Chapter 32: The Elven Delegation

Sam

November 12, 1786, Realm Timeline, The Outworlders' Base

"He did what?" Eliza shrieked.

"Called me a day after—"

"I heard it the first time. I'm not stupid, just couldn't believe my ears. And you tell me two weeks later? Really?"

"I needed time to prepare. The jerk thinks he got us in a bind."

"For fucks sake, that's exactly what he did."

"That's what he thinks. Listen to me. The Council mustn't find out that I had a chat with Napoleon. They need to act naturally. Surprised."

Sam put his coffee on the table and pushed a newspaper toward her. It had been printed in London three days before. He had read it twice. The front page announced the perpetual peace between France and England and the restoration of the rightful line of kings, the Stuarts. Wittily, it was with a Queen, Charlotte, who had just given birth to a healthy and plump son—if one was to believe the drawing—whose father was none other than the First Consul Lafayette.

There was also a lot of bullshit about freedom of faith, glory, and prosperity. Sam suspected that whoever disagreed with the change would meet an untimely end. Charlotte's father had passed suddenly, allegedly from overwhelming joy at seeing his country freed. The whereabouts of King George and his family were unknown.

Sleeping with the fishes, probably. If I were Napoleon, I'd make out a fake revolt in their name, to draw out the last supporters... Our guy was ruthless; this one is worse.

"They took back the French possessions in America, and divided Canada with the US," Eliza said.

"I know. On the next page is a map about how they're splitting the Midwest. Anything west of the Mississippi goes to the US; east goes to France."

"Think they'd eventually fight each other?"

"Who knows? Washington and Lafayette are pals, and the Realm's US of A is still a huge wilderness. Kaunitz told me the French are sending colonists by the thousands. Washington, on the other hand, is making friends with the First Nations, signing treaties to the right and left."

"Really?" Eliza raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "I thought they'd try to get rid of them as fast as possible."

"Kaunitz says it makes sense. The thirteen colonies already have a large population; it doesn't need immigrants just now. It needs peace, industry, railways and waterways. And..." Sam sighed, "cowboys herding cows and shooting from the hip is not exactly an eighteenth-century gentleman's ideal. Washington abhors it."

"Why are you looking sad?"

"The second game I designed was about cowboys in an alternate reality. It was really good," Sam slumped his shoulders.

"You told Kaunitz about the call?"

"Yes. He visited me yesterday at the Guild, and gave me that newspaper, among other things."

"You're big friends, huh?"

"Yeah, sort of," Sam scratched his head. "Maybe I went too far. Now, Kaunitz wants to send troops to Galicia and Lodomeria through our territories, using the railroad up to Kosice. He sent an official request to the Council. I'll vote yes, and I want you to vote no. I'll speak to a few other people to make sure the nos prevail."

"I have a mind of my own, Sam. I'll vote for whatever I think is better."

"Of course you have a mind of your own," Sam snapped. "I fondly remember your precious advice given during our marriage. Inhale, exhale, tie your shoelaces, etcetera."

"Because you're a klutz for anything common sense. Your pants are unzipped, by the way."

"Oh! Sorry... Hey! They're not unzipped!" Sam yelled.

"Gotcha."

"Please vote no, Liz. If we let them pass, Napoleon will know we refuse his terms. I bet he has a plan for that. We have to bide our time."

"This is so wrong, Sam."

"Keeping the call secret from the Council?"

"Yep."

Eliza threw the newspaper on the coffee table and lifted her cup of tea, sipping loudly. She was nervous, and Sam couldn't blame her.

"Napoleon might be a genius, but he couldn't know so many things about our modus operandi without somebody feeding him information," he said.

"You think there are traitors among us?"

"That, or bugs that escaped our detection, or people with loose tongues. Many Renegades are former Military Intelligence. They have the know-how."

"So what's the plan? Hoping you have one and not winging it as usual."

"The first step is to pretend we agree to his demands. Then... we twist his hand."

"You've become a true Machiavelli," Eliza laughed, wiggling the tip of her right shoe.

"Nah," Sam waved his hand. "The sooner we solve our problems, the better. I'll be free to go back to doing the fun stuff."

"Bounty hunting?"

"Being a dad..." Sam said, peeking obliquely at Eliza. They had discussed children during their marriage, but her health stopped them from going further.

