Journey Through the Mirrors (15 page)

“That’s what I am afraid of,” Logan said. “What truth is going to be revealed by a picture of pain and agony?”

14

How many battles will you fight for someone else’s cause before you take up the armaments for your own?

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

MONTEPULCIANO, ITALY, 8:20 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 21, 2070

“Long live Reges Hominum!” said Dario Magnor, his voice raspy. He stood before his guests, holding up a glass of wine for a toast.

“Long live Reges Hominum,” repeated the seven people sitting in the solarium of the thousand-acre vineyard known as the Magnor Estates, as they drank from their goblets.

“Simon Hitchlords is dead,” said a sharp-chinned blond woman named Catherine, emphasizing the last word. “And so is Andrea Montavon. According to tradition, should the Dux Ducis suddenly pass, the leadership of our group will pass to its most senior member.”

Catherine gestured toward Dario, who walked over to a plush high-back chair, making a soft humming noise as he walked. When he sat down, the hem of his trousers rose, exposing metal prosthetics. “We have no grand bell to call our meeting to order as we did at Château Dugan,” he said, pouring himself a glass of water and taking a sip. “We will not wear masks or inhale the smoke of incense to bind us. No, we will hold off on those rituals until we have ennobled ourselves with
at least one noteworthy accomplishment. The epic failure of Simon Hitchlords and Andrea Montavon not only brought about the death of my dear friend Victor Ramplet, but it cast a great shadow of ineptitude upon our order. And I mean to restore our dignity.”

“I did not expect us to continue after Simon’s death,” said a German man named Klaus. “I am glad to know that you will not let Simon’s failure thwart our advance.”

“I, too, was happy to hear from Dario,” said Yinsir, a Japanese man with a shiny bald head. He placed his PCD on the table in front of him. “But I fear our path has been made more difficult. The appearance of the blue light caused by Simon’s failure to perform the Purging has only emboldened the Satrayians. They believe it is the same blue light experienced by the finders of the
Chronicles
.”

“That light had nothing to do with the books,” Catherine snapped. She sat up straighter in her chair, perturbed. “The light was simply a side effect of the Akasha Vault satellites.”

“Nonetheless, people believe what they want to believe,” said Yinsir. “I am only restating what has already been reported.”

Steeped in traditions that dated back to the time of the first pope, Reges Hominum was made up of members of the twelve wealthiest and most influential families in the world. For more than two millennia, the group had manipulated mankind from the shadows. While the accumulation of great wealth was a very welcome by-product of their machinations, power and control were the group’s primary goals. While the Great Disruption of 2027 loosened their grip on humanity by diminishing their wealth and wrecking many of their mechanisms of power,
The Chronicles of Satraya
made them irrelevant, and the group disbanded. For more than forty years, Reges Hominum was inactive, until Simon Hitchlords took up his father’s cause and brought the group together again.

“Before we continue, there are some questions that must be answered,” said a woman named Ilia with jet-black hair and dazzling eyes, which had once been dark but had been surgically altered with a deep
blue pigment. “There are many rumors concerning Simon’s passing. It is my understanding that the son of Camden and Cassandra Ford was instrumental in foiling his plan.”

“A plan that we all sanctioned,” Yinsir added. “And I am told that the WCF has seized the Château along with all the other Hitchlords assets.”

“How can we be certain that our involvement will not be exposed?” Ilia asked. “My family, the Miltuns, has a great deal to lose.”

“As do the Letuhs and everyone else here,” Klaus said to her. “You are not alone in your concern.”

Dario shook his head and spoke casually. “Do not agonize. They will not find anything at the Château that links us to the Hitchlordses. Fendral was too cagey to keep anything of import there.”

“I’m not concerned about what Fendral may have hidden there,” Catherine said. “But I do worry about what Simon might have entrusted to the secret rooms of the Château. I pray that you are correct and there are no vestiges of our gathering.”

“I have been assured that the WCF was not able to find anything significant at the Château,” Dario said.

“Who assured you?” Ilia asked.

Dario smiled. “I have been assured, as I said, that there is no evidence that points in our direction. Are you not impressed by how quickly and efficiently the mishap last Freedom Day was explained away?”

