Would You Know My Name...

AC: Michael let the papers stay where they'd fallen. All he wanted was to be left alone for ten minutes but alone wasn't something a hot topic public figure was going to be. The phone rang incessantly. It felt like he'd practically moved to Washington. If anyone asked him, he just wanted to go home to New Jersey and spend some quiet time in his little section of Morris County. He laughed self-derisively as his mind called up the fact the entire county was once Wallace Barony. He sat up straight as the British Consul walked in. He took the rolled up, sealed missive with interest. This attache was new. She introduced herself – Elisabeth Soames, but asked to be called Beth. He nodded in response, while standing up to shake her hand. “Has the State given any suggestion or hint that I'm to change my stance?”

“No, no indications, Lord Wal-, er....”

Michael sighed and shook his head. “Mr. Wallace will do. And I retain CMG, hopefully... still.” He'd been waiting on a response to that issue.

“The state did indicate that you were permitted to continue using the title Lord as a courtesy title.”

“Courtesy title?”

His hands broke the seal and unwound the scroll. His eyes went wide. He sat down to circumvent falling over. The scroll fell from his hands and bounced on the floor, winding itself back up.

Beth looked at him in shock. “What is it, sir?”

“It's a writ of summons to Parliament. I've been raised to a baronetage.”

“What? That's unusual.”

Michael laughed. “Baronet of New Morris.”

“You made that up. You don't get summoned to Parliament for a baronetage.”

“I wish I could say that. They made it up. I don't think I should actually be so ungrateful, though, as not to show or not to accept.”

~~~~~

The plane ride gave him a rare few hours to sleep. Margaret met him at Dulles with the family insignia, his Order's regalia, and his best suit. Fitzroy would be waiting to meet them at Heathrow.

Michael boarded and headed straight for the plane's bedroom. And his dreams merely revisited the trauma that started this bureaucratic mess...

Taking the young tenth generation baron to Washington, D.C. was meant to be an educational experience and his first taste of diplomacy. Michael exhorted ideology that was oft-forgotten in the modern milieu of political wrangling. “Here you are merely Charles Wallace, special as an individual but equal to all others by the founding manifesto. Ideally, Americans all have a right to an equal voice and equal representation in Congress.”

Charles Richard Harold Wallace was enjoying the experience and was looking forward to the evening's arts performance. Michael looked up at his daughter Elizabeth who was waving to him from further down the mall. He returned her greeting when two shots rang out. He turned around quickly as the crowd panicked and fled in myriad directions from the area. He managed to single out one figure that wasn't fleeing and looked about for an obvious target, a congressman or diplomat. Not seeing one, he called to his son. He didn't hear an answer. Michael called the ground up under him and used it to trip up the suspicious figure. He then slowly sucked the body in to waist level and held it fast.

He looked about again for his son and his eyes locked on a small body face down on the pavement. Running over, he discovered both shots were to Charles's head. When police arrive, he was kneeling over the dead body. Margaret was hugging their daughter, who was screaming, as Michael cradled his son's limp body. The gunman didn't get away, though. He'd captured the daughter of Senator Augustus Finley.

His mood at the time was the genuine grief of a father losing a child. Replayed through the lens of superconscious, Michael saw his family's work of ten generations and three hundred years bleeding out on the National Mall walkway.

Finley tried to ramrod a bill to take back the Wallace holding using eminent domain while Michael was back in New Jersey placing his son with the others who had held the title of baron in the family masoleum. Nicole, who majored in business law, immediately flew down and shoved the bill down Finley's throat. Michael followed a day later with several reams of old, historic documents and a declaration by Parliament that the barony was in abeyance. Michael, having returned to the living, could realistically produce another son and continue the 'heirs male of the body,' so it was not extinct unless Michael expired without producing male issue.

~~~~~

Michael awoke drenched in sweat. His stomach churned painfully. April was almost over, marking nearly two months of bureaucratic torment. Two months since his son died. And four months since...

