TBOS Round 3.3: The Ball

It was well known that any ball hosted by the Waverleys was bound to be an extravagant affair, and the guests took them as an opportunity to outdo each other in finery. The courtyard masonry could no longer be seen--women draped in lace and satin mingled with coattailed men like rich oil colors swirling in turpentine. A string quartet in the corner scratched out music that was meant to be ignored while servants ghosted through the crowd with sweetmeats and wine glasses. Liveried footmen greeted each arrival at the door, and not a dour expression was in sight--with one exception.

"What," said the footman, eyeing the creature in Horatia's arms, "is that?"

"This is Toddy. We were invited to the ball." The woman beamed like a proud mother.

The footman shook his head. "I beg your pardon, marm, but Mrs. Waverley does not allow dogs into the house."

"But Toddy will be so lonely without company! And who will be there to feed him if he is hungry?"

"He will worry himself ill," Augusta added gravely.

The footman eyed the corgi with undisguised distaste. "It can go in the kennel with the hounds."

"Toddy is a gentleman! You cannot possibly expect him to mingle with the lower classes." Horatia was turning positively puce with rage. "It is beneath his dignity!"

The corgi reaffirmed Horatia's declaration by drooling on her sleeves.

Augusta, deciding that it was time to take matters into her own hands, drew herself up to her rather unimpressive full height. "If you insist on continuing with this nonsense, rest assured that Mr. Waverley will know of it within the hour. I will inform him what sort of person--"

People were beginning to stare. "You may keep him in one of the spare rooms in the east wing, if you wish," the footman grumbled. "But please, make sure he stays there."

"I knew you would see sense in the end." The footman's eyebrow twitched at the unmistakable note of triumph in Horatia's voice. The two women stepped into the manor, Horatia struggling to keep the dog from rolling out of her arms.

---

"I don't see why we have to wait."

Reinald had no doubt that the knight standing beside him could probably break him like a twig, but at the moment he looked like nothing more than a petulant child.

Both of them were standing at the edges of the dancefloor, content to watch as the opening bars of the cotillion began. At least, Reinald was content to do so; Garner's hands were clenching and unclenching reflexively, as if he were itching for a good clean fight. The Book had cast him well. It was clear to him from the start that Garner was a man of action rather than words; one who would thrive in the heat of battle but chafed at the bit during a few hours in a mansion.

Catherine glided past, accompanied by a starry-eyed young man. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another gentleman attempt to approach Madalene, but she ignored him and happily accepted the hand of a red-haired soldier. The first gentleman slunk away, dejected.

"That would be Digby, I presume," murmured Garner at his ear, and Reinald glanced at him in some surprise. Evidently the knight hadn't just been sulking.

"Evidently," returned Reinald, frowning. In the back of his mind, something began to stir, and for once he permitted it. "He's here."

Garner glanced sharply at him, but thankfully, aside from the initial wariness, he didn't react to the sudden change in control. "Director. You're certain?"

"I wouldn't tell you if I were anything less than certain. I can't tell who he is--he was always good at hiding--but he is here." A pause, and then, "Miss Smith and Lord Serevi are here as well."

"Jerek," Garner growled, and stomped toward the dancefloor. "I should have noticed him sooner. I need to get to him before he does any damage to the story."

Reinald reached out, grabbing Garner by the arm as his vision cleared. "And charging headlong into the cotillion will help the story how? Think it through, man."

Garner wrenched his arm free, glaring back. "You don't understand. That man--"

"Don't I? I understand there's a story that needs telling, and Chaos is trying to stop it, and whatever personal feud you have with your fellow Champion can wait until after he's thwarted and the tale's been told."

A short distance away, the dancers traded partners, and Madalene was whisked away by a gentleman in a deep violet frock coat before Digby could react. Reinald thought inexplicably of kicked puppies, and then wondered why.

"I can't let him go now that I've found him," growled Garner. "There's no telling what he'd get up to--"

"In a ballroom?" From what little he had heard of Jerek Serevi, it sounded as if they would have gotten along. That said, though, perhaps things had worked out better this way; he doubted Garner and Anna would have survived five minutes in each others' presence.

"There's no telling what he has gotten up to."

"If he's gotten up to it already, there's no sense in worrying about it. You're a soldier, aren't you? You should know best of all the wisdom of restraint." It was faintly ironic, he thought, that he should be the one saying all of this nonsense about duty, but it seemed to do the trick. Garner subsided, his expression stormy. "I see my own partner. If we're going to speak to them, we should do it subtly. Any rushing about, and we'll attract Chaos's attention too soon--"

It's him.