"I'm happy for you," she smiled at him.

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She looked sincere, but the subject was a delicate one, so he diverted the subject.

"Do you mind if I ask what level you are?"

"Thirty-three," Eliza said. "Something's weird, because I stopped gaining experience. It's the same for Tristan."

"And for me."

"Wasn't a hundred the cap?"

"It's not a cap," Sam sighed. "It's the number of times the Interface can deliver nanite charges. Technically, you can go over, but there will be no acknowledgment."

"And the stats' limits?"

"Also no cap. We considered a hundred to be the safe limit... Ten times the average human being value..."

"So one cannot be eleven times stronger?"

"An athlete is only three to five times stronger. We thought that two to three times stronger than an athlete would stretch a body to the limit. Or a brain."

"Thought?" Eliza scoffed, as Sam expected from her. "Meaning winging it, right? You basically experimented on us."

"That's why we played it safe, with the Humanity stat and all," Sam said.

"Well, your estimations were wrong. We're not thrice as strong as an athlete. Tristan survived a head shot that would have gone through a tank."

"Then maybe we stopped leveling because we've reached our maximum limit, and the Interface considers it unsafe to go further."

"Or maybe we have to do harder quests. Push ourselves further," Eliza said. "Take risks. Tribulations, whatever."

Taking risks as a father-to-be was not something Sam was keen for, so he moved on again.

"By the way, there's news about the ones behind the attack at the hunting lodge."

"It wasn't Futak?"

"He was only a pawn. Of course, Robespierre was one of the master minds, because of the mage. The Vlachs, well, it's evident. We were missing the Austrian part."

"Is this a typical detective rant?"

"No, I'll keep it short. Kaunitz had his suspicions; Jane Doe thought the same—although she couldn't find proof yet; and Napoleon knew, and he gave me those Poirot hints, so I figured it out in the end."

Sam's throat was dry, and he sipped a bit of coffee. It was sour and bad. He missed a real espresso.

"C'mon!" Eliza complained. "Tell me already."

"Bonaparte said I should think chess. Use my assets. The assets are Joseph and his wife. We're in good relations. In chess, the queen is the strongest piece. It's also true with the Empress, because she's about to give him an heir. Here, Joseph remarried. On Earth, he did not, and his brother, Leopold, took the throne. Leopold is a nice guy, apparently, but his son, Frederic—"

"Francis."

"My bad. Francis believes Joseph's ideas ruined the Empire and that he deserves the throne. He's behind the attack on Count Futak's domain. The thing is... If we protect Joseph and his wife, we protect both ours and Napoleon's interests. The French punk got us."

"Merde," Eliza sighed.

"And here comes into play the second part of my plan," Sam said, looking at his watch. "Thinking out of the box, changing the rules of the game. The elven delegation is about to pay us a visit."

Someone knocked on the apartment door at the same time she spoke.

"Elves are very punctual. Enter!" Sam said aloud.

Two elves and Cedric, the latter in front, stepped into the apartment. The teenager was back to his human appearance: over six feet tall, lanky, and long-faced. He also had more muscles and no pimples, which made him, of course, smug. The ones accompanying Cedric were slightly less tall but had the same overall build. The most striking difference was the hair. While one had long raven-black locks, the other wore his white hair short.

"Hi, guys," Cedric bellowed. "These are my friends: Vaelzryth and Lykhord."

"In your tongue, my name means Walking Curse," the elf with black hair said. "Vaelz Ryth."

"And mine means Cutting Hearts. Ly Khord. I'm a Healer," the other elf said.

Sam noticed the tiny spasm on Eliza's face. She was struggling not to laugh, which was both the polite and wise thing to do, considering the Elves' reputation in the Realm. Not many people had seen Elves and lived to tell the tale. He elbowed her, gently, fearing she'd embarrass their guests.

"Show them what you showed me," Cedric said.

The white-haired elf extracted a microscope from his ring. It was a spatial storage, the first of its kind that Sam had seen. Despite their common occurrence in novels, rings of holding were hard to find in the Realm.

"Look," the elf gestured.

First, Eliza, then Sam, then Eliza again, examined the microscope plate through the lens. Round cells were floating lazily. On the outside, they had transparent filaments; then came a thick, reddish shell with scales, and an interior divided into slices, like a turquoise pizza.

