Travelling had always been one of Po' Boy's favorite and least favorite things. Favorite, because he got to see new things. Least favorite because he usually collected at least four or five more people for his personal list of people the world would be better off without. Of course, Denver was a town he was always extremely careful in, for several reasons. One, the identity he used for travel that wasn't related to biz was from Denver. The other was that the clan had been contracted years ago to try and heal the city, and had been reinforcing the idea that the locals were Denverites first, and members of their respective nations second. Then Aztlan had invaded the city.
His people had not taken to that invasion well. At least not from the invader's point of view. Careful strikes against military targets had made the clan unpopular with the Azzies, even though they had no idea who was attacking them. Surprisingly to some, the local Hispanic population had decided to back the "rebels" to the hilt, and the crackdowns were sending more people to the arms of the Denver community outside the old Aztlan sector. It was amusing that Ghostwalker had banned espionage in Denver, but the biggest thing holding one of his enemies at bay was a guerilla operation mostly run by people who hadn't been born here. Of course, the clan had recruited locals from the shadow community, but that was a small part of the picture his people were running. Ten people, coordinating thousands told him he had sent the right people for the job.
A dapper elf approached Po' Boy, and a familiar one, at that. "Hello, Quinn," Po' Boy said, meeting the eyes of the man approaching him, "it's been a long time. Are you here to catch up on old times, or did you have something specific in mind?"
The elf stopped short, and blinked for a second, then replied, "Well, Doctor Stuart. What a surprise to see you here,"
"Really?" Po' Boy smirked, "This is my home of record, so why would me being here surprise you?"
"Because you seem to spend so little time here, Doctor." Quinn replied tartly, "I figured you'd be off in Eastern Europe, getting one of the people there to let you in to study the phenomenon without signing any non-disclosure agreements."
"You wound me. I'm merely stopping at home to take a break before writing up my next article."
The elf's eyes narrowed, "And what might that article be on, Doctor?"
"I was debating the merits of doing a paper one the magical tradition of one Quentin Harlech, or the urban legend of Harlequin. But I've ultimately decided to do one about how the people of an area affect the background count and spirit of the places they live in."
Quinn's eyes widened for a split second, a deliberate "slip" to try and show shock. "And why would you write anything about my magical tradition? I am merely a minor mage, of little power."
"Because anyone that would aid the Aztlaners in their efforts to bring their gods back is most certainly an enemy of humanity. Of life, really. And Harlequin most certainly has shown himself to be on their side. While the enemy of my enemy may not always be a friend, the friend of my enemy has always made a quite suitable target. I am rather certain that Aina Dupree would not approve in the least"
"What would you know about her?" Quinn snapped.
"She was a good woman, a bit harsh at times, but a good woman. Politics never were her strong suit, but she was always a fighter. A woman I would have been honored to call friend, had we ever had the chance to meet formally. But also one who was deathly opposed to the entire way the Aztlaners are running things. I am merely an academic who spends too much time in the field, so I suppose I don't have much room to talk about her. But I do think she'd be rather disappointed in you, Caimbeul."
Quinn snatched back at that, and blinked. "Where did you hear that name?"
"Did you really think I hadn't looked into you as deeply as I could? And did you think I would be just like those runners you like to manipulate? I spoke with Jane's father about you. While he may not like you all that much, he has never had anything but respect for your abilities, and willingness to fight a true enemy. But this time, you aided the real enemy, and it's cost you a fair bit. It's time for you to take steps to fix your mistake."
Quinn's eyes hardened. "Do you know what the dragon has cost me?"
"Do you know what your vendetta may cost the world? Ehran's model works just fine for a mana cycle that hasn't had anything done to affect it. The first Ghost Dance had far more reaching consequences than just the spike left at the site. It's accelerated the model by several centuries. The second Dance may have changed that, but the efforts went to something else entirely, as they should have."