“What was Simon doing in India?” Klaus asked, annoyed. “I am told he fell to his death in a pyre along the Ganges. Shouldn’t he have been helping Andrea?”

“Simon was distracted,” Catherine said. “His personal vendetta against Logan Ford clouded his judgment and tripped up his execution of our plans. I knew when we met at Château Dugan and Simon displayed the
Chronicles
on the meeting table that he was as obsessed with the books as his father. Who I still don’t believe had this group’s best interest at heart.”

“I assure you that he did,” Dario countered. “I visited Fendral often in Washington during his time on the Council of Satraya. He was quite close to molding the original Council to our liking.”

“What happened, then?” Ilia asked.

“Camden Ford happened,” Dario answered. “He discovered Fendral’s secret.”

“And what secret was that?” Catherine asked with keen interest.

Dario hesitated. “I suppose now that Simon is dead and the Hitchlordses are no more, little harm will come from telling you that Fendral did not actually find his copy of the
Chronicles
as he reported,” he said. “He stole them from a man named Giovanni Rast. Camden somehow came across this fact and used it to force Fendral off the Council and return to Europe.”

“So that is what instigated the splintering of the first Council of Satraya,” Ilia said, before the rest of the members of Reges Hominum went silent.

History had placed Fendral Hitchlords in the same company as Camden Ford, Deya Sarin, and Madu Shata. They were the four original finders of the
Chronicles
, which were all discovered on the same day, July 21, 2030, in different parts of the world. The revelation that Fendral actually stole his copy of the books would not only have been shocking, but shameful. The entire Hitchlords family would have been disgraced.

“Did Muriel know this?” Ilia asked.

“Fendral’s wife was a fool,” Catherine said. “She cared only to find new ways to spend the Hitchlords fortune. The real question is what became of this Giovanni Rast?”

“Dead, I’m certain,” Yinsir said. “Fendral was not one to let loose ends linger.”

“Enough about history,” Dario said. “We will not find our future in the past.”

“Agreed,” Ilia said.

Dario adjusted himself in his chair. “There was a time, before the
Great Disruption, when we and our families controlled a very valuable resource.” He motioned to Catherine. “We controlled the world’s oil supply.”

At the center of the solarium, a holographic map of the world appeared, projected from Catherine’s PCD. Various parts of Canada, Argentina, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Middle East were marked with green indicators.

“More important,” Catherine added, “we ensured that oil was the most affordable source of energy available. Do you remember the American people’s fascination with renewable energy before the Great Disruption? Start-ups spent billions researching solar, wind, and other clean energy sources.”

Dario chuckled. “A few corporate acquisitions and mergers later, Americans realized it would take the average family twenty-five years to recoup the cost of equipping their homes with solar panels. And how much money could you really save with an electric car when you had to purchase a new battery for it every six years?”

“People never understood that a free market doesn’t mean a free existence,” Klaus said.

The group laughed.

“Even though the world now runs entirely on electricity,” Dario said, “the puzzle of how to produce sufficient electricity without the use of combustion still eludes us. There is still reliance on what is below the surface of the earth.”

“Natural gas,” Catherine said.

“You intend to seize control of the gas fields,” Yinsir said. “That will not be easy to accomplish. My family has tried for years, with no success, to influence the Jabarl family of the North African Commonwealth, first the mother before her death and now the daughter.”

“No, Yinsir,” Dario said. “I do not propose to take control of the world’s natural gas supply. I intend to destroy it.”

“That seems a bit rash,” Ilia said, leaning forward in her chair. “If you somehow expunge the gas supply, we all will suffer.”

“How would the destruction of the world’s primary energy source help anyone?” Klaus asked. “Do you expect us to live without electricity?”

“We will provide a new source of electricity,” Catherine answered.

“How?” Klaus sounded impatient. “With what?”

Dario smiled. “Rashidi!” he called out.

A tall man with dreadlocks and an intimidating bearing entered the solarium. He had a massive physique and a well-sculpted jaw line and chin. His light-colored eyes, which lacked eyelashes and eyebrows, were a stark contrast to his dark skin. Rashidi walked around the solarium, handing an envelope to each guest.