The voice reverberated through his head, and he glanced up instinctively. So did Garner. "He's here?"

"The one dancing with Madalene. All of the ones dancing with Madalene." Reinald wrestled for control, opened his mouth to respond, but it said, "Look closer."

The dancers were changing again, and this time Reinald focused on Maddy's partner. The gentleman in the violet coat stepped back--out of the corner of his eye he could see Digby trying again, poor sod--and as he watched, something around them twisted and warped. Before he could react, another gentleman, suspiciously similar to the first, had taken Violet Coat's place and was bending over Maddy's hand with practiced ease.

---

"That's him."

"How you manage to keep an eye on anything while managing to avoid my feet, I'll never know. You're sure?"

"I've seen him once before." Jerek looked grim. "I'd recognize him anywhere."

"What?" Anna half-turned to look and narrowly avoided colliding with a disapproving woman. "He's not even smart enough to put on one of those fake mustaches or anything?"

Jerek blinked. "It's not quite like that."

"Hang up." She glanced across the room, executing a judiciously-timed spin, and turned back to Jerek with a frown. "I've seen him before. That's Clemmons."

"Clemmons?"

"The Leightons' footman. Hard to miss. Ginger and a smile like he swapped out your grandmother's meds for hallucinogens. I liked him."

Jerek let out a disbelieving laugh, but he sobered quickly. "Did he recognize you?"

"Didn't seem like it. But I'm sure he did. I asked enough obvious questions to give myself away. No wonder he didn't want to tell me about the Fotheringstone incident."

"He's definitely the one behind the rumors," murmured Jerek as they veered a little closer. "All of them, I shouldn't be surprised. Posing as Clemmons and Lord What-have-you and Mr. This-and-that--"

"So he knows we're here."

"He knows you're here. I don't think he knows how many others are as well. I believe he's biding his time."

"You know who else is biding his time?"

"Who?"

"That big guy who's glaring at you. The one in the corner with a beard like a lumberjack."

This time it was Jerek's turn to nearly fall over.

---

"He's deliberately keeping them away from each other," said Garner, and Reinald could practically feel the righteous indignation rolling off of him. "That settles it. You recognized him; we know what to do now, don't we?"

"Confronting him now would only worsen the situation. He'd take immediate steps to prevent the story from being told."

"The story has to be told," said Garner flatly. "You said so yourself. Any steps we take to ensure that it is told will only attract his attention anyway."

"You have a point," Reinald admitted, followed immediately by, "We shouldn't attract attention now--"

"Then when?" demanded Garner. A few people were beginning to stare, and he lowered his voice. "It's not as if we have all night. We should locate Jerek and Miss Smith and come up with something more substantive than merely waiting for Chaos to make a mistake."

"He's right, you know."

Both men looked up. Anna was standing in front of them, arms folded.

"Miss Smith," said Reinald, recovering magnificently. "How kind of you to join us. And may I say that is a very lovely dress you are wearing tonight."

"Fuck you too," said Anna.

"Colonel Worsley!" cried Catherine, sweeping past in the arms of her suitor before either Garner or Reinald had a chance to react. "You mustn't stand there speaking to Papa all night; it's frightfully dull! Come and dance with us!"

"Papa," said Anna delightedly as Garner made his excuses to Catherine. "Really. We've only been here a few hours and you've managed to spawn. I ought to congratulate you."

"I don't want to talk about it," said Reinald.

"Right. You're that knight person, right?" This directed to Garner, who still looked as if he weren't entirely certain how to react to Anna. "Your boyfriend ran off. Said something about needing to make himself scarce. I wouldn't have told you ordinarily, but I figure it'll take all of us to pull this thing off."

It was fascinating how a man as pale as Garner could turn such interesting colors. To his credit, however, he refused to take the bait. Not many people were intelligent enough to do that. "I will return shortly," he said coldly, offering a deliberately stiff bow to Anna and heading for the door.

Reinald exhaled. "Anna Smith. Whether or not you want to believe it, fixing the Book and offending all the other Champions are mutually exclusive."

"Sorry," said Anna, actually managing to look somewhat repentant. "He looked like he had a stick up his ass and I couldn't resist. Anyway, I managed not to offend Jerek. He's an all right sort."

"Small comfort." Reinald eyed her. "So what happened to you? Where did you end up?"

