The Grand Game. Marcellus smiled just thinking about it. A meeting of the minds, all the truly old ones meeting together in peace. It only happened once a decade, and it was the only event of the Society that Marcellus made sure to never miss. Ever since he was first eligible to attend during the Game in Celebration of the ascension of Basileios II, he had always taken the time to attend. Now, as the fall of the Soviet Union was seeming more and more inevitable, Marcellus prepared to board a plane out of London, headed to Hong Kong. Headed to the Game.
The steward for the first-class seats was somewhat surprised seeing Marcellus’s childlike form seated alone, an entire table reserved for only himself. He looked down at the child. “Are you travelling with anybody today, kid?”
Marcellus looked up. “Listen,” he said, then paused to read the man’s nametag, “George. I don’t like your tone. Of course I travel alone. If there were people with me, they would be with me, would they not?”
George gulped. “Yessir, of course,” he said, nervous. There was something about the boy that was unsettling. “If there’s anything you need,” he added, trailing off.
Marcellus ignored the man, pulling out his briefcase. A fascinating invention, a bag designed to keep papers neat, and be incredibly irritating to carry, all at once. He smiled to himself as he opened the case up and pulled out his files. He needed to be ready, the Game was not won by those unprepared.
Across the aisle from him, Marcellus heard a familiar chuckle. He had assumed when he came across the channel for this flight, the entirety of First Class would be booked by others attending the game. He’d just hoped most of those others would be bringing dance partners and wouldn’t irritate him. Unfortunately for the elderly boy, ever since their first meeting in Renaissance Florence, Edward had made it a bit of his life’s mission to irritate Marcellus. How Marcellus relished in the science of the supernatural, in breaking down the mechanics of it all, Edward had a thing for the spiritual side of things. “Are you alright there, young’un? You seem a bit lost in thought.”
Marcellus slowly turned his head towards the hulking man in a tacky, old-fashioned suit, and glared. “Boy. If you speak with me again, you’ll be my ‘volunteer’ for the presentation.” His intonation made it clear that the volunteering didn’t need to actually be voluntary. Edward wasn’t really the problem, not to Marcellus. Edward was a mere annoyance. The problem was that his obsession with times long gone made Edward stand out obnoxiously, and he passed that antique fashion sense on to most of the vampires in England, making the other societies of the Night even more vigilant against them.
Edward sighed. “You know, I bet these people think it’s odd for a kid to be talking down to me like this.”
Marcellus looked around. There were three other tables in the section. Edward sat alone at his, just like Marcellus. Another was occupied by a couple. Local. Old, possibly even older than Edward, but not influential. He recognized them from the Grand Game during Paris’s Exposition Universelle. More importantly, they remembered him from the same, when he presented the Society his flesh-eating bacteria that targeted only dead flesh, his lovely and terrifying ‘Endgame Fungus’. The couple were afraid to even look at Marcellus.
The final table was full. Alexios, his daughters Isabella and Vanessa, and Vanessa’s significant other, Lawrence. Alexios had a complicated relationship with Marcellus. They’d been enemies at first, then Marcellus had tested certain theories on the older man, and finally, after years of disagreement, they’d become begrudging allies for the sake of The Restraint. It helped that the elder daughter of the man was a mad child scientist in her own right. Lawrence, like most members of the Society, was clearly made uncomfortable with Marcellus’s presence, but the others were much more generally amused by the interaction.
Marcellus shrugged to Edward. “They know I’m by far your superior, and if you had even an ounce of intelligence in your clearly fragmented and narcissistic mind, you, too would recognize it.”
“Careful, young warrior,” Alexios warned, “You are beginning to believe your own hype.”
Marcellus smiled at the only person on the plane older than himself. “You of all people know my motto. Scientialiquest Deorunum.”
Isabella chuckled. She, too, believed that knowledge could make anyone a god. Marcellus was curious what her presentation would be but asking would break the Grand Game. He would never disrespect the art of it. Smiling at Edward, he said slowly and quietly, “Remember, old friend, we are in the Grand Game now. You never know what accidents might befall you.”
Edward began to speak some sort of comeback, but Marcellus ignored him. Turning back to his writings, he reviewed his notes. Politicking was difficult enough when everyone was at peace, but in the Grand Game, people had to deal with everyone at each other’s throats, a single misstep away from all out chaos. That’s why the young were never allowed to attend. Marcellus played the Game better than most. He knew well enough that he would never win in the Societies concept, but he won in his own. Each meeting, each decade since his first millennium, he’d grown more and more terrifying in the eyes of the Society. That was his concept of Victory. Phonike, she won over hearts the few times she deigned join in on the immortal fun, but he didn’t care about hearts in the same way his mother did. He cared only about getting left alone, keeping his family left alone, and he was more than successful in that endeavor.
The flight took off as he read up on the new happenings. His network of unwitting accomplices and spies continued to grow since he found a way to break into the minds of the undead during the fun that was Prohibition America. Now, he had information on the alliances and backroom deals before the rest of the Society did. He also let people he liked and family cheat off of his notes at times, but fortunately for him, none of his family were quite old enough yet. Phonike had taken some time between making him and making his younger sister.
The steward came through, wondering about dinner orders. Marcellus smiled. “Scotch. Neat.” The steward was uncertain about giving him scotch, but the generous wad of cash that the obey held persuaded him after only a moment.
When his drink was brought to him, Isabella and Alexios joined him. “You are aware that is frowned upon at your apparent age, little warrior,” Alexios said quietly.
Marcellus looked up at the man. “You are aware that I care little about social norms, old protector.”
Alexios nodded. “I was hoping for a peek,” he said, his intonation making it more a question than a statement.
