Jeffrey Dean
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'Qui: The Fall of Ottawa' Part 2, Chapter 19
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 22:00:04 +0000 UTCPreviously: Qui showed Arundel the strange quill that he'd taken from beside the dead Tzimisce's corpse. Arundel claimed that he sensed blood sorcery and suggested that they ask about it at the local Tremere chantry.
Chapter 19:
"I anticipated your arrival, Arundel," Henrick Lang said as he led Qui and his companion between rows of ornate pews toward the altar at the back of the church. He looked over the shoulder of his voluminous red robe at Qui, scanning him from head to toe. "But not you. You're Eleanor Cranston's creature, correct?"
"I am my own," Qui replied testily, "but I am in this domain at her behest, yes."
Henrick nodded. His hair was shorn so close to the scalp that at first glance Qui thought he was bald, but the flickering light of the candles on the altar reflected off a thin, blond stubble, shorn close to the scalp. "Interesting. I do not typically bring outsiders into my chantry."
Arundel smiled disarmingly. "I'll vouch for him, Henrick. We have a mutual goal that we think might interest you."
"Very well." Lang stopped in front of an intricately carved wooden door on the far back wall of the room. By Qui's estimation after viewing the church from the outside, there should be precious little space behind it for the infamous Tremere chantry. Perhaps there was a stairwell beyond that led to a series of hidden underground rooms? "Your patience, please," the Warlock cautioned before closing his eyes and facing the door, murmuring in a low chant. It was a language Qui had never heard before and it went on for almost half a minute.
"You'll like this," Arundel whispered as Lang droned on. "You've probably never seen something like it, before or after your death."
"Should I be worried?" Qui asked, only half serious. Either way, he mentally prepared himself should anything concerning come his way. Sorcery often put him on-edge.
"Not at all," Lang said as he finished his invocation. "Unless you bear ill will to me and my clan, in which case you'll not survive your visit."
Qui sniffed. This Henrick fellow wasn't the most pleasant Kindred he'd ever crossed paths with, but at least he was honest. That was more than could be said for a hundred other licks that he'd known over the last century.
Lang opened the door and stepped through into the room beyond. Qui followed him after a momentary hesitation and stopped short almost immediately once he passed the threshold, marveling at the impossible sight before him. Tall vaulted ceilings rose in elegant arches that soared at least thirty feet above, painted and filigreed with sophisticated detail. Stained glass windows nearly as high as the ceiling towered like crystalline monoliths, refracting a flickering light as if backlit by bonfires rather than the sun. That wasn't the only source of illumination, however–six chandeliers were suspended on golden chains, each ringed with dozens of burning candles. The open flames caused a crawling discomfort in Qui at first, until he realized that these, too, were sorcerous constructs and not true fire.
The chantry's sheer scale was humbling, even for someone of unusual height like himself. He felt small for what may have been the first time in his unlife. How could this place possibly exist within the confines of the church building? Surely a feat like this was impossible, even for the Tremere… Qui mentally adjusted his expectations of the Warlocks. If they could accomplish something on this scale, then perhaps he'd underestimated them. Luckily, he was rarely hired to assassinate Kindred powerful in the art of Blood Sorcery.
"It really is something, isn't it old chap?" Arundel said. He was staring, himself, unable to feign indifference to Henrick's sanctuary's grandeur. This room possessed beauty to rival some European cathedrals; no wonder Lang had been wary of allowing a stranger inside.
Qui took a closer look before moving on–the curved paintings covering every inch of the vaulted ceiling depicted a bewildering array of occult symbols and what he assumed to be heroes of pagan myth. A scholar could spend hours piecing together its myriad secrets and still come away with only a fraction of the meaning behind the painter's intent–he supposed that the decor fit the Tremere and their academic pursuits, then.
"Come along, then," Lang said, waving the two of them through the hall. "I don't have all night for you to stand around gawping like fledglings."
"Leave 'em alone, Henrick," a woman Qui hadn't noticed said without averting her gaze from the workbench she was currently sitting beside, scrutinizing something through a jewelry loupe. "Even you stared at this place the first time you came here." She put the object she'd been examining down on the table and looked up. "Good to see you, Arundel. I don't believe I've met your friend." She stood up and walked over to them. She was wearing red, the same as Lang, but her form-fitting outfit was far more contemporary than Henrick's monk-like robes.
"He's a man of many names," Arundel said with a lighthearted laugh, "although at present he prefers to go by the name, Qui."
She held out her hand and Qui took it in greeting. "I'm Margot, pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," Qui said. Whoever she was in the grand scheme of things, this woman was far more pleasant than Lang and that was a relief.
"It's good that you're here, Margot," Arundel said. "Multiple opinions on a troublesome conundrum rarely hurt in my experience."
"What have you got for me?" she asked.
"Yes," Lang said, a frown creasing his face now that his associate had stolen his thunder. "Let us get to business."
Arundel removed the quill Qui had given him from his pocket and handed it to Lang. "This was found beside the body of a recently destroyed Fiend. My associate here says that several of them had been grafted onto its body when they first came to blows."
Lang's head jerked sharply upward from the object to look at Qui. "A Tzimisce was in the city?"
"The outskirts, but yes," Qui said. "I was investigating a murder and happened upon it during my investigation."
The Warlock grunted. "In my experience, such encounters are rarely entirely coincidental. Did anyone know where you would be?"
Qui thought for a moment. "No. At least no one who would want me eliminated. For what it's worth, the Fiend seemed almost as surprised to see me there as I was to see it. It did refer to me as 'the policeman,' but I was wearing my uniform at the time, so that's not exactly surprising. I think it was expecting someone else, but I never saw another Kindred at the site."
"Did it say anything else?" Margot asked.
"It said that it needed more blood and it was muttering something about 'the work.' It didn't elaborate."
Margot chewed her lip for a moment. "It could have been harvesting blood for one of any number of Sabbat rituals," she said. "That's not unusual, really, but the fact that you found it this close to Ottawa is deeply concerning. When I came here to study, Prince Jonah assured me that the Sabbat were staying put in their Montreal stronghold."
"We shouldn't jump to conclusions," Lang said. He was holding the quill up to the light and staring through it, as if he could see something within its subtle hues. "I have an inkling of what this may be. If I'm right, it could illuminate some answers to these questions you're asking."
