Chapter Thirteen
A day before the Spring Gala, a note arrived at the diner for Will, informing him that it was semi-formal attire, but that he wouldn't need a full tie and blazer, simply a nice shirt and slacks, not jeans or shorts. Silversmith had also stressed that Will should be dressed in muted colors, preferably grays. Will spent far longer than he would've liked to admit trying to find a look that made him look both respectable and a little intimidating, but instead settled for not looking like a high school senior begrudgingly going to his first dance.
He'd been told to wait at the diner, and Will had also been reminded that Chicago was a time zone ahead, so sure enough, at around two, Silversmith's assistant Kelly came into the diner and gave the room a quick sweep. She was dressed much like she usually was - like a rebellious goth college student, black fishnet stockings, black bustier, black leather shorts, and a heavy black jacket hanging loose and open, her hair that unnaturally dark red wine color, her makeup a bit more on point than the last few times he'd seen her. This time she didn't seem quite as dismissive of him as she had in the past, however, giving him more than a cursory glance, as if he'd somehow elevated his status in her eyes, and was no longer unworthy of taking seriously.
"Hey Kelly," he said to her when she entered, her eyes lingering on him a moment or two longer before giving the rest of the diner the once over.
"Bowland," she said to him. "You think you're ready for this?"
"Not really," he joked, "but I don't think that matters much. Besides, your boss is going to keep me safe, remember?"
"Oh, I know," she said, looking back out the window, making a gesture to Silversmith outside that it was safe to enter the diner. "The only thing he can't keep you safe from is yourself."
When Silversmith made his way inside, Will took a look at the man with eyes that could now appreciate at least a little bit more about what he'd learned about the magician known as the Red Joker. He'd thinned down a little, but still looked slightly portly, his skin a deep shade of tan, his hair thinning but jet black, although there were flecks of grey he could see in the thick, bushy goatee the man had grown since Will had seen him last, far more hair than Will would've thought possible to grow in such a short period of time. He was dressed, much as he was previously, in a suit more befitting a college history professor than a deadly spellcaster, although the shades of crimson and red were woven in amidst the blacks and browns, and that did add a certain layer of gravitas to the man's appearance. He still wore his silver, circular bifocal glasses, and his fingers were, as they had been the previous time, adorned with a few rings. In his right hand, however, he had an elegant gentleman's walking stick, the wood a type Will didn't immediately recognize, with ornate carvings layered with a crimson paint over them, none of which meant anything to Will except the one right at the knob where he held it - a stylized J and $ mixed together.
"You look as ready as you're going to be, Mister Bowland," Silversmith said to him, his voice neither harsh nor judgmental. "Before we depart, let me go over the ground rules you are to follow while you are in my company at the Spring Gala. Accept no gifts, deal no insults and question no motives, aloud anyway, even in your most quiet of voices. There will be time for us to talk after the Gala, but while we are there you may ask me any questions that cross your mind, as long as they do not impugn other guests, and are asked respectfully. Take food and beverage only from those designated to serve it. They will be wearing a red arm band with a symbol on it like this," he said, drawing a strange sigil in flames floating in the air for a moment before it disappeared. "Be sure to touch the armband before you accept your food or drink. If you do not feel a slight shock, let me know immediately, and I will handle the problem."
"Is that an issue?"
"There are... certain members of our world that feel a need to try and use old laws, old compacts, old agreements in order to gain advantages for themselves, at the expense of those who haven't spent centuries combing through the bylaws," Silversmith sighed. "It seems like every year, there's someone trying to enslave a new arrival, and every year, one of the Jokers has to step in and handle the matter."
"There's more than one Joker?"
"The designate 'Red' should've given that away," he chuckled. "But yes, there is a ranking denoting the fifty-two greatest spellcasters in the world, and one joker for each color. I'm the Red Joker, and there's also a Black Joker, who tends to the southern hemisphere. The hearts and diamonds are spellcasters in the northern hemisphere, the clubs and spades are all in the southern. Keep in mind, those colors are purely for the designates of the bearer of each rank. The color Red is also used to designate the houses of the tribes of Europe."
"The what now?"
Silversmith rubbed his forehead with a handkerchief, as if the whole thing bothered him also. "It's an imperfect system, believe me, Will, I'm all too familiar with it. Thankfully the only person really affected by it is me. But if you hear, for example, someone described as the Five of Hearts, that is a sign they are a very powerful magician and should be treated accordingly. We'll talk about the Seven Tribes when we arrive. It's going to feel like a lot of information being thrown at you all at once, Will, but you're a very bright young man and I feel confident you'll keep up."
"Then I suppose I'll just trust you and we can be on our way," Will said with a sigh. This did feel like it was going to be a lot to take in, but somehow Will knew he needed this crash course more than anyone, already a lifetime behind anyone else who had grown up with his lineage.
