Chapter 82: Chapter 27: Journey to the west

> “Duff looked at me, his brow furrowed. ‘The components of the Stone have been lost to time,’ he replied. ‘Says who?’ I countered. ‘The Sources, the Quartos, the sparse surviving remnants of the Chronicles, on this they all agree.’”

At around 15,000 feet, I opened my eyes again to see swirling clouds passing by. The cockpit was aglow with so many instruments that it made me anxious just thinking about what they all could do. In the pilot seat, Hugo was taking a nap, which wasn’t helping. I had nearly walked off the runway after he had revealed that he was going to be piloting. But after first joking that it would be his 10th flight and that he had finally gotten the hang of things, he admitted he had been flying since before he could drive. That had assuaged my nerves until the moment he had throttled the accelerator, causing us to speed down the empty airstrip and into the sky.

Looking down at the nav console, I saw we were smack dab in the middle of Nebraska, as if we were on any other cross-country flight. But this was anything but. Hugo had spent the first hour with the navigation computer turned off and instead let his watch-adorned hand gently guide us. I had watched his fingers twitch in reaction to the unseen force within the tracking device as if an invisible string was tied to it, the other end wrapped around Beatrice.

I still couldn’t believe that we were actually on our way to find her. She had been my alchemy north star for the past year and I had felt her absence these two months, bouncing from Guild member to Guild member in search of steady ground, not knowing who I could really trust. But had I ever really trusted Beatrice? After all, she had threatened to hunt me down on more than one occasion if I crossed her. Even though I had saved her life, I wasn’t sure whether she was in my debt or whether I was one more attachment to get rid of.

“Got one!” Hugo mumbled in his sleep, and I wondered if he was dreaming about fishing. Why anyone would need a magic tracking watch to fish, I wasn’t sure, but it seemed very personal to my guide, so I didn’t push further. Every few minutes, he would seemingly wake from his stupor, hold his hand out in front of him, and then adjust our course before falling back asleep. As we continued our journey westward, I pondered what corner of the country we would find Beatrice in. Was she off in the backwoods, chopping logs to heat a wood-fired stove in a tiny cabin? Or had she become a drone in the hive of another big city? Maybe she was living on a farm, growing crops with prima materia fertilizer. Wherever she was, I hoped beyond hope that she still had the blank Compendium with her, or this entire side quest was going to crash and burn in spectacular fashion.

As if the plane was reading my mind, a red light suddenly started blinking on the cockpit controls.

“Hey Maverick, wake up!”

I poked Hugo in the ribs with my elbow, and he startled back to consciousness.

“What … did I win?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “We’re both about to lose if that red light means something bad.”

“Oh that,” Hugo said. “That’s just the low fuel indicator.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Relax, we have hours left. Maybe not enough to go where we need, but enough to get us safely back on the ground. So let’s see where that should be. Oooh, Aspen! My college girlfriend lives there. It’s settled then.”

“This mission isn’t for you to get some action, which it seems like you have no trouble acquiring. We have to find Beatrice!” I pleaded.

“What are you in, ninth grade? I’m perfectly capable of wooing Charli and locating your friend at the same time. I need to readjust our heading anyway.”

I relented and left Hugo to his sexting while I tried to focus on the task at hand. Once again, I found myself needing more from Beatrice than I could offer her. But it would have to be enough, and if anything, I had gotten good at extracting what was required before the final bill had to be paid.

We landed smoothly on a runway surrounded on all sides by green mountains, a gunmetal gray Mercedes S-class waiting for us at the bottom of the airstairs. Hugo beckoned me into the front passenger seat as he took the keys from a tall blonde wearing an incredibly exaggerated version of a pilot’s uniform.

“We’ll be back in the air in two hours, tops,” he said, quickly throttling the car up to 88 mph before we hit a traffic light. “Ugh. This road is way too short. They should have built the airport farther from town.”

“What am I supposed to do while you’re off cavorting with your ex?”

“Go get a stiff drink. It seems like you need it,” said Hugo. “Or catch up on your studies. Ty told me she gave you the library tour. You could probably make your way through several lifetimes of skills if you brought the right electrum along.”

I nodded, not wanting to reveal that I had spent the previous night lost in the life of a 19th century Parisian baker and that I could speak fluent French if given the opportunity. That was in addition to the hand-to-hand combat primer I had ingested, reliving a 25-year-old American’s sojourn at a Shaolin monk temple in the early 90s. Despite Ty’s warning, I felt my mind drifting back to those forgotten experiences, wondering if they were nestled somewhere in my brain, just below the surface of my subconscious.

We quickly reached the main drag of the town and Hugo loudly pulled into a parking space in front of a trendy-looking coffee shop next to a particularly rundown dive bar.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“This is where I leave you,” he said, stepping out of the car. “Meet back in 90. Wish me luck!”

“I will do no such thing,” I called out, but he had already made it halfway down the block before I climbed out of the ridiculously uncomfortable passenger seat. Part of me wanted to just stay where I was and try to sneak in another electrum session. I had gone heavy on the languages in my stocking up before the trip, thinking it would be cool to suddenly know what everyone around me was saying. But putting myself into a near-comatose state in the middle of an unknown town seemed like a bad idea, and so I took Hugo’s advice and headed into the bar.

I regretted my decision immediately as I spotted a familiar cowboy hat-wearing man trading jokes with the bartender. Before I could even think of retreating, J.P. Laurel turned around and locked eyes with me, almost as if he had sensed my presence. He gestured at the empty stool next to him with his cane, and I found myself slowly walking toward the man who had managed to upend the Guild.

