Dark Redemption chapter 63: Strephon's Story

Beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and picturesque facade of the City of Redemption lies another city; a community of dark and ancient magic populated by creatures of the night. Dark Redemption is a shared-world novel based on an online role-playing game by James Crowther.

Strephon MacKenzie, a semi-immortal half-fae, has been commissioned by the Queen of the Faerie to investigate fae activity in the city. In the course of his investigations, he has become involved with a reporter named Cassandra True, from whom he has been attempting to hide his unnatural background.  She, however, has guessed his secret and has confronted him with it.

One would think  Strephon thought, that in a heavily-wooded park it would be easy to find a secluded spot where one might have a quiet conversation.; but these spots, unfortunately, were not readily accessible to one in a wheelchair; particularly since either side of the walkway was packed with vendors selling beaded purses, glass barometers , hand-crafted dulcimers and particularly ugly carvings of Cernunnos.  The most convenient spot he could find was around behind a bluish fiberglass portable loo of loathsome design that the City had placed near the footpath for the convenience of the market-goers.

Even this was a little more public than Strephon liked, but he recalled the glamour of privacy Lilith had cast at Melchior’s party the week before.  It seemed an easy enough effect to duplicate, and so it was.  With a little concentration, the sounds of the park and the market became muted.

The sudden silence startled Cassandra, and she looked around her as if to see where all the noises went.

“I thought you might enjoy some ‘Fairy Magic’,” Strephon said.  “Would you like to see my wings, too?”

“You… really have wings?”

“I can if I wish.

Cassandra wrinkled her nose but did not accept the offer.  “So… how did Gilbert and Sullivan come to write an opera about you?”

“They did not.”  Strephon said that a bit more hotly than he intended.  He paused to compose himself.  “I was born in a wood near Lower Piltching.  My father was a highly respectable clergyman who was a bit more susceptible in his youth than he liked to admit; and my mother, as Mister Gilbert put it, was ‘an influential fairy.’  I understand that this sort of thing was not all that uncommon at one time, but it’s a rather rare occurrence these days; I don’t think it’s happened since the time of the Venerable Bede.  Father, despite his injudicious fling -- or perhaps to make up for it – had rather strict views of propriety and insisted that I be raised as a Good Christian in a mortal home.  And so I was, although Mother maintained contact with me as best as she was able, visiting occasionally and sending me presents from the Faerie Realm on the appropriate holidays.

“I grew to manhood, and fell in love with a girl named Phyllis; not a shepherdess, by the by, but the daughter of a highly respectable manufacturer of buttons.  At the time, I was studying to enter the clergy myself, but had few prospects for a secure future.  In addition, I hadn’t yet told Phyllis about the peculiarities on my Mother’s side of the family, and my half-fae physiology was beginning to prove troublesome.

“One day, Mother visited me in my rooms at the Seminary, and the Rector happened to come in on us.  My mother is immortal, remember; and the Rector would not accept my explanations of why I seemed to be entertaining a beautiful young woman in my room.  I was summarily expelled.

“I went to a public house to drown my sorrows and found myself unburdening myself to another fellow.  He was quite sympathetic, and I daresay I told him more than I should have.  He suggested I try entering the Bar.  He said that my personality and natural talents would serve me well in the Law and that no one cared particularly if a Barrister entertained young ladies in their chambers.”  Strephon paused thoughtfully.  “It proved good advice.  I suppose I do owe him for that.”

“The fellow was Gilbert, I suppose?”

“It was.  I found out some time later when I came across a comic poem written by him in the magazine Fun titled ‘The Fairy Curate’.  I didn’t think much of it at the time, because the character in the poem bore little resemblance to me.  It ends with the curate becoming a Mormon or a Methodist or some other such thing; I forget which.

“Then a few years later, I got wind that Gilbert was doing an operetta about faeries.  I think Devon found out about it and let me know.  It was based on ‘The Fairy Curate’, but included my name, and Phyllis’s name and some other things as well. I like to think of myself as an even-tempered man, but Gilbert’s little fantasy was bordering on defamation.  So I threatened to sue.”