"Good lad," Silversmith said, gesturing over to Kelly. "Be on your guard, my dear," he said to her. "There's talk the Prodigal's going to be showing up and attempting to insult me. Don't fall for his baits or his attempts to draw us into something we have no interest in humoring him with."
"We're not going to let him insult us freely, are we Master?" she asked him, a wounded tone to her voice.
"Of course we are, my dear, and you'll see why, should he engage us."
"I look forward to you demonstrating what I am missing, Master," she said, offering a slight curtsy of respect to him. "As always, you know far better than your humble slut."
Silversmith rolled his brown eyes a little. "Lay it on a little thicker, why don't you, Kelly? I don't believe it's thicker than peanut butter yet."
She grinned and turned her head away. "Your slut will try next time, Master."
"Let us be off," Silversmith sighed, lifting the walking stick a foot or so off the ground and then pounding it down against the floor of the diner with a single thump. With that thump, the area around Will, Kelly and Silversmith began to swirl in a vortex of color and light particles, sparks of red lightning jumping around as the technicolor wash before the room started to settle down again, and Will could see they were inside some sort of large ballroom inside of a very expensive looking hotel or convention center, with a few dozen people scattered around the place, a long buffet table on one side of the room, a bar over in the corner, and a DJ stand in the corner. There also seemed to be a stage with a podium and a microphone on it, but no one was up there now.
"Well, it looks like we've arrived before most of the guests," Silversmith said with a slight smile. "That's good for us. It'll let me make a few introductions. Ah, I see the man of the hour's right over there. Come come, let's go introduce you to one of your contemporaries."
As the three of them made their way across the room, Will couldn't help but notice that nearly everyone was dressed in a shade of green. Most of them were in either slacks and simple shirts, or in some cases jeans and t-shirts, like most of them had walked out of a Bruce Springsteen tribute act. A man in his early thirties seemed to be holding court with a handful of other men and women dressed in green, each looking over at Silversmith as the conversation suddenly died and all levity disappeared except for the man in the center, who grinned, extending a hand to Silversmith. "Hey there, Jonas," the man said. "Good to see you again, and so soon."
"Captain Clarke, perhaps we don't know each other
quite
well-enough to be on a first name basis, you might think?" Silversmith said to him, although it was hard to ignore the fact that there was a hint of a smile creeping in around the corners of Silversmith's face.
"I think if we all go around referring to you as Silversmith all night, I'm going to lose my fucking mind," Captain Clarke said with a laugh. "Even if it's just for this one night, call me Tommy and allow me to call you Jonas."
The man looked to be in his late thirties, short and muscular, with brown hair cut short and thick mutton chops that ran down the sides of his cheeks. He wore black horned rim glasses and felt more like a tiny lumberjack than someone in the supernatural world. There wasn't anything even vaguely intimidating about him, and Will found himself liking the man immediately.
"Alright, for one night, I suppose I can make an exception," Silversmith said, the smile no longer able to be concealed. "Will Bowland, let me introduce you to Captain Tommy Clarke, Seventh Captain of the Green Wizards' House. Tommy, this is Will Bowland, who is a new member of the Green Werewolves' House."
Tommy looked at Will with a slight smirk and then moved to shake his hand. "Good meeting you, Will. I'm a little curious how you're a 'new' member, though, considering werewolves are trained from birth how to keep their heritage in check."
"My mother took me away from the other werewolves and never told me about my heritage, so I just discovered my lineage last year," Will said. "So I didn't grow up around werewolves, and have a lot of catching up to do."
Tommy shrugged it off with a light smile. "I think you'll do fine, kid. And if you aren't, well, I'm always looking to do solids for people who I wouldn't mind owing me one."
Will laughed a touch nervously. "Silversmith told me not to take on any debts while I'm here, so somehow I don't think I'm going to take you up on that."
"Tommy might be an exception to that rule," Silversmith laughed off. "But still wisest to not owe anyone anything. Tommy's a good egg, though, one of the few other mages I would say you can openly take at his word."
Tommy smirked, fishing a toothpick from his pocket, setting it on his lips. "Now Jonas... are you implying that you can't trust most mages?"
"
Implying?
" Silversmith cackled. "No, dear boy, I'm flat out
stating
it."
"So, there are seven Captains for each tribe?" Will asked, trying to sort the hierarchy out in his head, but still lacking key touchstones.
"No no, seven Captains for each House of each tribe," Tommy said. "Good heavens, Jonas, you really haven't taught him anything yet, have you? Let me tell you the important aspects quickly, Will. You've got seven tribes - Dragons, Elves, Faerie, Human Wizards, Shades, Vampires and Werewolves. Each tribe is divided into seven houses - Green for North American, Blue for South American, Red for European, Orange for Asian, Yellow for African, Indigo for Australian and Violet for the rare Antarcticians. That means there's 343 of us pretentious fucks who have titles scattered around the world and some degree of authority when it comes to dealing with magical goings on."
