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BACK TO FRASER'S FRACTURED FICTION HENRY VI Part 2, act iv: scene ii (part the seventh)by A. Fraser
© Copyright 2004 A. Fraser. All rights reserved. "What do you mean, we didn't do a title search?" "We have the deed; a title search would have taken unnecessary time." "Uh oh." As they watched the sheriff and the convoy of cars containing BOO agents, deputies, and one reporter drive off into the sunrise, the three people representing the Cliff Road Crowd did not relax. As Michael had noted, the trees would not keep the invaders off forever. "I wonder if they did do a title search," Hermione mused. "Surely they wouldn't have gone to the sheriff and demanded an eviction if they didn't." Ray shrugged. "I don't know, they seem a bit like Alex--confident the land is theirs just because they have the deed. I don't remember there being any trouble with the deed or title search when I bought the land my house is on from him." Hermione stared at him. "Want to run that by me again?" "I bought the land my house is on from Alex when I moved here," Ray repeated, realization of what he was saying dawning in his eyes. "We had to do a title search then." "Of course, even when I bought Fairlawn from him, we had to establish that he owned the land!" Michael exclaimed. "Great goddess, we've all been stupid!" "Not stupid," Hermione said, "but certainly not thinking very clearly." "Remember what Gideon said? That he remembered seeing the deed? He was right! Alex did show it to all of us in Paris. And I've seen it several times since then." "But it wasn't in the safe," Hermione reminded them. "Where would tall, dark and angsty have hidden the damn thing?" "Let's go look," Ray suggested. Night fell in Paris. The Eiffel Tower's lights came twinkling on. The city of lights displayed them for awestruck tourists and bored natives alike. Paris truly came alive in the night-time. Certainly some of her residents did. "Just open the damned door," came Alex's muffled voice. "Not until you promise not to destroy any more casinos," Jean called out to him. "Yes, all right, I'm sorry I did that. I went a little crazy last night. You would, too, if your home was on the line." "Do you promise to behave?" Jean asked. "Boy scout's honour." "When were you a Boy Scout, Alexandre?" There was a thump, as if a head had hit the door in frustration. "Just unlock the door, Jean." "D'accord, d'accord." Jean fished for the key and released the rumpled vampire. "I could have just torn the door off the hinges, you know," Alex remarked mildly. "That would not have reassured me about your sanity," Jean replied. With a sigh, Alex sand into the nearest chair. "What sanity?" he asked. "Because of my stupidity, half of my friends are going to be homeless and have to go live in a trailer park." "It's not that bad," Mitch said. "Though things might get a bit hairy at the full moon." Both vampires shot him a look that said, plainly, this was not the time for puns. "It's not in your house by any chance, Jean?" Alex asked. "I might have dropped it here after I brought it to show everyone." The French vampire looked offended. "Are you saying that I have not cleaned my house since 1815?" "No, of course not, but..." "It is not here, Alex. And if you rip up so much as one floor tile to try and find it, I swear I will stake you." Another sigh. "I guess we'd better just go home and start packing, Mitch." "Good thing, since I already filed a flight plan and take-off time," Mitch replied. "We'd better get the hell out of France before they decide that the casino caper wasn't a clever new terrorist ploy and circulate our descriptions all over the country." "You might as well just shove me out of the plane halfway," Alex said. "All I do is mess things up." "What would that solve?" Mitch asked. "At least you're trying to correct your mistakes. Don't get so down on yourself. That's my job." "Oh, hah hah." "Come, mes enfants," Jean said, "I will drive you to the airport. Cheer up, Alexandre, something will turn up, I am sure." "You do have your passport and other ID, right?" Mitch asked. "Gaylord, you're pushing the envelope," Alex growled. "Of course I am. It's in my job description." Alex shook his head. "Why does Gideon put up with you?" "Because werewolves are way cooler than vampires. Remember?" Alex ignored this. "Fletcher must have picked up the deed, back in the salon," he said, gathering his few things together for the ride back to le Bourget airfield. "It's the only ... uh... no, that doesn't make sense." "What?" Mitch asked, noting Alex's thunderstruck expression. "Of course _I_ have the deed!" Alex exclaimed, hitting his forehead. "I've sold parcels of the land, I'd have to have title to it!" "Well, duh," said Mitch. "So where is it?" "Um... it must be in the mansion somewhere. Let's go!" "My car is not a space machine, Alex," Jean snorted. "Nor is Gideon's plane. We will get you home as quickly as possible." "So, we came all the way to France, tore up a casino, endangered Jean's reputation, and nearly got arrested, for nothing?" Mitch asked. "Essentially... yes." "Okay, just wanted to be clear about that." Mitch sighed. "Let's head home. I guess I'll miss my chance to get plastered in Paris." "I can't help feeling that this is very wrong," Hermione said, pulling out drawers in the mostly unused kitchen of Valley Mansion. "We should have asked permission." "Alex is in France," Michael reminded her, from the