Michael bolted to the lavatory and emptied his stomach violently. He rinsed his mouth out and proceeded to cough up another mouthful in the sink. Not a good sign. He grabbed a calander and counted out the days since mid-December. He tossed it aside without finishing. Probably just his nerves. God knows he was fine physically up to this point. And he hadn't dreamt about Charles until now.

Awakens the Predator

Morgan stood stock still as the blade penetrated his pancreas. The horrid screaming from onlookers and passersby was more trying than the chef knife in his gut. The incoherent ranting of the attacker about the evils of capitalism and aristocracy just made the surreal sublime. Michael lay sprawled on the pavement where Morgan had knocked him down. Morgan grabbed the attacker's arm, and threw him thirty feet into a wall. He carefully removed the blade as blood gouted down the front of his white shirt. Morgan pressed his right hand on the wound and surged towards the madman. Ruby rivulets ran between his fingers as he picked up the broken body of the antagonist and demanded an explanation from him.

A quick mental read told him that the body in his hand was unconscious. Michael peeled himself up and mentioned that the man's head was oozing fluids. Morgan dropped him in disgust. “How are you?”

“I...” Michael looked at the growing bloodmark. Morgan wasn't one to ask lightly. “I cracked my chin on the pavement. I think I need a Band-Aid. You need surgery.”

“I just need to walk it off,” Morgan said flatly. He was paling, but decided to walk away from the scene. The blood, the crowd, the excitement, the adrenaline singing in his ears was too much. Michael took a step forward and suddenly felt dizzy. Touching his chin, he discovered he was bleeding faster than he'd originally thought. A flap of skin on his chin was hanging loose. Michael sat down to prevent himself from falling over.

Morgan loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. The desire to hurt something badly thrilled through him. An odd taste collected in his mouth. Bile, perhaps? The city breathed like a thousand marks and he himself was the marksman. He subconsciously reached for the edge of a cloak he wasn't wearing.

He heard a scream in the distance. It was quickly stifled. He said something vile under his breath and the wound ceased hurting as a prurient green substance covered over it. A gentleman corpse running to the rescue of some nameless hooker. It doesn't get much more noir, Michael would have commented. But he wasn't there.

Funny how two blocks can make the difference between mega-chic and squalid back alley. Or maybe his sense of distance was off. But above the coppery tang of his own injury, he could smell predatory pheromones and fear. Four aggressive, testosterone and rage-driven thugs. One helpless female, straining but losing consciousness. A curved, transparent blade grew from Morgan's hand. Fangs unsheathed in his mouth.

When she stumbles to the main drag, clothing ripped and spattered with blood, eyes dilated by fear, the cops stop her for questioning. Her mind has snapped to gibbering. They find the pieces of several people in the alley. She says a 'wolf man' attacked them.

Michael's chin required stitches, but he went back to the cottage and heard a newsflash about a predator on the loose. Several victims had been carved apart. Several more had been bitten. An odd green substance had been found at some scenes. They were calling the perp Wolf Ninja. Michael changed into a casual suit and raced out into the night on a motorcycle.

The bloodlust ebbed finally and Morgan's higher brain function finally returned. The mindblade dissipated and a mouth full of flesh and blood spit out its contents. He was on a wooden walkway and the sharp smell of saltwater and rotted fish suggested he was on a wharf. He fell to his knees. He ran his hands over his body. Bullet holes, knife lacerations, bruises. Nothing serious. It would all heal, given time. He wondered how many died. His newly awakened abilities were fierce, consuming. His abdomen felt distended.

From the reports, it sounded like Morgan had cut quite a swath of destruction through the rougher areas of Los Angeles. The victims they could identify were mostly gang members and mobsters. The rest were suspected felons. Half the city was calling this mysterious person a superhero; the other half figured he was a crime lord that wanted to clean out the competition while masquerading as a vigilante. It was obvious where he'd been, but no one was sure where he was going. Michael had an advantage the authorities didn't.