Marcellus shrugged. “You? No thank you. I found your comment about me rude,” he said to the man, then turning to the young woman, he added, “But you, my dear Isabella, you can look at the knowledge that makes me a god.” Isabella stood up, a smile crossing her face, to move to the seat beside Marcellus, but Marcellus held up a single finger. “But you mustn’t tell your father about it. Alexios should rely on his own knowledge. He is old enough to have that wisdom.”
With a groan, Alexios nodded to Isabella and returned to his table. Isabella seated herself beside Marcellus, and together the two insane scientist children read over in-depth reports of personalities, alliances, deaths, and rebirths of the Society over the last decade. As they went through the reports, Isabella leaned over, her chin resting just above Marcellus’s shoulder. “So,” she whispered, just barely loud enough for the other to hear, “Any other must-sees this year?”
Marcellus turned his head, his nose brushing hers as he got into position to whisper in her ear. “Let’s see. There’s yours, mine, and Zhiyu’s, as always.” Isabella quietly chuckled, and the ancient vampire continued, “And also this new guy, Ohiyesa. Fascinating study of shamanistic sciences.”
“Ooh, sounds fun. And the ball?” she whispered back to him.
Marcellus shrugged, his shoulder just touching her chin. “I have no escort yet. You?” he whispered. His head facing the table behind him, he could see Alexios was not particularly approving of exactly how close the two children were quickly becoming since they met in 1850s Holland. After all, why wouldn’t he be disapproving. Marcellus was nearly twice Isabella’s age. He was more than two millennia old, whereas she’d only been alive since the 800s AD.
Isabella could feel the disapproval of her father figure behind her, but she didn’t care much. She, like Marcellus, cared little for the Society’s general approval. “None yet here, either,” she replied, “Would you like to escort me?”
Marcellus laughed. “It would figure that you wouldn’t give me the chance to ask.”
“Why would I do such a silly thing? And you haven’t answered.”
Marcellus moved his mouth, so it was nearly touching Isabella’s ear. “Of course, dearest Isabella,” he whispered so softly that she could almost feel the breath as much as she could hear the statement.
With that, they pulled their heads away from one another and returned to the notes. Isabella frowned as she looked at the new Omani delegation. “Really?” she said, “Why is he coming?” She pointed at one of her ex-boyfriends, Saeed, who had RSVP’d years ago.
Marcellus smiled. “To win you back, of course,” he said smugly, “Though I can’t imagine why.”
Isabella raised her eyebrow towards him. “Oh, can’t you? Perhaps I should have him escort me instead.”
Marcellus’s grin grew even larger. “You and I both know you shouldn’t. He’s the worst dancer I’ve ever met, and one of my closest allies is paralyzed from the neck down.”
Isabella laughed at that remark. “But seriously,” she added.
Marcellus, rather than say anything aloud which might be heard by unwanted ears, simply shuffled the papers around and pointed at a location report. The Middle East’s sector of the Society had grown unstable since the unfortunate death of their leader in the War in Afghanistan. Now, it seemed that Saeed had decided it was time for him to advance his standing in the midst of the chaos. Isabella laughed hysterically at that idea. “Like that will happen,” she said in between the laughter.
“Isabella,” Alexios said loudly and parentally, “Enough.” Marcellus recognized that tone as much as Isabella did. That was the ‘Time for a meal’ tone. Isabella stood up and returned to her family. Marcellus looked around and chuckled at the foolish vampires who couldn’t control their hunger for a single plane ride. All three tables were having their blood, pretending it was wine. Marcellus could feel the hunger rise as the smell hit him, but unlike the bestial members of the Society, he was in control of himself. He only drank once a month, and he felt good about it. Not because he cared about the human life these beasts were taking, but rather because he cared about the control that such urges no longer had over him. Everything, to Marcellus, revolved around understanding and control. They were two sides of the same coin, and that coin was the only true love of Marcellus’s life. That was probably why he and Isabella were so close. She, too, only had eyes for that coin. He sighed, gazing back down at his information. This could be done later, he thought to himself, putting it back int the folders.
He removed the small vial from the bag. The Bakers looked terrified at the vial, clearly still traumatized from the first time they laid eyes on young Marcellus. He looked carefully at the substance inside, a living organism of pure mysticism, scientifically reproduced magic, made in a lab by one with no ability. It was a revolution, though incredibly expensive to produce, and impossible for anyone to mass produce as of yet. He’d need to wait for scientific studies of quantum mechanics to advance by a century or so before it would truly yield reproduceable results, but it would still be terrifying when he let it out of the vial, and all the real players in the Game, all those who knew better than miss his presentations, would watch as a possible future unfolded before their very eyes, the future that was both likely and their own greatest fear. That look on their faces would be worth all the effort it took to make the thing. And he would simply neglect to mention it wasn’t feasible for him to recreate. The scientists, like himself, among them would know this, but scientists were rarely players. They were observers and they loved observing Marcellus play the Society’s greatest players against one another out of fear and paranoia. And the scientists that were players, the scientists who loved the game like Marcellus and Isabella, they were all members of the Restraint, and fear was the Restraint’s greatest ally. Because of Marcellus’s presentations, and recently to a lesser extent, Isabella’s, the Restraint had been a key kingmaker in the Grand Game since the fall of Constantinople. They weren’t about to give that up. Marcellus just hoped that someday soon they wouldn’t’ just play kingmaker. He and Isabella had plans. One day, eventually, the Restraint would make themselves king. When that day came, the scientists would be the mind behind their rule. One day, that coin which Marcellus and Isabella loved so dearly would be theirs. They could settle for one another until that day came, Marcellus thought with a smile as the plane touched down in Hong Kong. He couldn’t help the smile. The Grand Game was joined once again.