"That's a funny story," said Anna in a tone of voice that suggested it wasn't. She reached out and pulled Reinald into the cotillion. "Come on. If we stay put, we're just going to attract attention. Anyway, I want to tell you about this letter we found."

---

The hall outside the ballroom was blessedly cool and quiet, and Jerek found himself relaxing as he strode rapidly away. Fixing the Book was all well and good, but the last thing he wanted was for Garner to find him again now. Just when he'd managed to escape once--just when his well-deserved freedom seemed like it might be permanent...

Besides, there were two other Champions here, weren't there? Surely that was enough to solve as simple a problem as clearing up a few misunderstandings. That letter had certainly been proof enough. Jerek increased his pace. He just needed to stay out of sight until the problem had been solved, until the next page was turned--and then, with luck, he'd end up somewhere else entirely. Somewhere as far away from Garner as he could get.

His thoughts were interrupted by a faint asthmatic whining. It sounded muffled.

Jerek's eyebrows furrowed slightly. For the briefest of moments, curiosity won over the desire to run, and he turned to look for the source of the noise. Fortune smiled on him; the search took him deeper into the large mansion, and he stuck to the shadows as he moved on.

Less than a minute later, he found himself standing in front of a large door. The whining had grown in pitch and insistence, and there was a faint scrabbling noise near the ground that was punctuated every few seconds by equally whiny panting.

Jerek nudged the door open with a boot. At that precise instant, two very important things happened.

First, a spherical ball that might have been a dog barrelled--inasmuch as a dog of that shape could barrel--out the door and down the hall in the general direction of the ballroom. Second, a heavy hand clamped down firmly on Jerek's shoulder. There would have been a tense silence, if the silence in question hadn't been broken every few seconds by the sound of asthmatic barking fading away into the distance.

"Start talking," said Garner.

---

"It was the most glurgy love letter I've ever read in my life," said Anna. "And I know glurgy love letters."

"Do you really?"

She snorted. "There's no need to sound so surprised. You're the one who hired me to go through Senator Hodson's entire personal correspondence for a few lousy pieces of blackmail. Does your mother know you make people do this stuff?"

"She's dead," said Reinald with a straight face. "You killed her. I paid you well enough for that, as I recall. Go back to the letter."

"I don't particularly want to. I think it may have given me a cavity. Right. See, it was from your Maddy. To Sir Algernon Digby. And it was dated last week."

Reinald frowned as he spun her carefully. "I don't see how that makes any difference if she rejected him yesterday."

"You're missing the point," said Anna. "The point is--" She paused, glancing at a point just over Reinald's shoulder, and only just managed to catch herself in time.

"What is it?"

"Sorry," she said. "Just a bad dancer."

"Liar," he said, and something in his head curled up in amusement. "You're not that terrible."

"Thanks. I think. No, I just...thought I saw someone we knew. Just for a moment. He's gone now."

"Senator Hodson? I thought we had him killed, too. Or at least put away. You don't think Lady Ink chose him as a Champion, too?"

"Funny." She spun again and came round to face him, her face serious. "But last time I checked, Hodson didn't look a thing like Dmitri Ellisand."

---

"The point is," said Jerek calmly, "the incident at Fotheringstone Park was a month ago by everyone's count. Kindly let go of my shoulder. I'm afraid we'll have to amputate if you hold it any tighter."

Garner's grip only increased, if anything. "Hah! Not likely, my friend. Keep talking."

Some people had no sense of humor. "So the entire county would have known about the incident within days. News travels fast around here. And if the letter was written last week..."

"The plot doesn't match up," said Garner, clearly despite himself. "Either that, or the incident at Fotheringstone Park never happened to begin with. I always thought it sounded absurd. Three apples and a ferret, indeed."

"The way I heard it, it was two oranges and a weasel. Do you see?"

"I believe I do." Garner frowned. The strains of music were beginning to reach their ears again, and he relaxed his hold on Jerek ever so slightly. "I presume you and that--Miss Smith came up with a plan? Before you decided to run off, that is."

A slight flare of annoyance at those words--but he'd get another chance. The Book had been terribly generous so far. There was no reason to doubt it would be again. "Something like that. Admittedly, now that I think about it, we might need a hand."

---

"At the very least," said Anna, "if we all distract Chaos at once, it'll give Digby the chance to talk to your daughter. I didn't think we'd be able to do it with two, but now all four of us are here..."

