The Partisan Chronicles [Dystopia | Supernatural | Mystery]

Andrei

The days we spent in Zacharias's workshop came and went without any chaos, any death, any destruction, or any major decisions to be made. Domestic bliss. Zacharias kept us well-fed, entertained, and even educated. We spent several hours together each day in piano lessons. Even more hours on my own in practice. But it was never a chore; one of the few repetitions in my life to that point that hadn't felt like one.

Meanwhile, Zacharias worked closely with Sinclair on her reading and writing skills.

The ancient composer was a serious but patient teacher, and we learned it was his idea to open the music school all those centuries ago.

Three days had passed since waking up in the underground, but the days seemed endless. Our internal clocks and our ability to sense when to be awake and when to sleep felt oddly distant. Sinclair and I noticed somewhere in the middle of the second day, and to our surprise, Zacharias confessed: time had been moving at a different pace while in his presence. Or at least, our perception of time passing had been altered, and therefore, our ability to absorb new information was working more efficiently. Three days, but it felt like weeks.

In order to extend the invitation to his home, Zacharias had left a note at the base, there for our friends to find when they returned from the theatre. No, we hadn't missed the big reunion. And by the time they all finally arrived, I had mastered three amateur level songs on the piano, and I was told Sinclair was now writing in simple, but (mostly) error free sentences.

As for those who showed up at the door, I couldn't be immediately sure.

"Where's my miscreant brother?" Zacharias asked.

Shuffling from the other side of the door, and a polite, "Pardon me," as Sebastian worked his way to the front of the crowd.

Zacharias tapped his cane twice. "There he is."

"Zacharias," Sebastian said, his tone flat, but yet the word wavered.

I tilted my head in their direction, negotiating with the air to give me a clue. Two warm pulses, one moving backward, the other closing in upon it.

Meanwhile, the others rushed inside, letting the door click closed behind them.

They all, including Sinclair, hurried to my side at the piano. Metal and a citrus-based perfume. Adeline. Heavier footsteps and a pat on my back. Michael. A light-stepper who embraced Sinclair—Finlay.

And then, one brother's signature came into contact with the other, followed by the thump of bodies colliding, and several fervent pats.

Were they hugging?

"I'm still angry with you," Sebastian said, strained but warm.

"I'm still very angry with you," Zacharias answered similarly.

"But I'm happy to see you, brother."

"It's good to see you, too, Sebastian."

Adeline squeaked.

Another few more moments of begrudging affection, and the pulses separated.

"We have a problem with Avis," Sebastian said.

"When haven't we had a problem with Avis," Zacharias replied. Next he spoke, his voice projected more squarely in our direction. "I love my wife, you see, but she's high maintenance. This coming from a man who owns over seven hundred suits and can't stand to be late."

"Mother is difficult," Jakob said. "But so are you."

No contest, only a tap, tap as Zacharias paced the open the space. "Before we begin, I believe formal introductions are in order." The footsteps edged toward us.

"All this time and you haven't bothered to introduce yourself, Zacharias, why start now?"

"My methods are my methods, Sebastian."

"Your methods are ridiculous."

Awkward silence until Zacharias shook hands with each of the new arrivals. Adeline and Michael fawned. Finlay seemed fine.

He'd been quiet lately, but I had an inkling as to what might cheer him up.

Notably, a few of our friends were missing. I'd later learn Everleigh had gone with Riz and Rhydian to deliver Evelyn back to Stracha. She believed whatever their adventure might bring would make up for the debilitating seasickness. Riz was more than happy to accommodate. The others had simply stayed home.

"Did my brother take you through the underground or lead you here from above?"

"We traveled topside, Zacharias."

Zacharias clicked his tongue. Tap, tap until he reached the door, opening it by way of a concealed lever behind a painting of a cello.

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It hadn't taken long for Sinclair to find it on the first day.

"Everybody out," he said. "We tour."

Zacharias lured us to his workshop on the pretense of having something important to show us, and with the intent he would answer all of our questions furthermore. While we were still waiting for more answers, the composer did come through on his first promise.

As we filed through the dry and narrow corridors through the underground, he informed us the route would eventually lead to Leberecht. When we were ready to face the Trio, not having to enter from the front gates expanded our options. On that note, we still hadn't come to a decision about how to handle Avis Adler and her colleagues.

Sebastian was understandably livid, having recently learned about Jakob's post-Anima years in confinement—the latter half spent in complete solitude. He believed they should be shown no mercy, that they'd gone too far, and that Avis Adler had always gone too far.

What struck me, was the way in which this fiery conviction opposed Sebastian's typically non-aggressive approach. His love one, love all, let bygones be bygones and celebrate mentality disappeared when it came to the Anima. Even where his own sister-in-law was concerned, and according to Jakob, they had been close.