Quinn looked away after a long moment, his normally unflinching gaze turned by the fact that while he'd had many point out that he might be wrong, Po' Boy was the first person who'd simply stated that this was not the time for vengeance. He knew the druid wouldn't council forgiveness in seeking vengeance. While there may have been more powerful magicians than the man in front of him and Father O'Malley in the world, Quinn knew that few of them were anywhere near as ruthless and unconventional as the druid. In a hundred years time, he'd give the stripling in front of him even odds of accomplishing the feat of holding his own in a duel with a dragon. He took a deep breath and let it out.
"And what do you suggest? I know you have a plan."
"Your bargain with the Aztlaners is over. You struck at the dragon, they reclaimed what he took from them. It's up to them to hold it now. Point that out when they try and get your help hunting the rebels."
"That's all? I'd think you'd have something far more grand in mind than that."
Po' Boy laughed, ruefully. "When they involve you, my plans stay simple, because you have this habit of improvising, messily, and all over the place. All I can ask you to do is follow your conscience, and honor. And remember that personal is far from important at the level you play at."
Quinn shook his head and moved away, walking like a man who had a great deal to think about. Po' Boy shouted. "And I want my fragging record back!"
Quinn looked over his shoulder and laughed at that. A bit of true humor in the laugh in what may have been a long time. When he reached the customs desk, he answered all questions truthfully, and told them that a man who looked much like the elf that he saw on some of the wanted posters was headed for the gate. They thanked him for his time, and quickly ushered him out. As he caught a cab to the church, he was fairly amused to see a few of his old students in the ZDF charging into the gate. Harlequin was likely long gone by the time he'd informed them that he'd been spotted. Of course, without his face paint, they'd likely have little choice but to carefully examine everyone who was attempting to leave Denver through the airport. While he respected the courage of many in the Zone Defense Force, making their lives easy just never was in his nature.
As he rode along, something that had been bothering him managed to surface. It had almost seemed like Harlequin had wanted his approval back there. Like he had been looking for the one man who should have approved, and didn't like finding that he didn't. That was pretty far from normal, all things considered. The Immortals only sought the approval of each other, if they sought it at all. Most of them were still playing an ancient game by rules that were thousands of years old. The one thing he'd respected about Harlequin was that he was somewhat able to keep up with change, and adapt his tactics and strategies to suit. He'd been a good teacher for Jane, in a lot of ways.
He shook his head thinking about Jane. She'd outgrown her teacher in many ways. She an Po' Boy still talked, usually about something the Draco Foundation had need of his expertise for. She'd also introduced him to Quicksilver, and the two had hit it off fairly well. Mostly because they had looked at each other and each seen a man willing to do anything for the survival of his people, and decided to not face each other on the opposite side in the future. There never had been many drakes in the clan, but those few who didn't head for Quicksilver's shelter when the clan had found them were more than welcome additions. And the occasional training they had done with each other were very invaluable, as well.
The cab pulled to a halt in front of the church, and Po' Boy paid the man, collected his back and got out. The Vigilia always favored poorer churches, and it had occasionally driven some of them nuts that he insisted on randomly picking one of their bases and dropping a large charitable donation to them. It had been a strange game they played over the years. But it had never been filled with anything but respect. He'd randomly send him a large donation, and they would randomly send food or ammunition, depending on what was needed. It was like a pair of men trying to show who was more generous. Not to the world, but each other. And instead of extravagant gifts, they gave what the other might possibly need. What made it even funnier was the history between Christianity and the druids. It seemed to Po' Boy that it wasn't the Christians the druids had hated, so much as the Romans they hated happened to be Christian. He, Father O'Malley and Rabbi Levenstein had talked about that on poker night, a few times. it never ceased to amaze him that one night playing poker managed to accomplish more than a month of those interfaith council meetings. Hell, it had surprised the three men when that imam had asked to join the poker game. After a bit, though, the poker game had started to grow. It had drawn people who couldn't meet in public without a shouting match together and smoothed a lot of rough edges.
Shaking himself from his reverie, he ascended the steps to the entrance of the church, to ask one of the most senior people he knew in the Vigilia Evangelica a few questions. Who knows, he may even find himself getting a few answers.