Dario rose, setting off a soft humming sound. He looked at Yinsir. “Your recommendation of Rashidi was a good one. He is a man worth his weight in gold.”

Rashidi finished his task and came back to stand next to Dario as he addressed the group.

“Inside, you will find two items: first, directions to the location where I would like all of us to meet in two days, and second, a thin gold bracelet with a distinctive letter N molded onto it. Please be sure to wear the security bracelet when you arrive. Once there, Catherine and I will show you our little project and answer all of your questions.”

“Until then,” Catherine added, “I would advise you and your families to stay away from Western Australia.”

There was a short burst of laughter.

“You will also meet the newest members of our order,” Dario said. “Long live Reges Hominum!”

“Long live Reges Hominum!” the others replied.

15

It is true that the Kingdom of Heaven has many mansions,

But we assure you that none is reserved for the privileged.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

NEW CHICAGO, 3:30 P.M. LOCAL TIME, MARCH 21, 2070

“What was that noise?” Logan asked Jasper when he returned.

“The Sentinel Coterie again,” Jasper replied. “They smashed a few bottles on the sidewalk out front. I swept up the broken glass. You know, a bunch of them showed up the other day while you were in Mexico. They chanted, ‘Shut down the studio,’ and ‘Death to the Ford.’ I thought we’d seen the last of them a couple of months ago when I called the police and they broke up their demonstration. Those people need to find something better to do with their time and energy than complain about the government and cultural institutions every waking moment of their day. Why do they keep picking on the studio?”

“They’re concerned with far more than the government,” Mr. Perrot said. “Like their leader, Randolph Fenquist, the members of the Coterie are anarchists. They want to bring down all kinds of authority—businesses, religions, philosophies. They even believe that the
Chronicles
pose a threat to their freedom. After Logan revealed his true identity as
the son of Camden and Cassandra Ford last year, I’m afraid he and his studio landed on their radar.”

“No one has seen hide nor hair of Randolph since the disaster at Compass Park,” Logan said. “I wonder what that weasel is up to. He has a strange way of showing up when you least expect it.”

“Anyway,” Jasper said, “while I was in the front, some gentleman called and said he’s interested in purchasing one of your mother’s mosaics.”

“How does he know about my mother’s mosaics?” Logan asked.

“Probably because the Council has been promoting the upcoming commemoration,” Jasper replied. “He wants to meet you and purchase the dolphin one. He says he’s willing to pay handsomely for it.”

Both Logan and Mr. Perrot had distrustful looks on their faces. “How did he know about the dolphin mosaic?” Mr. Perrot asked. “We never told the Council which mosaics we were sending over.”

“Did he give his name or contact information?” Logan asked.

Jasper first looked at Mr. Perrot and answered, “Don’t know.” Then he turned to Logan. “Didn’t say, and no. He only told me that he would talk to you at the commemoration. If I had to guess, he was from the South, had a bit of a drawl.” Jasper walked over and took a closer look at the Munch pastel. “This thing is hideous. You should sell it and keep the mosaic.” Jasper spun around and looked at Mr. Perrot. “Did you tell Logan about the recorder and the memory chips yet?”

“What recorder and memory chips?” Logan asked.

“I was just about to,” Mr. Perrot said. “Let’s go into the vault.”

Jasper glanced at his PCD. “Oh, it’s getting late. I need to get a few things done. I need to leave at five today. The Ming Peera concert is tonight. A bunch of us are meeting up over at O’Tool’s before heading over.” And he dashed out of the room.

“He is just a big bundle of energy,” Mr. Perrot said, as he led Logan out of the work room.

“But he gets the job done,” Logan said, as they went to the vault.

He put in the security code and looked into the retina scanner.
When the door opened, Mr. Perrot walked over to the large stainless-steel table where he’d left Cassandra’s recorder and one of the memory chips.

Logan picked up the recorder. “Looks like you found an old toy.”

“This is your mother’s voice recorder,” Mr. Perrot said. “Because of the circumstances surrounding the splintering of the first Council, she probably never told you much about her time with the Forgotten Ones in the Ozark forest.”