We didn't travel all the way to Leberecht that day. Instead, Zacharias used a key and ushered us through a door into a room that, based on the airflow, was filled with furniture.

Adeline was the first to break and to begin exploring, the rest of us remained clustered together.

"Everything's so shiny," she exclaimed. "And the bar is fully stocked."

Unable to eat or drink, I suspected the alcohol hadn't been left by the Anima. A gift from Zacharias, perhaps, but why was there a bar down there in the first place?

With that, Finlay and Michael joined Adeline over by the bar where she employed her newfound skills as a bartender. According to Sinclair, we were in a pre-Divide tavern. Like the workshop, the walls and ceilings were accented with pipes and gears. Strange contraptions everywhere—clocks, and clock-like fixtures. The air smelled humid.

Once Sinclair's sparse but colourful narration was complete, the brothers asked Jakob to join them for a conversation on the other side of the room. Sinclair and I approached the bar where I'm told there were exactly four stools. Adeline maintained her post behind.

She leaned in toward us, speaking quietly. "If I weren't here, I wouldn't believe any of this."

"Tell me about it," Michael replied. "I'm questioning everything lately. Like, did the old me even like turnips? I just don't know."

"You were neither in love with nor vehemently opposed to turnips," Sinclair said.

"Thanks." Michael took a sip of his drink. "Also, vehemently?"

"Aye, it means passionately."

"I know what it means. Pretty big word, though."

"Michael, are you saying I can't use big words?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Michael replied. "But I'm not completely sure why I'm saying it. We haven't really spoken enough for me to judge your vocabulary level."

"Well, it sounded like something you'd say. You know, other you."

Meanwhile, Feargus Finlay's stool squeaked while he swiveled side to side. "Seb reckons he's ready to try restoring Michael's memory of the studio."

We all knew the Commander's memory of the studio was but one piece. Still, this version of Michael was willing to wait to become whole again if it meant making sooner progress toward the Trio, and we all knew the original version of Michael would have wanted the same. But at this point, there was no sense planning anything until we had more information.

That reminded me, I needed a moment to check on Jakob and speak with Sebastian. I honed in on the conversation across the room where they spoke in quiet, urgent tones. But I doubted if there would ever be the right time if I continued to play it safe, so I excused myself from the bar and made my way over, pausing at a short distance until I was asked to join.

"Thank you for interrupting, Asa," Jakob said. "Things were beginning to get tense and I'm not in the mood."

I squeezed Jakob's shoulder and kept my voice low. "Sebastian, I've been concerned about Finlay. I believe he and Sinclair could use some time together. Do you have any ideas, somewhere we may be able to send them?"

"Jaska," Sebastian replied. "I believe Adeline needs a parcel picked up from Alexander's production plant."

"And, incidentally, I need several parcels picked up from the seamstress," Zacharias added.

"Fantastic," I said. "That will do. Thank you both."

"Of course," Sebastian replied breezily. "I would do anything for you, Andrei Strauss."

"And I would do anything for you, as well," Zacharias replied, pointedly.

A moment of weighted silence.

"Thank you both," I emphasized, giving Jakob's shoulder another squeeze before I turned on my heel to rejoin the others at the bar.

"How's it going over there?" Sinclair asked.

"Awkward. But while I was checking on Jakob, Zacharias mentioned he needs someone to collect his order from Jaska. It's a rather large order and it's urgent."

"Oh, I need something from Jaska as well." Adeline pushed a glass in my direction.

The contents burned my nose when I smelled it.

"Gus, up for a run to Jaska?" Sinclair asked.

Finlay ceased swiveling and the squeaking finally stopped. "Is that a real question? I've already started making plans. It's gonna be a grand time."

Mission accomplished, and while the Strachan duo chatted on about their errands, I tried a small sip of the drink in front of me. Sweet, not bad. I took another measured sip.

"Oi, you three immortals over there," Sinclair called across the room. "You've got the luxury of eternal life—we don't. Everybody's here. You're both here. Now afore we run off to pick up more colourful suits, probably, where's our bloody story?"

There were truly no more excuses, and for once, neither Vonsinfonie had any objections. They called us over to the lounge area of the tavern where there were two couches and a round platform stage. From what I understand, it was scarcely big enough for two people, let alone two brothers who hadn't shared a stage in over eight-hundred years and who seemed to already be buckling under the pressure of sharing the same air.

Jakob wedged himself between me and Sinclair on one couch.

Now, when compiling the events of our story, Sinclair and I considered the ways in which we could present the Vonsinfonie tale. Conversation? Exposition? Maintain consistency and tell the story ourselves via interlude? No, who did we think we were? Not thousand-year-old performance arts masters, that's for certain. But I do have an exceptional memory, and knowing just as well that what we were about to learn would change everything we knew about our history, Adeline had taken notes.

This time, my friends, we will share their story exactly as it was relayed to us.

You have our sincerest apologies.