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BACK TO FRASER'S FRACTURED FICTION HENRY VI Part 2, act iv: scene ii (part the fourth)by A. Fraser
© Copyright 2004 A. Fraser. All rights reserved.
After supper had been cleared away, most of the Brotherhood went
back home, happy in the belief that their troubles with BOO were
over. Hermione, Michael and Gideon, however, went with Alex and
Janine to Valley Mansion to have a close look at the contentious
deed.
In the den, which smelled strongly of Alex's specially made
panatellas, the owner of Valley Mansion removed a painting of his
father from over the fireplace to reveal a wall safe.
"Father always did guard his money carefully," the vampire
remarked, wryly.
"Well, he had to, from you," Janine retorted.
"You didn't know him," her cousin said, barely suppressing anger.
"Or me, either, at that time."
"Let's just get on with this, shall we?" Gideon asked, his voice drier
than the fortune cookies had been. "Save the family arguments for
later."
Even tall Alex had to stand on a chair to reach the safe. He dialled
the combination and opened the door. Everyone else, even Gideon,
craned their necks up to try and see what was in the safe. Janine had
never seen the contents, despite the years she had lived in Valley
Mansion. There were, disappointingly, no stacks of gold bars or piles
of coins or even neat bundles of bills and bearer bonds. There was
only a large tin box. Alex took this out, carefully stepping down off
the chair.
"I know," he said, nodding to Hermione, "that this should have been
in a bank. But it's a bit annoying to have to change banks every fifty
years or so, along with everything else you have to change."
"As long as the deed is in there, and in your name, I don't care if you
keep it in a shoe box under your bed," the Nameless One lawyer
retorted.
Alex unlocked the box, the key slipping once with a horrible scraping
sound because everyone staring at him made him nervous. A bundle
of papers was revealed.
"All my wills," he said, moving aside one package, "giving Valley
Mansion and all my worldly possessions to my son, who looks
remarkably like me and was mysteriously born abroad."
Hermione snorted. Michael, Gideon and Alex all looked at her it
was how they'd always worked things. Of course, now that Michael
had an actual flesh-and-blood son, things might be a bit trickier. But
they weren't gathered here for Michael's legal problems.
A heavy gold ring. Three small framed paintings that Alex refused
to turn over to reveal their subjects. More papers, which he didn't
explain. And, finally, a large legal-looking document.
"Here it is," he said, smiling and opening the paper.
His smile faded. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no."
Janine reached over and snatched the paper from her cousin's
trembling hand. "Oh, come on," she said, "cut the drama, you aren't
Adrian Talbot." She started to read. Her jaw dropped.
"For pity's sake!" Hermione exclaimed. "Tell us what is wrong!"
"It's in French," Janine said.
"Don't be absurd," said the lawyer. "There is no earthly reason for a
deed to land in Massachusetts to be in French, even in 1815."
Gideon, who spoke flawless French, gently took the paper from
Janine's grasp.
"'Le baccara de jeu. De jeu est jou‚ avec six ou huit plate-formes des
cartes complŠtes. Toutes les cartes, as par neuf, sont ‚valu‚es selon
leur compte. Dix et comptage de cartes de visage en tant que z‚ro.
Quand deux cartes...'. Mon Dieu," he said, momentarily forgetting
where he was. "Alexander, what is this?"
Alex looked very much like he wanted to die. Again.
"It's the rules for baccarat from the gambling salon where I won the
deed," he said in a choked voice.
Everyone stared at him in utter disbelief.
"You never CHECKED?" Janine voiced what everyone was thinking.
Alex sighed. "Dawn was coming, and then other things happened,
very quickly, I just forgot about it and threw it in this box when I had
the mansion built."
"And you never looked at it again?" Janine threw up her hands.
"Other things happened," Alex repeated.
Alex sat at the card table. Other things were happening all around the
salon, but all his concentration was on this game of baccarat. The
dainty tapestry chairs in this particular salon were ill-suited to the
young vampire's muscular height, but discomfort meant nothing to
him. He had often spent his youth on his knees in filthy taverns,
wagering on the throw of bone dice. Now he rubbed elbows with
royalty and the high-rolling riff raff of the entire continent, wagering
on the turn of a card.
Baccarat was a complicated game. Nine was the desirable number
for a hand. A hand that totalled higher than ten would have the
higher number negated. Less than eight in a hand meant that the
player could ask for another card, but had to play it face-up. Three
usually played; the player with the most money was the banker. Alex
had been winning steadily and had been banker for several turns now.
