Chapter Twenty-Five

They found that there was a new figure at the head of the long table, sitting with Elric at his right hand and an empty chair to his left.
There was no doubting his kinship with Elric, though Krysty thought, as she helped Ryan to a seat, that either of them could have been related to Jak.
The only real difference in their appearance from that of the teenager was in height. The two members of the Family were much taller than Jak. Elric was around six feet three inches tall, and the new member of the clan close to six and a half feet.
But both men were almost skeletally thin, with red-tinted eyes and hair as white as Sierra snow. Both had the same strange skin, pale as wind-washed ivory, with an odd delicacy to it, like the finest lace.
As the outlanders were shepherded in by the ever-attentive Norman, the two members of the Family both stood, the older one more slowly, as if his joints pained him. Krysty guessed that he was in his forties, but he seemed much more frail than Elric. He was staring at his guests with such intensity it worried her. She chose not to mention that to Ryan.
"Do sit down, outlanders. I am Thomas Cornelius. Welcome to Bramton and our home."
"You the father of Elric?" Dean asked.
"Yes, I am," Thomas replied.
Simultaneously Elric Cornelius said, "No, he isn't."
They looked at each other with a flash of what Krysty thought was anger. Then both of them offered brilliant smiles, revealing amazingly white and perfect teeth, one of the rarest sights in Deathlands, where most people had lost most of their teeth by the age of thirty.
"Yes, he is," Elric said.
Simultaneously Thomas Cornelius shook his head. "No, I am not his father."
"Want to try a third time?" Ryan asked sarcastically. "Mebbe both give us the same answer this time around?"
By now everyone was seated and the older Cornelius had gestured to Norman to begin serving the food.
He spoke to the company, gesturing with his hands. Mildred looked away, feeling that the long, bony fingers with the carefully manicured, sharp-tipped nails were almost hypnotizing with their fine elegance.
"Perhaps I should explain straightaway, to remove any ambiguity or confusion, just who we all are and how we come to be here."
"Be nice," Ryan said laconically, wincing as Krysty kicked him under the table.
"I understand your unhappiness, Ryan Cawdor. We have been poor hosts. Indeed, you will probably not meet all of the Family until tomorrow. Some are away and some busy flying about their own business."
Doc was watching the fragile-looking man speak. There was a nagging suspicion about what was going on in Bramton and in the mansion on the cliff top, but Doc knew better than to engage his mouth before his brain had functioned. From where he sat, Elric was clear in his direct line of sight, and he could have sworn that he detected a thin-lipped smile at Thomas's words.
It was there, and then it was gone, like a late frost under the rising sun.
Perhaps it had never been there.
Doc kept his silence.
Thomas was still speaking. "I hope that Norman has looked after you. The weather has been inclement today, I'm afraid. We never saw the sun at all." It was said with heavy regret.
Doc thought he saw the same fleeting grin from the younger albino.
Why? he thought.
"I gather the food has been less than adequate. This is because our tastes as a family are not as other people, and the kitchen gets little practice of cooking for norms. Neither Elric nor I will dine with you here."
The first course was a mix of what looked like local trout, with bread-fried catfish, served on a bed of boiled rice with snow peas on the side.
Krysty quietly told Ryan what it was, and how good it looked. "Best we've seen since we got to this place," she said, biting off a slice of the baked trout. "Mmm, that is so good."
"There is wine," Norman said, bringing around a dark green bottle, frosted with the cold. "This is from the oldest part of the cellars." He poured out a glass for everyone, hesitating at Dean, waiting for a nod of approval from Krysty.
Doc snatched up the long-stemmed crystal goblet and swilled the pale gold liquid around, dipping his beaky nose into it, inhaling deeply and sighing.
"It's a Sancerre. And a very good one unless I totally miss my guess."
Norman giggled. "You're the first visitor in the past fifty years to know that. Wait until you try the Lafitte with the roast beef."
Doc smiled, sipping appreciatively at the French wine, glowering at Dean, who'd gulped his half glass down in what seemed a single mouthful.
Thomas waited for a few moments before resuming his little speech.
"I take it from your reaction that we have got it right. The people in the kitchen will be told.
"Now" he spread his hands expansively, "you came here through the mat-trans system in the old Redoubt 47, did you not?"
It was a bombshell.
Ryan paused, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. He heard his son gasp with shock, and someone else dropped a fork. Doc was his guess.
He actually smiled at the foolish way his mind was operating, wasting a fraction of a moment on wondering who'd dropped a fork, when they were sitting at a table with someone who'd guessed their most secret secret.
Or, he quickly figured, someone who actually knew their biggest secret.
For twenty beats of the heart, nobody in the room spoke a word. The only sound was a high-pitched giggle from Elric Cornelius, which was echoed by Norman.
Finally it was Thomas who spoke again. "I have no need to ask you if this is true. Even if I wasn't already certain, your reactions would have screamed it out as plainly as if it were daubed on that wall in letters ten feet high."