dining room where he was looking in the buffet. "And this isn't Janine's house; besides, she's still asleep." "Nothing in here," came Ray's voice from the living room. "How many rooms are in this house, anyway?" "I think it's seventeen," came the gloomy reply from Michael. Ray grunted. He had four rooms in his house, if you didn't count the underground workshop. "I'll move on to the den," he said. "What a pity I don't know any spells to find lost objects." "Do try to bone up on them next time, there's a good chap," said Michael, checking carefully behind the china. "Right after I learn how to turn an Archdruid into a newt," came the reply. "I've found a few things that might qualify as archeological artifacts," Hermione said, giving up on the kitchen. "Obviously, he doesn't have very many guests who eat real food." She was staying in Valley Mansion, of course, but had done her own grocery shopping. Feeding a Nameless One could be quite expensive if it was the wrong cycle. "I'd spout the usual cliche about needles and haystacks," Michael said, "but I've already found a needle." He sucked his finger. "Look at my shirt, Mary's going to kill me. Mrs. Jenkins is falling behind on the job." Mrs. Jenkins was the housekeeper, but she had gone home to England for an extended stay. "We need more searchers," Hermione suggested. "No, things would just get too confusing with more of us rattling around this house. And somebody might wake up Janine. We'll keep it to just the three of us, unless we get desperate." "What is up her butt, anyway?" Hermione asked. Michael looked at her. "I gather nobody's told you?" "Told me what?" "It was Alex who made her into a vampire." "His own cousin?" "Very distantly related," Michael said. "After all, she was born more than a century and a half after he died. But when she was orphaned, he found out and invited her to come and live here. Really bad idea. They eventually became lovers, and then he turned her. She's a bit resentful. It was a complicated relationship." "You lot certainly have complicated down to a fine art." Hermione shook her head. "We Nameless have better arrangements." Michael forbore to comment. Alone in the den, Ray stood in the centre of the room. He might not use magic the way it was depicted in popular film, but he had a considerable amount of power and talent at his command. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Something secret. Something hidden. Something probably put "somewhere safe" by its easily distracted owner. The special effects weren't all that special. No hidden drawers flew open, spilling their contents. The deed didn't jump out of its hiding spot and fly straight into Ray's hand. Industrial Light and Magic wouldn't have had anything to do. When he opened his eyes, he knew where the deed was, and went there. "In the end table drawer," he said, when he showed the rather yellowing document to Hermione and Michael two minutes later. "Underneath his contract for his novel and some other stuff that should probably have been in the safe." "Oh, you genius!" Hermione said, hugging the mage. "Hey," he smiled. "Don't make Estella jealous." "You said you didn't know any spells," Michael accused him. Ray shrugged. "I was wrong. Look, I didn't know it would work, okay?" "Okay," Michael nodded. "I do understand." He shook Ray's hand. "Well done." "You're not going to hug me, are you?" Ray asked suspiciously. The beauty of doing a title search, Fox Fletcher thought as he slogged through the archives, was that anybody could do one. You didn't have to own the property in question, or even be interested in buying it; you could just say you were curious about who owned it. And Gainsborough, who'd laconically suggested this idea to him, had been right. Those city folks in their suits hadn't bothered to do this. They'd just gone to old Webster Fletcher, Josephat's however many greats grandson, and bought a piece of paper off of him for booze money. Fox knew most of the members of the most extended family in New England. After all, he was one of them, unusual name and all. Not Fox, of course, that was just a nickname. But he didn't know Webster that well; that whole branch of the family was noted for sheer contrariness. Webster was easily the sort of scam artist who would sell some outsiders a false deed. Fox wondered where his cousin had gotten the thing. Hell, all you needed these days was a good computer, a good graphics program, and a good printer. Instant document. The suits probably hadn't looked that closely at it, not believing their luck, and it wasn't Gainsborough's job to establish the authenticity of documentation. That probably needed to be changed. Ah, success. Here was the title to Valley Mansion--owned lock, stock and gothic tower by one Alexander Philippe Goldanias, and passed down by him to his descendants, each one of whom had careful documentation proving him the legal heir. All due taxes, etc., had been paid; ditto for all the other properties on the Cliff Road. Each title was quite clearly owned by the present occupant. Someone had very expensive lawyers and forgers at their beck and call, obviously; but Fox wasn't about to mention that to the sheriff. He made copies of all the relevant documents and took them to Gainsborough's office. "Well, what do you know," remarked the sherrif, who didn't look terribly surprised. "I'm goin' to throw the book at that Webster. Sellin' them poor city folks a forgery." "Caveat emptor," said Fox. |