Strephon sighed.  “Phyllis thought I was being silly about the whole thing.  Perhaps I was.  But we were married by that time and I was finally getting established as a barrister.  But it wasn’t just my own reputation I was concerned about, nor even that of my wife.  He used my Mother’s name in the operetta too, do you see?  She was mentioned frequently.  It was named after her.  Faeries are magic, and in magic, names are power.  I did not wish my Mother’s name to become a common thing.  It’s… it’s hard to explain.  I suppose to a mortal I doesn’t make much sense.”

“No, no,”  Cassandra said.  “It was important to you.”

“I met with Gilbert.  And with Sullivan, and D’Oyly-Carte, their business partner.  Gilbert was an obstinate man, but I could be as stubborn as he.  In the end, Mrs. D’Oyly-Carte, their partner’s wife – a quite prudent and sagacious woman – arranged a compromise.  The name of the character and of the operetta was changed.”

“Then… your mother’s name isn’t Iolanthe?”

“It is not.”

“What is it, then?  If you don’t mind my asking.”

Strephon frowned a bit.

“Well,” Cassandra continued, “in case you should ever want to bring me ‘round to meet her.  It would be embarrassing not to know what to call her.”  She blushed.  “It could happen.”

“Oh.”  Strephon realized she had just said something extremely significant, but it caught him so off-guard that he had to stop and think a moment for the full ramifications of it to unfold.  She was right.  It could happen.  He could visualize it happening.  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  He found it a little frightening.  “I see.”

Dark Redemption chapter 55: Soap and Opera

Beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and picturesque facade of the City of Redemption lies another city; a community of dark and ancient magic populated by creatures of the night. Dark Redemption is a shared-world novel based on an online role-playing game by James Crowther.

Reporter Cassandra True has been trying to learn more about the enigmatic wheelchair-bound recluse Strephon MacKenzie whom she's been seeing.  But  tonight that will have to wait.

Technically speaking, this was Cecily’s week to do laundry, but Cecily had come home early from work complaining of a wham-bugger of a headache and begged Cassandra to do it.  Of course, as soon as the sun went down, Cecily arose as bright and chipper as ever.  She breezed out of the flat with a cheery, “Thanks, much!  I owe you, Sandy!”

“I’ll say, you owe me!” Cassandra grumbled as she sorted the dirty laundry.  “Why do I always have to be the responsible one?”

She had intended to spend a quiet evening at home.  Then Billy reminded her of the puff piece he had assigned her on the Redemption Culture Claque and their Gilbert & Sullivan festival and dumped a load of promotional material from the group in her lap.  He did it at the last moment too, the bastard.  Now she had to sort out Cecily’s knickers on top of things.  Oh well, she could multi-task.

Cassandra lugged the basket of laundry downstairs and fed coins into the building’s ancient washing machine., a formidable beast that had been in the basement since at least the Thatcher administration.  Then she went back upstairs to tackle the Culture Claque.

The press kit included a brief history of the organization and of their Gilbert & Sullivan festival, (“Extravaganza!” In her mind she could hear Mrs. Trotter correct her.) There were several photographs of past productions and of celebrities who had appeared at the festival over the years.  The kit also included a DVD of last year’s production of something called “Iolanthe”.  Great, Cassandra thought; “My spell-checker’s going to love that one.”

She fed the DVD into her player and let the overture of the operetta flitter in the background as she skimmed over the rest of the kit.  Apparently Henry Lytton had debuted his controversial interpretation of Jack Point in Redemption during a touring production of “Yeoman of the Guard” in 1888.  Except that the write-up didn’t explain who Lytton was, who Jack Point was or what was so controversial about it.  More research to do.

She looked up at the TV again when the overture ended and the singing began.  A swarm of tiny lights were dancing about a darkened stage.  As the lights came up, she saw that they were wands – battery operated, probably – held by the female chorus.  Cassandra remembered that this one was supposed to be about fairies or something.  And it was supposed to be political satire.  Hundred-year-old political jokes and fairies; now that was bound to be knee-slapping. 