"It's not terribly well thought out," said Todorov.

She didn't even blink. "You're just sore about the daughter business. Yeah, I'll grant you it's not a very good plan. But we've got our gifts, and if we all storm him at once--Jerek said Garner's got a shield thing--"

She paused. "Look. Time's running out. We haven't got that many more dances before the ball ends, and you know as well as I do they have to end up together before the last dance. That's how it works, yeah?"

"I have another idea," said Todorov, which was never a good sign. "You let me handle it."

"By yourself?" She raised an eyebrow. "Since when did that ever go well?"

"Very nearly never," he admitted, and offered her a slight smile. "Usually because I neglect to acknowledge the fact that the other side tends to have superior firepower."

"Right. What's the plan?"

"I can't tell you," he said. "You'll never let me go through with it if I do."

Her eyebrow went higher. "Is this a romance or a soap opera?"

"Don't be absurd."

"Does Garner know about this?"

"Yes," he said. "Although I can't say he approves of it either."

"That isn't saying much," she said. "He doesn't seem the sort who approves of anything."

Around them, their partners were changing, and she tightened her grip on his hand for an instant.

"All right," she said. "But only because I don't have a fucking clue where Jerek and Garner have gone. And you had better not do anything stupid."

---

When Jerek and Garner finally returned, the scene in the ballroom was, for lack of a better phrase, one of complete and utter chaos.

The ballroom was clearing rapidly; most of the revelers who had elected to stay were huddled in a small crowd near the door. To Jerek's great chagrin, one of the figures still on the dancefloor was easily recognizable. The other was not, but given the expression on Anna's face as they entered, he supposed he could guess who it was.

"Just in time for the show," she said flatly as the world around Reinald and Chaos twisted and warped itself back into place with an audible crack. "Where were you two?"

"Busy," said Garner shortly. "What's going on? He told me we were going to wait--"

Anna snorted. "You were late."

"That's a poor excuse," said Jerek, frowning. "I had a word with the conductor; there was at least the quadrille left to dance."

They were forestalled by another sharp crack. This time the air around them seemed to spiderweb into fine silver letters for the briefest of instants before they vanished. Chaos was laughing; his voice was thin and faint, as if heard from a great distance.

"A frontal assault?" he shouted over the noise. "That isn't like you at all! If you were going to attack me like this, you could have at least chosen a body better suited for the part!"

"I didn't choose this body to fight." Reinald's form had shifted again, the lines around him going thin and wobbly like ink, the colors of his coat fading to grey. "I chose it to talk. Listen to me. Please."

"Talk!" sneered Chaos, rocking back on his heels. "As if there's anything to talk about. Really, I'm disappointed in you--and that goes for both of you. You know the old saying: If you play with fire..."

Reinald's colors brightened and his lines snapped back into place for a moment. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Mr. Todorov, we aren't all angels and pantomime villains. You think you can harness the power of the Book so easily, that you can write and they all lived happily ever after and your job will be done? We weren't created to be housed in human minds for long. There's a reason the best artists go mad in the end."

"The Champions are made of stronger stuff," flared Director. "They were chosen--"

The sneer dropped away, leaving only a frightening emptiness. "You know as much as I do how much being chosen is worth in the Book. Chosen's a dime a dozen, and they die as fast as they're made. Come now, brother. There's no call for all of this high drama. You're on the same side I am--or you were, last I checked."

"I was abandoning a sinking ship." The expression on Reinald's face hardened. "What I was doing is nothing like what you are doing. What purpose did you think tearing this story apart would serve?"

"It was in the way," said Chaos coolly. "To use your tired metaphor: If you saw an exquisite work of art standing in the way of your intended lifeboat, and there was no way around it, would you hesitate to tear it apart to save your own life?"

"Don't play the victim; it doesn't become you. I wasn't the one who blew a hole in the ship to begin with."

Chaos waved a hand. "Semantics. But you do agree this ship is sinking? That there's no hope for it? Why the sudden return to the wreck? I never pegged you as a sentimentalist. Warrior? Nurturer? Certainly. But never you."

Jerek's fists clenched. There was something terribly undignified about watching this squabbling, as if they were all children gathered around a schoolyard fight. He had wanted a word with Chaos during the quadrille, a tug of the sleeve and a tactical retreat to a quiet place to discuss what, precisely, had gone on in the last world. What Chaos had thought killing Garner would have achieved. Certainly that would have been sufficient distraction for the others to act. But this--none of this was helping.


