Wherein a war begins
Seneca saw Giles and Eric off early in the morning. "You look like you are in an unusually good mood," he said to Giles, who was indeed smiling pleasantly.
"I dreamed this morning that I was dying of old age, having never become a Wolf," said Giles. "It was beautiful; the second-best dream I have had in centuries of dreaming."
Seneca looked doubtful at that, but said nothing. He handed a large manila envelope to Giles. "You should have everything you need. Aveline has called to say that she will meet you at the airport."
"Don't forget what we talked about," said Giles.
"I have already begun to take care of it."
In the car Eric tried to start a conversation, but Giles merely ignored him, looking out the window. Finally, in irritation, Eric said, "At least tell me where we are going."
"Aveline will meet us at London Gatwick; we'll then take a car to our final destination."
Eric coughed. "We are going to London? As in England? I don't have my passport or anything."
Giles pulled a smaller envelope out of the large envelope and handed it over. When Eric opened it, he found a number of documents, one of which was a passport. He opened it.
"David Actaeon," he read aloud. Then: "How did you get my real passport photo?"
But Giles was back to ignoring him, and Eric had a dull car ride.
The flight, on an Aegidian private jet, was equally dull, but much longer. Giles spent most of the trip with his eyes closed, but obviously not sleeping. Eric seethed.
Aveline, as it turned out, was a stout]woman with gray hair; her face was broad and cheerful, and might have been mistaken for stupid by anyone who did not notice her eyes, which had a clever, almost cunning, set to them.
"I hope your flight went well," she said cheerfully.
"It was wonderful," Giles replied with equal cheer. Eric seethed. But he put on a good face when Giles gestured at him and said, "This is my colleague, David Actaeon."
"Nice to meet you," he said.
"You are a sweet thing, aren't you," she said with cheerful irrelevance. "Roysa and the car are this way."
In the car the clever eyes took on an even more clever look. "Giuseppe has arrived," she said, "and will join us at the retreat tomorrow. We have heard nothing from Vsesalevich. Have you spoken to him?"
"No," said Giles, "everything was through intermediary. That's not uncommon, you know; communication is through Yakutsk, and he is hardly ever there in person." But he looked thoughtful. Then he said, "Do you know Giuseppe's two?"
She shook her head. "I've seen neither of them before. Should I look deeper?"
"It wouldn't hurt, but I don't think it will matter; Giuseppe's not the problem and he knows perfectly well that he can't even manage his figurehead status without my help. That you've heard nothing from Vsesalevich is more worrisome; he should have sent some message by now."
"I'll look into it anyway. As for the Siberians, what should we do?"
"Hmmm," said Giles. He looked out the window and did not answer for a moment. "At present there is nothing to be done," he said finally.
"I don't like playing things by ear," said Aveline.
"Everything is played by ear," Giles replied.
Aveline turned her shrewd eyes on Eric. "So, David," she said, "I don't seem to recall having heard of you."
"We are trying David out for some new responsibilities," said Giles with that air of abstracted indifference which seemed to be his default mood, before Eric could say anything. "He is a young one."
"And you said the name was Actaeon," said Aveline. "An interesting name."
Giles merely smiled and turned the discussion to other things. They talked about the state of things in Britain. Aveline seemed cheerfully pessimistic about everything, and said that she was hoping in a few decades to turn things over to her lieutenant, Roysa, and spend some time in Spain.
"Somehow I have difficulty imagining you lying around the beaches of Ibiza," Giles said. And this started Aveline off on an enthusiastic discussion of the merits and demerits of different locales in Spain. Somehow this branched off into a discussion of various Wolves they both knew -- this one had disappeared, that one was living in Swansea, this other one had committed suicide.
"A great loss, too," said Aveline, still in her cheerful way, "as there were days when I actually liked him."
At times Giles would fall silent, and in those periods Aveline would turn and talk to Eric about arts -- movies, songs, plays, painters -- or politics. She tended to talk about old classics as if they had just come out and politicians who had died long ago and whose names Eric had never heard. Eric began to regard her as somewhat harmless and senile until he had the sudden realization, as the car-ride was beginning to come to an end, that the whole point of her conversation had not been to talk art and politics but to gain a good estimate of how long he had been a Wolf.
It was dark as they drove up the driveway to the retreat house. A little sign in front had the Aegidian silver-A-on-black and the words 'Semele Seminar Centre,' also in silver on black background. The building itself looked much like a house, but a high-end modern house, the kind which has nothing built square but always at angles. As they passed through the entry hall, Eric pointed at a painting hanging above a small table, in which a man in brown was holding the paw of a wolf. "Another one of your Dominicans?" he asked.
Giles gave him a look of irritation mingled with pity and contempt, as if in the middle of annoyance he had had the sudden insight that Eric was the world's most stupid man. "Franciscan," he said shortly. "If he were Dominican he would be wearing black and white. In fact, he is the Franciscan; the painting is of St. Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio." He said this as if he were explaining things to a very small child who should know better, causing Eric to flush with anger again. Seeing this, Giles smiled angelically and continued into the main conference room which occupied most of the first floor.
"There are bedrooms upstairs and to the right," said Aveline to Eric in her usual cheerful tone, "as well as a sitting room. So you should be well-set." She opened her mouth to say something but stopped.
Giles had walked into the center of the room, slowly sliding his hand along the large wooden table, when he had stopped suddenly, frozen in an attitude much like that of a man listening to distant music. He turned to Aveline.
"Where is the car? And is the secret exit still here?" he asked quietly.
"Roysa should be taking it to the garage on the outer perimeter," said Aveline. "And it is. Are we going out that way?"
"You and Eric are."
Aveline pulled out her phone and called Roysa back. Giles pointed at Eric. "He is currently the most vulnerable; at present I have no wish for him to die. There are three for me, but there may be one you will have to take care of yourself. Go."
"Well, then, David Actaeon," Aveline said briskly, grabbing his wrist and dragging him with prodigious speed and strength out of the room, "we are about to have an adventure."
Eric looked back and through the doorway saw Giles calmly adjust his tie and put his hands in his pockets, an expectant look on his face. Aveline turned a corner and Giles was lost to view.
"Come along, come along," said Aveline, as if Eric had had any choice given that her hand was gripped like a steel manacle around his wrist. She stopped only to press a hidden lever or button on the side of the frame of a man-sized mirror, which swung open to reveal a stair and tunnel.
Behind them they heard a loud crash, the breaking of glass, and a scream of pain.
"In you go," said Aveline, shoving him in so that he almost fell flat on his face. She stepped down behind him, closed the mirror-door, and continued to hurry him through the dark tunnel.