Admittedly, being helmetless meant he might attract attention. Michael walked along the derelict docks carefully. Water loudly lapped against the concrete bulwarks below and the creaking wood covered the sounds of his footsteps, but not his heartbeat. Michael made it to the edge of the sagging quay and thrust his hand into the water. The officer came up behind him as Morgan's apparently lifeless body was pulled out of the greasy water. Michael squeezed the water from Morgan's lungs and then hugged him close to his chest. Michael detected a faint pulse. The officer was going to call for backup and a bus when Morgan looked up at him and shook his head. “Leave us,” he commanded.

The officer blinked a moment. Michael, more softly, repeated the order to him. As his mind told him that he shouldn't, his body walked back to the patrol car and drove off. Michael walked into the night, holding his injured and crippled brother in his arms.

Tradition

Margaret's first words were, “The upkeep on this place must be enormous.”

'Well, Mrs. Wallace, you are correct. It is. But, understand, that my income, too, is enormous.”

“Is it open to the public?”

“Generally, no. Occasionally, we allow private functions, but specifically on a case-by-case basis.”

“The staff?”

“House staff numbers currently ninety. Villagers, two hundred fifty two and I keep a mistress on site.”

Margaret turned and looked at him in disbelief. “Villagers?”

“It's a traditional barony, complete with retainers. It even started on the backs of indentures.”

“So, our marriage was arranged because...”

“Because I needed a wife who was capable of managing a barony.” He cleared his throat before adding, “And bearing a son.”

Author Note 5

Castle Wallace's administrative office was a little room at the head of the stairs to the main kitchen. The large rolltop desk and oak chair took up far too much space in the little cubicle. Michael found the only way to have the wastepaper basket in a usable position and not entirely in the way was to have it between his feet. He occasionally questioned how Morgan fit in the area at all. Morgan's answer was to not use it. For some unknown reason, the ceiling wasn't even seven feet and Morgan couldn't stand straight. There was a bare light fixture with no dome or bulb after Michael had broken both with the top of his head. There was no electrical outlet or window, so the only light source was a small candelabra Michael kept on the corner of the desk. Previous seneschals' disdain for the room had led to them scribbling notes and sums on the wall. Michael occasionally found himself testing fountain pens the same way.

The cramped, little room however was like the captain's quarters on a ship. From it, orders to the household were given. Tabulations and household expenses were tracked. Servants were interviewed, hired, promoted and dismissed. The door was not closeable due to the desk's aggressive size, but no one dared eavesdrop on any conversation the master had within its walls.

When Margaret took over the role as head of household affairs from her husband, she moved operations to a barely utilized, windowed pass-through room. It was far less intimate, but much lighter, had air circulation and a twelve-foot ceiling common to most of the rooms in the building.

It Takes a Wedding to Make Us Say...

“You seem nervous,” Morgan said softly, swirling his glass so the ice cubes clinked amid the scotch.

Nicole sat fidgeting and worrying like the bride-to-be she was. The rehearsal dinner had been a quiet, formal, intimate prelude to tomorrow's activities. Dessert was given over to informal socializing. “I wish I could be calm like Dad. He seems like he'd fall asleep if he was any more relaxed.”

Morgan smiled. “Trust me. He was not so relaxed the hours previous to his wedding.”

“Really?” she said incredulously. “I don't remember him being a bundle of nerves. I always thought he took everything in stride.”

“He generally does, but he almost fainted a couple times that morning. On the other hand, your father is also very good at making everything look easy.”

“I can't believe my carefree days are over.”

“Marriage does not necessarily end them. I do not think Michael will ever completely grow up.”

“Well, that just makes me wish I was him.”