The two gentlemen ladies were allowed in the salon and to gamble,
but only on certain days playing against him were guests of a regular
member, as was Alex. Both were American, new to the game of
baccarat, and obviously uncomfortable with all the aristocracy
present.
"Thought they all got their heads chopped off," one of them, who'd
been introduced as Josephat Fletcher, muttered. "Yet here we are,
playing cards with a count."
"Graf, actually," Alexander corrected, hiding a smile. "I am
Hungarian, not French. We had no revolution."
Fletcher ignored this and looked at his hand. Eight. But he was out
of money to increase his wager. "Listen, Graf," he said. "I've run out
of funds. You're the banker this round; would you accept the deed to
a tract of land in Massachusetts?"
This was a breach of salon etiquette, but one could not expect
uncouth Americans to know this. Alexander hesitated, and looked to
his own patron for advice.
Jean de la Mare saw his young friend's glance in his direction, and
heard his mental appeal for help. He sauntered over to the table,
which had drawn a few other spectators because of the level of play,
and put his head down next to Alex's for a quick conference.
Josephat strained to hear, in vain. The conversation was in a mix of
French and Hungarian.
"Very well," said Alex as Jean clapped his shoulder encouragingly.
"I will accept the deed."
A large legal document was added to the pile of cash (the salon had
not yet graduated to chips or tokens) and the other player at the table
added his own ante. The betting was declared closed, and the cards
were revealed.
Alexander had a natural nine in two cards, making him the winner.
Josephat Fletcher swore a blue streak, coming perilously close to
being thrown out of the salon, but signed over the deed with ill grace.
Alex studied the document and set it down on the table, next to a
brochure explaining the intricate rules of baccarat.
"We do not have time for another game," Jean hissed in his ear, as he
automatically reached for the shoe that held the card decks. "Dawn is
coming, fool boy."
"One more," Alex hissed back.
"Non!" Jean thumped a fist down on the table, making money and
papers fly. Alex growled at him, and dived under the table to scoop
up his winnings. Jean tugged at the waistband of his trousers, trying
to get him to move. They raced out of the salon, to the consternation
of the patrons, and sped faster than the rising sun through the
Faubourg St. Germain to Jean's house. Alexander locked his
winnings in a box and fell into his bed, exhausted.
He fell back into his leather chair in the den, exhausted with the recall
of what had happened that night. The others in the room stared at
him.
"But I saw the deed," Gideon said. "The next night, you showed it to
us all and said you had won a new beginning."
"You saw this," Alex retorted, waving the baccarat rules at the Baron.
"When Jean rushed me out of that salon, I must have picked up the
rules and left the deed. It's probably still there."
"Unless Josephat Fletcher saw it fall and snatched it back," Hermione
said thoughtfully. "That may be why his family had it to sell to
BOO."
"But he'd signed it over to Alex," Michael pointed out. "He no
longer had legal claim to it."
Hermione waved the objection away. "Something easily enough
remedied," she said, "if he still had the document. I sure would like
to see what it is BOO has got."
"I'm telling you, the deed is still in that damned salon in Paris," Alex
said.
"Since 1815?" Janine asked sarcastically. "Don't you think they
would have swept by now?"
"They probably have a lost properties box or something." Alex stared
at the rules of baccarat. "They wouldn't just throw out a property
deed."
"No, they would try to return it to its rightful owner," Gideon said.
"But they made no attempt to contact you."
"I was nobody," Alex replied. "A stranger. They wouldn't know how
to find me."
Gideon raised an eyebrow. "You were introduced to the salon by
Jean de la Mare," he said, slowly and heavily so that Alex would get
the point. "Jean is hardly a difficult person to find. Surely they would
have contacted him if they had found a deed in your name."
"It is still there," Alex said stubbornly. "Maybe it got caught under a
floorboard."
Gideon, not given to dramatic gestures, did not throw up his hands in
despair. But he looked like he wanted to. He said something in
French, under his breath, that definitely Genevieve had not taught
him.
"Could I borrow Mitch and your private plane, Gideon?" Alex asked,
ignoring the sotto voce comment.
"Whatever for?"
"I want to fly to France, of course, and search the salon for myself."
"Then the answer is no."
"Oh, let him, Gideon, please," Janine said. "Otherwise, we'll never
hear the end of it."
"There isn't _time_ for that," Hermione reminded them. "The forty-
eight hour deadline is up."
"Stall them," Alex replied.
"How?"
"You're the lawyer, you think of a way. So, can I have the plane or
not?"
Gideon shook his head, and sighed. "Don't ask me to bail you out
when you are arrested for lunatic behaviour in Paris," he said. "If
Mitch will consent to pilot you, then yes, he and the plane are yours."
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