“Why are you following me?” I asked, dispensing with any sort of pleasantries.

“Nice to see you, too. Ms. Jacobs, is it?” he replied. “And who says I’m following you?”

“Tequila, neat, please,” I said to the bartender, who nodded and scurried away. “You’re here now, and you were in DC on Tuesday when I was there. Can’t be a coincidence.”

“I find the topic of coincidences fairly interesting,” said J.P., tapping his nullifier cane against the marble bar. “Is it a coincidence that not one but two of our members were utilizing glamours to hide who they were? Is it a coincidence that our beloved Chair sent not one but two holders of the Second Seat of the Pavonia Table on Guild errands that resulted in their deaths?”

“What … what are you talking about? And Emma is very much alive.”

“Yes, thankfully. The girl is very clever. Especially under pressure. The former could have been said about her father, but not the latter, unfortunately.”

J.P. dipped his head slightly, the cowboy hat brim covering his eyes.

“I knew that Emma’s dad had passed away, but she never-”

“It’s not something that she openly talks about,” said J.P. “And why would she? Do you know how it must have felt to be told your dad died on Guild business and to be forced to continue that business or lose the Seat? I still haven’t gotten over it myself. It’s one of the reasons I called for a vote.”

“You’re following Hugo, aren’t you? Trying to win him over to your side,” I said. “You believe I’m a lost cause, but you think he’s in play.”

“Oh, I never count my chickens before they’re hatched, Ms. Jacobs,” he said. “That goes for the both of you.”

“You really like your agricultural metaphors. Do you even own any chickens?”

“Yes, several hundred thousand in fact,” said J.P. “I don’t know why my Second Seat is always focused on the animals no one thinks existed when we have such magnificent creatures at our disposal.”

The bartender finally brought over my drink, along with a frosty mug of overflowing beer for J.P. and we awkwardly clinked glasses.

“I don’t know when you planned on speaking with Hugo, as he’s probably between some girl’s sheets right now, but I’m here and I’m listening.”

J.P. took a long, drawn out sip of his beer and when he put the glass down again, it was empty.

“Listening for who? I heard Dalia double-backed on her rejection and now you’re a full-throated member. Congratulations.”

“Somehow I don’t think you mean that,” I replied. “And like you said, I passed the Initiation. I earned my spot.”

“Yes, and in the process, you nearly got my goddaughter killed,” said J.P., his face red either from the drink or from anger.

“That … that wasn’t me,” I said, not knowing how else to respond, but realized my mistake too late.

“You’re telling me it was … forget it. I was right about you from the very time I laid eyes on you. And in the end, y’all be finding out soon enough what I have planned for the Guild, so I might as well tell you, so you know what’s coming.”

“Which is what?” I said with a smirk. “A cattle stampede?”

“Now that’s a good metaphor!” said J.P., slapping the counter, drawing stares from the other patrons. “But we’re not quite there yet. The stampede is the end result. I’m what spooks the first heifer.”

“Dare I ask who the heifer is?”

“You already know,” J.P. said as he brazenly reached behind the bar and activated one of the taps while the bartender was distracted. He then helped himself to a pile of napkins to mop up the overflowing head that had spilled everywhere.

“Sorry, this place is not known for its service. Anyway, where was I? Oh right, the heifer. It’s of course Dalia. She is clinging to the past, trying to regain what was lost. Why she tasked this errand to you, after your performance in Boston, I haven’t the slightest idea.”

I tried to feign surprise, but gave up almost immediately.

“You didn’t believe you were going to get half the Guild to help you without it getting back to me?” he asked, and I frowned. “If so, you’re more naive than I thought.”

“I don’t particularly care what you think about me,” I said. “I didn’t choose any of this. It’s Guild business. As you said, you do it or lose the Seat.”

“What if there were another way?”

“I don’t follow,” I said. “Dalia is Chair. Even if you become Chair, it will be someone else we all have to listen to.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. It wasn’t always this way. My inquest committee is hard at work, uncovering all the ways that Dalia has forced the Guild into a rut of stagnation that it can’t get out of. It’s not just by putting her thumb on the scale by gaining an extra vote. There used to be collaboration, rigorous debate. I’m not saying it was the Agora, but it was nothing like we have now.”

“Which is what exactly? Seems like the two Guild meetings I’ve been to so far have been par for the course.”

“Worse than that, I’m afraid. It’s been 11, well really 10, people all out for themselves. Half the time, we barely reach a quorum at the meetings. It’s impossible to get anything done. It’s as if Dalia is content waiting another decade before something comes of her Quest Board project.”

I wanted to interject, to tell him that the project had succeeded in at least two respects, but thought better of it.

“So you want her out so you can what, hold a big press conference downtown and announce yourself as the most powerful alchemist in the city? Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to turn out the way you’d like.”

“The world is not quite ready for a return to the old ways,” said J.P. “Ever since Newton told all of Europe that he was seeking to create the Philosopher’s Stone, we have been forced to hide in the shadows. Skulk around in secret with our cloaks. But there is only so much we can do on our own. We need to build, and to do that, we need a partner. An organization nearly equal to our own.”

And who is that?” I asked, although I already knew the likely answer.

“The Van Asch Corporation. They have the means and the influence that we have let wither.”

“From what I know of them,” I said, “it sounds like they do not need to get in bed with us.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Jacobs,” said J.P., pushing himself to his feet with the help of that awful cane. “The agreement has been signed, sealed, and delivered. A merger of two historic institutions. All that remains is for me to assume the Chair so that it can be ratified. So good luck to you, but it won’t make a lick of a difference. The votes are already in and it’s coming up roses for the new Van Asch Guild.”