Chapter 28: Alma Again

After her failure at the fort, she returned to her mistress. Camille was kind and understanding but Alma couldn’t stop beating herself up over the loss, she hadn't even tried. She waited for a while with Camille to observe Orlando. He arrived at the fort, decked out in shining golden armour, no doubt bought with gold extorted from common folk. He strutted about the place with the confidence of someone who’d never seen the realities of life.

When they discovered the undead gone, she expected Orlando to leave in a huff, disappointed he wasn’t able to show off his skills to his lackeys. She was surprised then, when he remained, to bury the dead, even going so far as to get down in the dirt with his men and dig. He prayed over everyone, including those which had become undead. Alma was conflicted when Camille broke the raven connection that had formed an image on the scrying bowl. He was not what she had expected from a Paladin of light.

Several days later, her mistress received a summons from one of the main Ghibellines’ branches; she was in trouble because of Alma’s failure. Despite the constant apologies, Camille insisted Alma did nothing wrong. Alma eventually convinced Camillie that she, her apprentice, should accompany her Mistress to Wiccawich, where a high ranking Ghibellines vampire had asked to meet.

They flew, using Camille’s flying coffin as Alma had not yet unlocked the Bat Transformation Skill. Her mistress was outwardly calm but Alma could tell there was tension as they met with her superior. Thankfully, the tall vampire, who walked with the grace of a predator, didn't even notice her, as he and her mistress departed to talk alone.

Alma was guided by another relatively new vampire, they went through a series of hidden tunnels to enter the city lair. Directly beneath the Ghibellines’ estate, unbeknownst to any living member of the family. She had been left in a room with plain, but well made, furniture. Her every need was provided for, blood brought on request, pillows plumped, all the books she wanted. But she remained, essentially, a prisoner. Despite it having been days, and having asked her well dressed jailers several times, she knew not her mistresses’ fate and her nerves were beginning to fray. She was permitted to wander the complex, no one had said she couldn’t leave but she knew the doors leading to the outside world were locked at all times, and the inhabitants, few though they may be, kept their guards up around her. She was afraid what the answer might be if she chose to ask so she left the question unspoken; remaining , to her mind, free.

She was wandering the corridors, when something strange happened. In a corner of the lair rarely frequented, there was a strange man. He was dressed in what might have once been nice clothes, complete with colourful frills. She could tell he was not alive but neither was he a vampire, there was still blood in his veins. A zombie here of all places? He was clearly an intruder, having snuck into the hall; crouched and believed to be unseen. A smile tugged at her lips, finally someone interesting. She sought to gain his attention so summoned a Blood Whip and struck him lightly. The face that turned to meet hers was a shock to them both, the face of a very familiar revenant.

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Dante turned to see Alma. Struck dumb for a moment, he only stared, wide-eyed, rubbing his stinging back.

“How are you alive?” Alma asked, panic lending edge to her voice, expression overtaken by a mask of cruelty.

“I’m not?” Dante replied, stupidly.

“That monster, are you bound to it? Is it here?!” she demanded. “Did you befriend it… not the worst idea.”

“What? Osseus you mean?” Dante asked, recovering some of his wits. He continued at her look of Duh. “He’s in the city somewhere, where I cannot say,” he replied not understanding this lady's anger, he wouldn’t be surprised if she were mad at his intrusion, but that seemed not to be the case. After a humph of reluctant acceptance from Alma there proceeded an awkward silence, the woman stood eyeing him with the Spell still active. Having been raised with good manners Dante straightened and decided to reintroduce himself. Extending a hand he offered, “Dante.” She slapped the proffered limb aside before saying:

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“Yes I know who you are, you’re that idiot Bard from Far-Reach. What in the name of Snata’s arse are you doing here?”

“Well, I was looking for someone. Someone connected to me somehow, and having learned the name of this estate I believe my hunch to be right,” Dante responded, still eyeing the Blood Whip, one hand on his back. Seeing his expression, she dismissed the spell; moving the blood into a flask and muttering something about, “just a bit of fun.”

“How did you get in, I’ve looked in there, there’s nothing but brooms and controls for the water system,” she said in an authoritative tone.

“There’s a hatch in the big pipe,” he explained, gesturing back to the room. However, when they looked inside the pipe had no hatch.

“Where?” Alma demanded, anger clear on her features. “Are you teasing?”

“I swear it was right there,” Dante began, puzzled.

“There's another illusion,” Sqwent explained tiredly, “you didn’t see it because we came from the otherside.”

“Ahh,” Danted exclaimed, before plunging his hand through solid stone.

“What?” Alma asked, surprise overtaking her rage for a moment. “And this leads?”

“Down by the river.” Dante answered distractedly, “I must say you don’t seem terribly upset at me for breaking in.”

She scoffed, her head in the pipe, “do I look like a Ghibellines to you?”

“Do I?” Dante responded honestly.

“Exactly, people of that station don’t wear plain black dresses, and they aren't locked in the basement,” she answered, climbing into the pipe.

“Wait, you're a prisoner?” Dante asked, concerned.

“Yes… No… I don’t know,” Alma answered, frustrated. “All I do know is I’m not spending another day down here.”

“No, wait, you can’t leave,” Dante replied, slightly panicked.

“Why?” she asked, already doing just that.

“I have to find someone here, I told you, I need to talk to them,” he said, waving his hands about.

“And; is that my problem?” she asked. “Just out of curiosity, your plan for speaking to someone in the Ghibellines house, was breaking in and… what? Hoping they don’t call the guard. Hope they hear you out and don’t assume you a criminal? Which you would be,” she stated, laughing at the last.

“Well I don’t...” Dante floundered.

“What was the plan?” Dante asked Sqwent internally.

“I just wanted to see something interesting,” he shrugged, without shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Dante finished aloud, lamely.

Alma smirked briefly before turning back to escape.

“Wait,” he asked again, this time following her.

“How do I meet a Ghibellines then?” Dante asked as they crawled, single-file, back down the slippery passage.

“You don’t,” Alma said coldly. After the silence had dragged on she added, “but if you had to, they are known for hosting a grand ball in Wiccawich. They even invite the common folk but they are kept separate. At least you’d be able to get into the house without getting thrown in jail… assuming that you got some better clothes.”

Dante thought about it for some time before asking:

“When is this ball?”

“I don’t know, I’ve been locked away in a cellar,” she snapped. “But it’s this season sometime, could be a week, could be a day,” she relented.

When they emerged back into the night, Dante’s exuberance for discovering more of himself somewhat dampened, they walked quickly to the bank. Back in the park, Alma called down an owl; whispering something to it.

“What are you doing?” Dante asked, unfamiliar with the language of birds.

She finished her conversation before replying, “If you must know, I'm sending word to my mistress, telling her I’m alright - assuming she is as well,” she said, adding the last under her breath.

She raised her arm, encouraging the creature to take flight. They watched the bird as it soared up majestically, only to be plucked from the air by a wind spell, to the surprise of all three of them.

“Shit!” Alma exclaimed. “They’re onto us!”