“We are dainty little fairies,

Ever singing, ever dancing;

We indulge in our vagaries

In a fashion most entrancing…”

She remembered Wisp, one of Morrigan’s captives, and his disdain for Victorian depiction of fairies.  This was probably exactly what he meant.

Suddenly, as if summoned by the memory, Morrigan herself strode onto the stage, in the role of the Queen of the Fairies.  Cassandra was startled by her appearance, until she remembered that Mrs. Morrigan played many of the “Katisha roles” in the group’s productions; the intimidating, middle-aged women who wind up marrying the patter-singer.  There were some tasteless jokes about the Queen’s girth and Morrigan played the part with oblivious gravity.  You’d hardly know the woman was completely deranged.

The second shock came with the entrance of Iolanthe, evidently some sort of fairy princess.  Something about the piercingly beautiful voice seemed familiar to Cassandra.   It had an unearthly quality, evident even on this poorly-recorded amateur DVD. Then she recognized the singer:  Banshee, the other fae Morrigan had enslaved.  Or was it?  Cassandra dimly recalled that Morrigan had first introduced the two captives as her niece and nephew.  She dug through the press kit again and found a program for the performance.  Sure enough, under the Dramatis Personae, she found IOLANTHE – Sheila Morrigan.

But something else caught Cassandra’s eye:  At the very top of the cast list was the name “STREPHON, An Arcadian Shepherd”  What?  And further down the list was “PHYLLIS, a Ward in Chancery”.

It’s a coincidence, Cassandra told herself.  Or perhaps his parents were Gilbert and Sullivan fans and named him after the character in the operetta.  She recalled that Strephon expressed a decided dislike for Gilbert and Sullivan; this was probably the reason.  But wait, his grandfather had been named Strephon too – (or was that his great-grandfather?  She still wasn’t clear on how many generations of MacKenzies were in Strephon’s family).  Where had Old Man MacKenzie gotten the name?

She was so distracted by this train of thought that she nearly missed the next part.  Onstage, the character of Strephon the Shepherd, a prancing prat in knee-breeches playing some sort of flute, was lamenting about the difficulties in being half a fairy.

“What’s the use of being half a fairy”  My body can creep through a keyhole, but what’s the good of that when my legs are kicking behind?  I can make myself invisible down to the waist, but that’s of no use when my legs remain exposed to view.  My brain is a fairy brain, but from the waist downward I’m a gibbering idiot.  My upper half is immortal, but my lower half grows older every day, and some day or other must die of old age.  What’s to become of my upper half when I’ve buried my lower half, I really don’t know…”

“I know just what you’ll do.  You’ll go about in a wheelchair and tell people you had polio.”

Cassandra didn’t mean to say it aloud.  She didn’t know why the thought came to her at all.  It was preposterous.  And yet…

She knew that fairies were real.  Wisp and Banshee were fairies, or at least some kind of supernatural creatures.  Why not Strephon?  It explained so much:  his quaint, old-fashioned manners, his evasive past, his cryptic allusions to his many eccentric aunts, his weird, otherworldly cousin Devon.  Then there were those strange dreams she’d been having lately…

The timer she had set went off.  That meant the laundry was done.  The chore of running down to the basement, unloading the dryer and lugging the laundry basket back upstairs temporarily distracted her from the matter of Strephon ; but as she folded the warm shirts and linens, it came back to haunt her.  It all seemed so ridiculous; so fanciful; but what if it were true?  And if it were, what should she do?

She absently picked up one of Cecily’s scarves from the basket to fold, then noticed a stain that had set in the wash.  It looked like a spot of blood – no, two small blood spots just maybe an inch or two apart.

Thoughts of Strephon and his mystery left her mind.  Cassandra suddenly felt very cold.

