ACTAEON, JULY 23, 2007
Dawn was finally breaking as Berlin settled once again into its daily routine. The small explosion on the Peril had made some news headlines, but was mostly relegated to small footnotes and blurbs in a city where airship disasters were so common. No, Ignatieff scoffed as the German press instead chose to immortalize yesterday with such useless trivia like local elections and charitable old men. How they lacked the vision of the coming world, one in which new technologies, man's own brilliance, lead the way to the future. The old was giving way to the new, and Ignatieff felt a pang of irritation as his contemporary journalists refused to see that fact.
Indeed, it could have been a simple matter of giving his inside man slightly different directions, and his little bomb could have wound up in the airship's explosive storage, sending them all up in one spectacular funeral pyre. But that was easy. Too easy. And it lacked an artist's touch. The league was on the move, drawn like rats in his trap to the places they had visited, to the people they feared were in danger or, of course, already dead. Like many things, he equated life to a good game of chess. Stay several moves ahead of your opponent, feign weakness, then strike like the cobra when they are weak.
And the best part, this was but the opening move. The first move of pawns that dictated the flow of the game. Already the league should have found the body of their turncoat informant and his little letter. Thus would the panic set in and rational thought be abandoned by certain party member. Thus would it be easier, when the time came, to divide and strike them all down one by one, until just one remained. The king in this little set, even if he didn't realize it yet.
Ignatieff watched the sun rise for a moment longer before turning back to his sparsely used bed. There was an opium fiend of a whore lying there, paid for but not used. Though he felt the rush of excitement after the night of flames, he quickly realized it was too early to celebrate and let the poor woman nearly overdose herself on her one source of joy. He didn't know if he should end her misery or not this morning, or let her suffer the inevitable consequences of her chosen life. Either of those choices would be endlessly cruel, but were like so many other choices this life had to offer.
After a moment of silent debate, he finally chose not to spare the woman a quick death. The local authorities would finally begin to sniff around both scenes of his actions as the sun finally rose, and the second move would have to begin sooner than later if he were to trap them all in Berlin.
Grabbing his coat and golden watch, which he was relieved to see hadn't been stolen by the whore and secreted into one of her... orifices, he made a quick dash for the door.
But then something stopped him. Thoughts swirled back into his head about the cruel fate of his near-mistress and the life of misery she would live out because of his inaction.
No, maybe there was something he could do.
With a turn on his heel, Ignatieff went to the room's small desk and began to write something quickly and as crude as he could. Though he would spare her the knife of flesh, he would stab her with words. Maybe, just maybe, the passage that flowed from his mind to the paper would begin a train of thoughts in her own dope-addled mind and seek to rescue her from such a life of depravity. Maybe, though the shot was a long one, he would one day run into her again in a convent or making a true life for herself with a good man. It would make his new world all the better.
As he finished, Ignatieff walked to the panting whore and gently laid the paper over her chest, where the verse would be impossible to miss, and once again strode to the door.
"Good bye." he whispered as he silently exited the room, to let the woman sleep the rest of her drug induced dreams, and hopefully begin life anew.
"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.
When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.
Now we see but through a glass darkly; then we shall see face to face."
1 Corinthians 13