Morgan laughed. “I think one of him is plenty enough for me to handle. However, I see a lot of him in you. You are self-determined, intelligent, charming and dynamic. You are unmistakably his daughter.”

~~~~~

Margaret sat over her own wedding album, marveling that her husband's daughter was being married off a mere seven years into their own marriage. Michael sat next to her, nursing a coffee and cognac. “When did she grow up?” he asked the ceiling.

“Do you feel old?” she asked, chiding gently.

Michael shrugged. “Wasn't it just last week she was jumping on my bed in the morning? When she was running barefoot in the gardens, ripping her dress on the roses? When she outgrew girl's shoes? I'm going to miss my little angel.”

Margaret smiled knowingly. Michael reached for his wallet and pulled out an old photograph wrapped in tissue paper. The color had faded, but it showed Michael sitting on a threadbare couch bottlefeeding a toddler in his arms while a spry little girl climbed on his back and shoulder. His suit had been bought off the rack and his face, though smiling and amused, looked tired and drawn. It was a very precious picture to him.

“My goodness, you look so common in that picture!”

“I was. I gave up my entire life and moved into an apartment with Nicole, Krystie and their mother. Worked a part-time desk job. Lived hand-to-mouth for two years. The rent was eight hundred dollars a month and we could barely afford to eat. It was one of the stupidest and most educational things I ever did. I have many reasons to regret it, but I can't.”

~~~~~

Nadine felt overwhelmed by the grandeur and lost amid the crowd of important and influential people. Krystie was the only one there that had approached her so far. She felt the only reason Krystie was sociable was because her father had tasked her with buying her mother outfits for the events. Michael had spent the evening with his wife by his side. When he wasn't with her, he was flirting with his mistress. When his mistress outclassed her, Nadine wondered why she was even invited.

He eventually meandered her way. She tugged at his sleeve...

~~~~~

Morgan flipped open the jewel on his watch and ran his fingers over the watch's face. Michael had seemed oddly distracted this evening. Perhaps, he was worrying overmuch, but Michael also seemed to be avoiding him as well. Morgan snapped the jewel shut and picked up his ever full glass of scotch and walked carefully toward the back hall. With any luck, no one would notice him missing for a short while. His luck didn't hold out. Claire called out to him as he stepped away.

~~~~~

The Right Honourable Lord & Lady Michael Wallace

request the honour of your presence

at the marriage of his daughter

Nicole

to

Mr. Charles Arnault ...

“Why wasn't I included on the invitation?” Nadine asked.

“Because you weren't involved in planning the wedding,” Michael said. A mild drawl suggested he was drunk. He put aside the empty coffee cup and walked away in a deliberately slow pace. He knew he was drunk but was taking pains not to show it, Nadine realized. She followed him.

“You and Nicole have grown up so much. I wish I could say the same.”

Michael turned to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I know you want to talk, but if you'll be patient, please. I have to go do something.”

He walked away to the grand staircase and found his way into the servant's tunnel underneath and relieved himself in a tiny stall that was rarely used anymore. He emerged and found Nadine standing outside the hidden door. “I can talk now,” he said, the consonents softly rounded by alcohol.

She commented on how Nicole had grown into a beautiful young woman. Michael nodded in agreement. He was uncharacteristically quiet. Suddenly, his head dipped down. He placed a hand over face. Nadine pressed close to him. He uncovered one eye to look at her. It was wet with tears. “Mike, is something wrong?”

Michael choked lightly on his emotions. “Yes, something's wrong. I'm not ready for my little girl to leave me.”

Nadine smiled then. So, he was human. She hugged him and wished she could have the days back when they were struggling together as a cohabiting couple. “Ah, Mikey, she'll be all right. You raised her.”

He pulled her into a bear hug. “You're the only person who's ever gotten away with calling me Mikey,” he giggled.

~~~~~

Krystie carefully removed the coffee and crème de menthe from Nicole's hand and steered her toward the grand staircase. “I think you've had enough for tonight. You need to be sober tomorrow morning,” she mused.

They were halfway up the first flight when Morgan started ascending on the bottom. “Where have you been?” Nicole yelled, voice quavering.

Morgan sped up to steady her, answering, “Freaking your ex-stepaunt out.” He seemed oddly gratified.

Krystie didn't want to know. “Have you noticed Dad around?”

“No, but I can sense he's close, down the guest wing.”

Michael lay insensate on a guest bed, mostly dressed. Nadine looked up at them and quickly pulled down the hem of her dress and tried to zip up the back. Morgan, who could smell that sex had occurred, even though there was no real physical evidence to be seen, merely commented to himself that this happens on the eve of every wedding they'd attended.