NEXT:  Judgment

Dark Redemption chapter 37: With Regards to the Culture Claque

Beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and picturesque facade of the City of Redemption lies another city; a community of dark and ancient magic populated by creatures of the night. Dark Redemption is a shared-world novel based on an online role-playing game by James Crowther.

Plucky girl reporter Cassandra True has landed a job at the Morning Star, Redemption's largest newspaper, and has been assigned to do a story on a local community arts group. Having encountered werewolves, ghosts and vampires, can she stand up to the horror of... Gilbert & Sullivan?

Back in the 1930s, the Alhambra Theater had been the premier movie house in the City of Redemption; a glittering movie palace to rival the most glamourous theaters of London or New York. Time and economics had worked their ruinous magic on the building and for decades the theater had been neglected and forgotten. Then, about a decade ago, the Redemption Culture Claque seized upon the theater as a piece of local history. They mounted a campaign to have it declared a National Monument and organized a fund-raising drive to restore it to its former glory. Now, instead of being a showplace for first-run movies, the Alhambra was a venue for art films, visiting theatrical troupes and, of course, the Annual Gilbert & Sullivan Extravaganza. Looking at the magnificent architecture, the imposing marble columns and vaulted ceiling, the lavish murals and intricate mosaics of the restored theater, Cassandra had to admit that the ladies of the Culture Claque truly had benefited the community in this instance. It reminded her of Strephon, for some reason; old-fashioned, but... nice.

She shook her head. What was she thinking of him for?

A janitor entering the lobby with a vacuum cleaner noticed her. "May I help you?" he asked.

"Oh. Yes. I'm looking for Mrs. L.G. Trotter. I was told I could find her here."

The janitor pointed to the large doors at the end of the lobby. "She should by the stage or thereabouts."

Cassandra thanked the janitor and headed into the theater. She saw Mrs. Trotter standing on the stage, directing a couple of workmen who were moving a piano. Another woman; perhaps a bit older than Mrs. Trotter, but with fewer chins; sat in orchestra pit, looking over a score.

"Hello, Mrs. Trotter?" Cassandra called out. "My name is Cassandra True; I'm a reporter for The Daily -- uh, The Morning Star. We met the other night at a party of Melchior Aesermann's."

Mrs. Trotter brightened and extended her hand. "Why of course! You were the young lady with that charming Mister MacKenzie! How pleasant to meet you again."

"Yes, I'm doing a story for the Star about the Gilbert and Sullivan Festival."

"Extravaganza," Mrs. Trotter corrected, "it's an Extravaganza! We're going to have a lecture by Sir Humphrey Smudge from Cambridge on the Victorian Theatre, a concert of some of Sir Arthur's serious music, a performance by our own local group of The Sorcerer and, of course, the ever popular Sing-It-Yourself Pinafore!"

"My! That does sound exciting," Cassandra said, wondering what a 'Sing-It-Yourself Pinafore' was.

"You don't know if Mister MacKenzie might have changed his mind about auditioning, do you? We could use someone to play John Wellington Wells, and I think he'd be splendid!"

Cassandra fidgeted. She really didn't want to talk about Strephon. "I really don't think he's interested. He can't dance, you know."

"Oh he wouldn't have to dance. And I'm sure just by talking to him that he has a simply splendid singing voice."

"I'm afraid I couldn't say. Please, tell me more about the Extravaganza."

Mrs. Trotter was more than happy to oblige, and Cassandra had difficulty keeping up with her stream of chatter. She also noticed that the other woman kept staring at her. At one point, Mrs. Trotter said, "...but if you want to know about the history of our event, you should talk to Mrs. Morrigan here. She's been with the Claque for years!"

The other woman climbed the steps up to the stage on wobbly legs, never taking her eyes off Cassandra for an instant. "Good day, Miss True," she said.

"This is Belladonna Morrigan. She'll be playing Lady Sangazure in our production of The Sorcerer. She specializes in our 'Katisha' roles, don't you know. Belladonna, Dear, tell Miss True a little bit about how this group was founded."