"What are we looking at?" Eliza asked

"Art," Vaelzryth said. "Your husband is a great artist."

"Err... I had an idea, and Cedric presented it to our guests," Sam said. "Is that what I think it is?"

"The bioweapon," Cedric said. "Yew cells transformed into a virus through Druidic spells, with specific targeting inscribed on them with ultraviolet engraving and nanites."

"Targeting what?" Eliza asked.

"Coordinates and species," Sam said. "The species is horses; the coordinates are a triangular area with one point in Gyor, one in Eger, and the third in Grosswardein, or Oradea, by our Earth's name. The virus will attack all the horses in the area. Most will die. Only the Tatars and the Vlachs have mounted troops there, so it's to our advantage. Then, the Kingling will be given an ultimatum. Keep east of the Tisza, or we will release the sickness in your lands. This world relies heavily on horses. That would be a crippling blow. Poetic justice, in a way, since he depends so much on plagues."

The black-haired elf raised his index finger in the air, demanding attention. "Two. Can. Play. At. This. Game," he said rituously in English, satisfaction painted all over his face.

"They're no friends of the Kingling," Cedric said. "He chased them out of Transylvania."

"How?" Eliza asked. "Elves are supposed to be powerful."

"Yeah, about that..." Cedric looked at his companions.

"If I tell you a secret, do you swear not to reveal it outside those in this room?" Vaelzryth asked.

"It goes without saying," Sam said.

"Absolutely," Eliza said.

"We're not of this Realm."

"You're Outworlders? Like us?" Sam asked.

"So we are. Our lands lie in a different Realm, but we can travel to this one within specific bounds."

"They need contracts," Cedric said.

"Treatises. Magic follows the laws of the land. It feels the minds of every person and adapts."

"Like a Zeitgeist?" Sam asked.

"Maybe. Magic knows who the righteous leader is."

"Hm..." Sam said, grabbing his chin. "That's interesting..."

"Don't mention that in front of Tristan, or he'll start jerking over the Emperor's rights," Eliza said.

Sam cleared his throat, frowning, annoyed by her joke. Sexual puns were inappropriate in the presence of ambassadors.

At the same time, the elf furrowed his brows for a second, clearly missing the joke. "We had a trade... hoob...?"

"Hub?" Cedric suggested.

"Hub, yes. In Transylvania, from the time of Matteus Corvinus. He was a good king. When the Kingling conquered the land, Magic knew there was a... err.. New. Sheriff. In. Town," Vaelzruth said, switching between German and English. "Our portals closed, and he refused to renew the lease. Some of us were stranded here and moved to the hills south of Danube."

"This is interesting," Sam said.

"Guys, never mind the portal. A bio weapon is... extreme!" Eliza said. "What if it mutates and kills everyone?"

"I. Bet. My. Life. On. It," the black-haired elf said in English.

"They like cliches a lot," Cedric said. "Anyway, Vaelzryth is an Einstein for this stuff. You can trust him."

"I'm just an average curse specialist. You should see my mother's work. That would know your socks on," Vaelzryth said.

"Knock your socks off," Cedric corrected him. "If you worry about their intentions, as long as there's an oath sworn, they'd rather die than break it. That's how the Elves work."

"We swore to never make a plague that would harm humans," Lykhord said. "As ambassadors, our oath includes all Elves, present or future."

"Out of the designed area, the virus dies," Sam said. "Inside, it's harmless, except for horses. Any other animal, or even plants, carries it without getting hurt. I'll present the idea to the Council, but I hope you'll vote yes, Liz. Sooner or later, everybody will come for us. Prussians, Russians, Poles, you name it... Even the Austrians, if Frederic—"

"Francis."

"If Francis gets the throne."

"I'll vote yes only if any application has to pass through the Council. And better think of a vaccine. Tristan will get ballistic if his horse gets hurt."

"Then you better keep him on a short leash. Don't let him go hunt Tatars on the other side of the Danube."

"I'll try," Eliza sighed. "He's a stubborn young man."

Sam's phone buzzed. As expected, it was a summoning for the Council in the afternoon.

"I suggest we move to the Cafeteria and have lunch," Sam said.