'Qui: The Fall of Ottawa' Chapter 8 pt 1

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Qui was surprised to find that Cranston was right about Arundel—the man was the definition of a charmer. And that wasn't the only thing she was right about, either. Qui enjoyed his company. Genuinely enjoyed it, just as she suggested. Not because of his casually charming personality, good looks, or surprisingly humble attitude. No. What did it for Qui was the compliment on his car. 

"That's a '77 Toyota Celica, right?" Arundel asked, looking over Qui's ride. He spoke with a posh British accent, the kind that could somehow make even the most vulgar language sound sophisticated if he were so inclined. "I've heard of these. One of my investors swears by them—calls them the 'Japanese Mustang.'" He ran the tips of his fingers along the top of the sporty coupe's open passenger door. "I was never much for foreign cars, myself, but the style fits you." 

His expensive-looking suit fit him tightly, which was unusual in this modern era of more casual business attire and relaxed-fit men's clothing. Qui wasn't terribly fashion-oriented, but he had to admit that the man looked sharp.

Nine times out of ten when another Kindred saw Qui's choice of car they turned their nose up at it and insisted on alternate transportation. He was unusual among his peers in that he didn't enjoy having mortals drive for him and had no interest in top-of-the-line vehicles that singled him out to the public as what one of his old retainers had lovingly called 'Mr. Money Bags.' He actually considered this Celica an indulgence. It was nicer than the average car he drove, but he'd fallen in love with the coupe the moment he saw it on the dealer room floor. The burnt orange paint job felt modern and the interior of the same color was to die for. Maybe the seventies weren't all that bad, after all. 

He wondered what Sam might think about it. He'd expected the early evening's activities to be slow and tedious as maintaining a mortal cover typically was, but the woman was quite engaging and genuinely pleasant to be around. Of course, all that would probably change if she knew what he really was.

For now, this car was all that he needed, and the vehicle didn't care whether he was technically alive or dead. Plus, it didn't hurt that the liftback and foldable rear seat were excellent for transporting bodies without the need for a conspicuous van. That was quite a cherry on top and he'd made liberal use of the newfangled features since the purchase.

"I have to be honest with you, Arundel," Qui said. "When you asked if I could drive us to Elysium, I assumed you'd hold your nose when you got in the car. Most Kindred consider my tastes to be eccentric at best. The last time a Primogen rode shotgun with me, she asked if I was 'slumming it.' That took a lot of joy out of the operation."

"You expected me to be a cliché stuck-up businessman," Arundel said as he got into the passenger seat. "We Ventrue have that reputation, I fear. To be fair, you wouldn't be entirely wrong. There are many masks that I wear; the ability to adapt and change is imperative to upholding the Masquerade. You'll see the businessman mask once we arrive at our destination. For now, I'm more interested in learning about the man I'm working with. To put it bluntly—it's difficult to get to know a fellow conspirator when he dislikes you so thoroughly that his face looks like it's been carved from a frowning rock."

Qui chuckled. "We've all met that type." 

His tone seemed to please Arundel and whatever tension remained between the two of them evaporated. "I found Cranston's description of you…lacking in the finer details," Arundel said. "The woman is results-oriented to a fault. She doesn't see people; she sees faceless pawns."

Qui started the engine and the car roared to life, echoing off the walls of the underground parking garage. "That's not exactly uncommon," he said. "Most Kindred make pawns of each other. It's the way of things."

Arundel cranked the window open and rested his arm along the edge. "I like my chess pieces to have faces," he said with a smile. "Although I generally prefer them with their teeth intact and fewer broken bones."

It took Qui a moment to realize whom the man was talking about. To his credit, he was busy navigating his way into an unfamiliar city at the moment, so deciphering the man's meaning took a little extra effort. "Cranston's already had you over?" he asked.

"Yes," Arundel said. "She called me right after you left and had me deal with the spy. I can't blame her for not wanting that business hanging over her head." He pointed out a turn that Qui was about to miss before lounging back comfortably in the half-reclined passenger seat. "Considering the damage done to her haven, I'm surprised she didn't destroy the poor girl as soon as she was defeated. I assume you have something to do with the spy's unlikely brush with good fortune?"

Qui nodded.

"I thought as much," Arundel said. "That was well done. If I know Michel Bouchard, he intended for the girl to be killed. He wants leverage to keep Cranston from getting overly ambitious."

That was curious. "I assumed he just wanted power," Qui said. "Why would he care about Cranston's ambition if it wasn't aimed in his direction? Most Kindred I've known would be happy to see their rivals pick each other off one by one."

"Bouchard epitomizes the title of 'Sewer Rat,'" Arundel said. "Where most Nosferatu see the title as insulting, he's chosen to embrace it. He's more than content ruling the underground and he sees outward expansion as a threat to the sanctity of his domain." 

"An elder wanting to rule without expansion?" Qui asked. "That's downright strange."

Arundel chuckled. "Indeed. Michel Bouchard spent years trying to hold the city's Nosferatu under his thumb, but eventually Cranston rose to the top, no longer containable. Rather than start a war he couldn't win, Michel decided to exile her from his sewer domain. That's why her havens are in a network of hotel basements."

"I was wondering about that," Qui said. "The separation seemed…personal."

Arundel nodded. "To those on the outside it seems like they have little to no contact with each other, but they've been fighting a proxy war for at least a decade now." He shrugged and looked out the window toward Parliament Hill. "A pointless exercise as far as I'm concerned. I was pleased to hear that Cranston has finally moved on to set her ambitions against greater targets more worthy of her attention."

Qui tried to hide a frown. He still wasn't quite sure what his escort knew about the assassination plot. Cranston had warned him that Arundel was able to sniff out secrets. The man hadn't been asking pointed questions, but he'd been speaking the entire time as though he were in on the plan from the beginning. Cranston may have on-boarded him when he fixed her spy problem, but until Qui knew for sure, he knew he should keep the details of the operation to himself.

[Chapter to be continued in pt 2]