Evidently someone else had the same thought as he did, because as Director took a threatening step forward, a voice cut through the air like a knife.

"Enough!"

All heads turned to the speaker. It was Garner, which was in and of itself surprising. But he wasn't looking at the quarreling pair in the center of the dancefloor. He was looking at Madalene Leighton and Sir Algernon Digby.

---

"Enough," Garner repeated, quieter this time. Truth be told, he had not intended to shout quite so loudly. But despite the sheer volume of the argument going on in front of them, it had been impossible to ignore the tentative looks Madalene and Sir Algernon had been giving each other. By some fortuitous accident, the two had wound up next to each other in the small crowd of spectators, and now, away from Chaos's immediate influence, Madalene seemed suddenly unsure of herself.

Something flickered in him then, some feeling approaching recognition. He had thought Madalene had reminded him of Lia before, and there had been something undeniably familiar about Sir Algernon, but he had dismissed the notion in favor of more pressing matters. Now, as they stood side by side, the resemblance was unmistakable.

They didn't appear to have noticed him. Perhaps it was Chaos's influence, or perhaps they simply did not remember him--not in a completely different story. All at once he felt suddenly old, the weight of the centuries bearing down on his shoulders like so much platemail. In that moment it was impossible for him to think of them as anything but real, a living, breathing couple. They were so young; their faces were unlined with any true cares or worries, only fear and--so faint a less observant man might have missed it--a quiet sort of hope.

He knew now what he had to do, and he would not hesitate.

"Miss Leighton," he said. A bow might perhaps have been excessive, but old manners died hard, and he settled for a slight inclination of his head. "Might I ask you a question?"

She nodded.

"The incident at Fotheringstone Park," he said. "Might I prevail upon you to recall what, precisely, Sir Algernon Digby did with three apples and a ferret that caused you to reject his proposal?"

"I heard it was two oranges and a weasel," said a voice that might have belonged to Horatia. She was quickly hushed by the rest of the crowd.

Madalene frowned a little in concentration. There was a tense silence as she clearly gave the matter some thought. "I'm not sure I remember," she said at last. "Only that it was terrible--and that I must hate him for ever. I was quite certain of that--"

"But Miss Leighton," Sir Algernon burst out, "I have never even been to Fotheringstone Park! I have been trying to tell you that all evening, but you would have none of it--"

"--but now that I think about it," she continued, her frown deepening, "I only heard about the matter from Clemmons two days ago..."

All eyes went straight to Chaos, who seemed beside himself with--something that was not precisely rage. Irritation, perhaps, or exasperation.

"...I was mistaken," finished Madalene.

"You can't be serious," he said.

"I am," she said firmly, and then looked to Garner. "Colonel Worsley, what is he?"

"Something that no longer has power over you." Garner paused. "And from this point on, Miss Leighton, what happens next is up to you. The story is yours to tell, as it were."

Chaos began to laugh again. That high, thin sound echoed eerily in the silent ballroom. "The story?" he said. "The story is hers to tell? The story was never hers to tell. What right do the actors have to determine how a play should end? Who gave her that right? She is bound by the confines of the Book. We all are."

He took a step forward--then another, then another. Madalene stiffened but did not move away. Out of the corner of his eye, Garner saw Sir Algernon moving forward to stand by her side, and as if on cue, each reached out to hold the other's hand.

That single movement was enough to halt Chaos's movement for the briefest of moments. Even he seemed surprised at his sudden powerlessness. Then he shook his head as if emerging from a dream and advanced on the pair again.

"Speak, Miss Leighton," said Garner quietly. "End this farce once and for all. Life is too short to spend doubting yourself and those around you."

"I know," said Madalene. "Sir Algernon, I must apologize--"

"You don't have anything to apologize for, my dear," said Sir Algernon, beaming at her.

"This is ridiculous," shouted Chaos, breaking into a run. "It's entirely absurd--"

Garner moved forward to intercept, his shield Construct already in the palm of his hand, but there was no need. Something blurred underneath Chaos's feet, and he hit the ground with an undignified smacking sound.

Toddy panted asthmatically at him.

Madalene took advantage of the momentary confusion to grab Sir Algernon by the cravat and pull him into a kiss. After the ensuing uproar, caused almost entirely by her aunts, finally died down, Chaos was absolutely nowhere to be found.

And for once, Garner, fingers brushing unconsciously across the locket at his throat, found he didn't much care.