Elric suddenly began to clap his hands, very slowly. "Excellent, Thomas. I told you that the outlanders would sit there with what was the old expression? Ah, yes, with egg on their faces."
Ryan's mind was racing now, in full combat mode, examining and rejecting dozens of hypotheses and possible scenarios, trying to see how dangerous the information was, and how seriously compromised it might make them.
But he couldn't see a major threat two men and a butler and a few zombielike servants, no sec men and no sign of any blasters against them.
"You are calculating whether we present any threat to you, Ryan," Thomas said, smiling. "I can almost hear the wheels spinning inside your brain."
"You backtracked us?"
The papery face creased into something of a smile. "An intelligent guess. Partly true. I see no reason to tell you more than that." The smile vanished. "What greatly interests all of us is the extent to which you have mastered the controls. Where did you learn the secrets of Project Cerberus?"
"Upon my soul!" Doc exclaimed, pushing back his chair. "How did"
Ryan interrupted him. "Enough, Doc. Let me do the talking here."
"Of course, my dear fellow. Of course. But scarcely anyone now living can have knowledge of Cerberus."
"Or Chronos," Elric teased.
"Or Overproject Whisper," Thomas stated.
"Or Enterprise Eternity," Elric added.
"No!" Thomas shouted. "I told you before that we do not mention that. Not to anyone."
"It can't hurt."
Both of them stood, glowering at each other, their eyes seeming to glow like burning rubies.
Thomas threw back his head and hissed at the younger man like an enraged panther. "No more!" He pointed a long-nailed finger. "Leave us, now."
"You don't have the authority without the rest of the kindred."
Thomas dropped his voice to a whisper, sitting and sipping from a goblet of a red wine, so dark that it was almost purple, staining his lips. "Do it," he said quietly.
Elric stalked to the door without a word, jostling Norman out of his way, pausing in the entrance to the dining hall and spinning to face the company. He bowed low from the shadows, his black clothes making him almost invisible.
"I was foolish," he said calmly, seeming completely in control. "Thomas was correct. My mention of Enterprise Eternity was unwise."
The door opened and closed, and he was gone.
Ryan knew that Doc wouldn't be able to resist asking the question. And here it came, reliable as the sun in a summer wheatfield.
"Might I ask you about Enterprise Eternity?" he said. "I am not familiar with it. Was it something that was being researched in the redoubt nearby?"
"It was. You failed to penetrate into the main part of the complex, did you not?"
Ryan nodded, assuming the question was being addressed to him. "We did. You found the open door." He made it a statement. "That was the first time any of us had ever encountered the mat-trans unit. That was what the signs said it was called."
"Indeed?" Ryan could almost see the raised snowy eyebrows, hearing the undisguised note of disbelief riding in the calm, gentle voice.
"Indeed, Thomas."
"Where did you make the jump from?"
"Jump?" Ryan gave himself a mental pat on the back for hurdling that one.
"What they called utilizing the gateways. How did you find yourself in the system?"
"Accident. Mind if we leave it at that? Just slammed the door in a hidden fortress and that sort of triggered something. We all passed out and when we came around we were someplace else. You know how it works? Or how many there are of them? Be good to control something like that. Give a man real power."
"It would, Ryan. We know much, but that is a secret that has escaped us."
While the conversation had been going on, the first course had been finished, and plates piled high with roast beef were brought in. Norman had served the Lafitte, getting a nod of delighted approbation from Doc.
Thomas had eaten nothing, contenting himself with sipping at his own wineglass.
After the discussion about the gateways he appeared to lose interest in the whole gathering, sitting with his snowy head slumped down on his chest, tapping at his goblet with the end of his forefinger.
Like Elric, Thomas was dressed completely in black, with a shirt of satin and pants of velvet tucked into polished black knee boots.
A slender golden chain encircled his neck, holding a medallion that looked to Krysty like a silver ankh. Every now and again Thomas would lift a hand to it, as though to reassure himself that it was still there.
The last course was a choice between a steaming cherry cobbler and a pecan pie, with or without cream. Most of them chose helpings of both.
With cream.
Thomas ate nothing.
Mildred noticed that the hooded eyes kept turning to Jak, as though Thomas were trying to work something out about the albino teenager.
Finally he leaned forward and spoke to the young man. "Jak Lauren?"
"Yeah," the youth said, wiping a dribble of cream from his chin with the sleeve of his coat.
"Your age?"
"Sixteen, going on seventeen."
"You have always had that hair and those eyes?"
"Sure."
"And you have lived only sixteen years. And every year you grow older, do you, Jak?"
"Course. Everyone does."
Thomas nodded, smiling gently at Jak. "Everyone does, lad. Indeed. My own words to myself, a hundred times a day. Everyone does."
He stood and walked slowly around the long table, patting Jak on the shoulder, whispering something to Norman as he reached the door.
"Tomorrow you will meet everyone. And I look forward to seeing your film, Johannes Forde."
The door shut behind him.
"How did he know about the film?" Forde said.