it to you."

Fulgaré extended a talon.  "Well then, I most humbly accept his gift."

Kesst continued speaking even as the Mouse placed a clockwork orb of some kind into his palm.  "I know that one reason you came to Lehsunia to try and convince him not to give himself over to... whatever comes next."

The Bishop nodded thoughtfully, listening to the Red Dragon while toying with the strange device created by his brother; it was tiny, scarcely as large as an eyeball, but incredibly intricate in its design.  "It was one of many, yes."

The Red Dragon continued.  "But also because you were trying to eliminate the Mechanists here before starting it over again."

Fulgaré looked up from the metal orb, eyes meandering to the Mouse woman standing near him before glancing back to Kesst.  "What my brother knew or thought he knew is best kept to private discussions, young man... not everyone can be privy to what may or may not be."

Kesst's next words were so like his brother that the Bishop could practically hear them in Wiesen's words.  "Let the Mechanists die, Fulgaré.  The people need to decide their own fate."

It was an argument he'd shared with his brother for decades, and so his answer was already textbook.  "The people may decide poorly.  You know I can't do that, Wie--"

A silence filled the room as everyone present knew what name he was going to say.  It was most inconvenient because of the Mouse's presence, and she only made it worse.  "His name is Kesst, Your Excellency... Wiesen was his father."

Fulgaré sighed, slumping deeper into his chair.  He ignored the Mouse's comment in favor of continuing his discussion with Wiesen's 'heir'.  "One of the Inquisitors here killed my replacement... I trust you know what that means, Kesst?"

The conversation was interrupted when the Mouse's ears perked and she turned to face the stairwell.  She glanced back to the Bishop.  "I beg your pardon, Your Excellency... but... have you met a Prong Horn by the name of Tobias?"

The Dragon smiled.  "Tobias Severna... yes, of course."

She fidgeted, "Is he... by chance....?"

He saw the way she motioned to the stairwell and he nodded in response.  "He joined the men attempting to apprehend Inquisitor Ignus.  Yes... up that way, in fact."

The Mouse turned to Kesst.  "Forgive me, please I need to make sure he's not getting himself killed... the stupid man."

The Red Dragon's acknowledgement only got half-way out before she sprinted for the stairs, disappearing up them in a flash.  Fulgaré chuckled.  "Charming woman.... truly."

The Red Dragon nodded, and picked up the discussion where they left off, being much more frank without the woman present. "If you lost a body it means you'll need to create another."

Fulgaré shook his head, realizing that Kesst didn't know because Wiesen most likely didn't know either.  "No... it means I have twenty, perhaps thirty years left.  I cannot make another... not again."

Kesst looked him over appraisingly.  "Can't?  Or won't?"

The Bishop gently stroked the small clockwork orb his brother had gifted to him posthumously.  "I am old.  I was the eldest of all our siblings, you know... almost eighteen years more than Wiesen."

He realized that Kesst did indeed know; if Wiesen had done what he'd set out to do then there would be very little that the Red Dragon didn't know.  "He-- I know that there are limits to The Breath... you're saying you've reached yours?"

Fulgaré stared off at the wall, the very act of admitting it draining him.  "Every time we Create we give up some ourselves.  Even if we later join with our creation something is lost in the process.  When our creations are destroyed even though a portion returns to us we lose a little more."

"So you ARE dying."

The Bishop turned to Kesst with a scowl.  "I've been afraid of death for millennia... what could you possibly know of dying that I haven't considered?  Wiesen wasn't willing to let you die so he could live... I envy him that HIS death could have meaning... that HE could have a CHOICE."

The Red Dragon moved over and took a seat on a fallen table, balancing on its edge.  "All life has meaning; death is no exception."

Fulgaré laughed, scoffing at the same time.  "Horiette, 3:14... Wiesen always did like Horiette."

Kesst nodded thoughtfully.  "He did... yes.  And you liked the Book of Virtues..."

The Dragon searched the Red Dragon's expression for any indication of double-meaning; his tone suggested there was more to the comment than he let on.  "What has Wiesen instilled in you, Kesst?  You're hinting at something..."

His 'nephew' blinked, folding his talons in front of himself as he regarded the Bishop.  "Book of Virtue-- Epiphony, 4:12."

The Bishop didn't need anything more than the reference.  "And lo, until thou seest the world through thine Brother's eyes cast ye not doubt of his Witness."

Kesst nodded.  "Goodbye, Fulgaré."

With nothing more to be said the Red Dragon about-faced and followed the Mouse woman up the stairs, leaving the Bishop to stare down at the small clockwork orb in his palm.  He stared at it for many long moments before the next thought entered his mind.  Could it?  Would it?

Fulgaré got to his feet taking in a deep breath as he whispered the last vestiages of his Breath against the clockwork mechanism.  It failed to respond... but not because he had nothing left to give, but because there was already Something there.  The Bishop smiled, realizing that his brother hadn't abandoned him... he gave him what he hadn't expected: meaning.

It took no real effort and hardly any hesitance for Fulgaré to work his own mechanical eye out of its metallic socket; he worked the one into place and took one more look around.  He had lived for a long time-- far longer than any Dragon had the right.  Holding his detached eye up to his lips, the Bishop inhaled deeply, taking the essence from not only the mechanism in his palm, but from the one that had found a new home in him.  He closed his eyes... and Wiesen opened them.