"I can do better than that," the old woman said. "I have a number of souvenirs from some of our early productions. Perhaps you would be interested in seeing them?"

"Yes, certainly," Cassandra said.

"Good. Then I insist that you come and visit me. I'd be delighted to have you."

"Well," Cassandra hesitated. "If it's not too much trouble."

The old woman smiled, adding even more wrinkles to her leathery face. "No trouble at all."

NEXT:  Into the Woods

Dark Redemption chapter 15: Smooth Operetta

Beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and picturesque facade of the City of Redemption lies another city; a community of dark and ancient magic populated by creatures of the night. Dark Redemption is a shared-world novel based on an online role-playing game by James Crowther.

Melchior Aesermann, a Fae Noble posing as the mortal owner of a computer game company, is holding a party for several of the more important members of the city's supernatural community. One of the guests is Strephon MacKenzie, a semi-immortal half-faerie who is investigating Melchior at the behest of his aunt, the Queen of the Fae.

"I had no idea you were the Strephon MacKenzie of MacKenzie House!" Mrs. L.G. Trotter thrilled. "I thought you were an older man. Such a lovely old building! I must speak with you sometime about putting it on our tour of Historic Homes of Redemption."

"I'm afraid it will want a fair amount of restoration before it's suitable for showing," Strephon said. "I suspect you are thinking of my great-grandfather, also named Strephon. He was the one who built the house. There's little remarkable about me."

"Mister MacKenzie is being modest." Lukas Bianka prowled up beside the banker's wife. "I'm sure he has all sorts of hidden talents." He flashed Strephon a smile with too many teeth.

"The same could be said, I'm sure, about yourself." Strephon suspected Bianka was a pack leader, possibly of the Reavers, the wolves who had attacked him. He knew little for certain, though. This party was like a carnival of masks, with each person pretending to be something they were not; himself included.

"Do you sing, Mister MacKenzie?" Mrs. Trotter asked abruptly.

"A bit. Not very well, I'm afraid."

"The Redemption's Culture Claque is gearing up for its annual Gilbert and Sullivan Extravaganza," she said. Strephon winced. He detested Gilbert and Sullivan. "A few of our tenors have dropped out and we're always on the lookout for new blood."

Another guest nearby laughed and said "New blood is always good." A vampire, Strephon noted. How typical.

"This year we're doing The Sorcerer," Mrs. Trotter continued.

Mr. Knox, the newspaper publisher joined the conversation. "How interesting. You know, I've always thought The Sorcerer was one of their darker works. It does not exactly have a traditional happy ending."

"True. In the end, as you know, John Wellington Wells sacrifices his life to the demon Ahrimanes in order to save the loving couple."

"I feel sorry for poor Ahrimanes," Knox said. "Instead of devouring a fresh young pair of lovers, he has to make do with a stringy old sorcerer."

Mrs. Trotter stared at him blankly for a moment, then decided he must be making a joke and laughed. Knox joined in with her, chortling merrily.

Stephon cast his gaze around the room, hoping to find an avenue of escape. He saw Melchior chatting with the bald, storkish gentleman. Where was Cassandra? He didn't see here in the room. He looked around some more.

Lilith entered the room wearing a different dinner gown and a rather satisfied expression on her face. A nasty premonition struck Strephon.

"Would you please excuse me," Strephon said, and nudged his wheelchair through the knot of operetta fans. He maneuvered his way around the guests and out into the hallway. He hoped he was mistaken, but he could not shake the dreadful suspicion that Cassandra was in some kind of danger. But how could he find her?

He knew of one way. He closed his eyes and let his being pass from the Mortal World into the Dreamworld, as he had done the night before. Their shared dream had left a psychic bond between the two, a link he hoped he could find. He cast about through the Dreamworld, mentally groping for the echo of her thoughts and feelings.

There! A bolt of terror as unmistakably her as a scent; it rocked Strephon back into the Mortal World and made Strephon's nerves sing in sympathy.

Strephon urged his chair to the lift. He had little time.

Next: The Most Dangerous Game