Scene 1 - The Musician
A man sat on a stool, leaning over his guitar plucking out a melody. His song was one of loss and mourning, a dirge for the loves of his life. The notes flowed out from his soul through the long familiar strings of the guitar. He wore blue jeans faded and slightly torn from long use. His equally well used leather shoes tapped a quiet rhythm in time with his sorrowful song. The rolled up sleeves of his red button up shirt were beginning to slide back down his forearms. His head slowly nodded over the strings of his guitar but his eyes were closed, shutting out the world around him. He was absorbed in his music. He could be playing in a stadium or a subway station for all he cared for the rest of the world. His song came to an end, the last note hanging in the air like a last kiss.
The bar was remarkably silent for a long moment. Then slowly, clapping began. First one, clap. Then more joined in and soon there was true applause. The musician bowed his head and walked over to the bar. Soon the normal noises of a late night bar filled the room. The many quiet conversations filling the tables. The one or two loud ones from those who had a few too many drinks. Someone started up the stereo again.
“You play with great soul,” said one of the listeners, who had sat down beside the musician at the bar.
The musician glanced at the speaker but said nothing as he began to pack away his guitar into its worn and battered case on top of the bar.
“I would bring back your love if I could.”
The musician said with a sad smile, “No one can bring her back and even if you could, you would demand your price.”
The listener smiled and said, “Of course. It would only be fair.”
“And I would pay it,” the musician said, “I would pay anything. I would give you my music if it would bring her back to me.”
“I know. That is why I would bring her back if I could.”
It would have been apparent to any of the bar’s patrons that these two had a long history. The musician had grown to despise the other somewhere along the way and had absolutely no desire to be speaking with him now. It would also be evident that the listener didn’t care what the musician wanted for any other reason than to manipulate the musician to accomplish the listener’s own goals. The listener saw the musician as only another piece in a game he was confident he would win in the end.
“But I will never hold her again,” the musician said as he closed up his guitar case. The bartender took it and stowed it safely away behind the bar. “Why are you really here? I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t working for hire anymore and that you and yours in particular would not be welcome.”
“You are one of the few that would be able to say something like that and get away with it, but why can’t I just come to listen to an old friend?”
“We were never friends.”
“I suppose that is true,” the listener said, “I came to offer you a deal.”
“I figured that much out the moment I saw you. Allow me to rephrase the question. What do you want?”
“I need you to capture a changeling for me.”
The bartender set down glass of scotch in front of the musician. It was a part of his payment for his playing this evening. The musician took a long sip from the glass and set it back down before answering. “What part of "I'm not for hire" are you failing to understand? I thought I made my position on changelings pretty clear the last time one of yours came around asking after my services.”
“I am aware you find the job distasteful, that is why I am willing to pay you in a coin you will cherish. If you do this thing for me, I will be able to arrange a meeting for you.”
“A meeting with whom?” the musician said as he began to walk away.
“With one of the Seven.”
The musician stopped but did not turn back to the bar. “How?”
“How does not matter.”
“Then who? Daven?” The musician was facing the bar once more.
“No,” the listener said, “I’m afraid no one really knows where he has been for a good while now. He seems to be enjoying his privacy of late.”
“I’m not interested in meeting with Mary.”
“No, I understand. It would be with either Vick or Justine.”
“You don’t even know who it will be?” The musician snorted and turned once more to leave.
“I assure you, I am confident I will be able to arrange a meeting with one of them in due time. You know how I am with fulfilling the terms of a deal.”
That made the musician stop once more. “When does the changeling come of age?”
“Just this morning,” the listener said, “I can take you near to where he will be just before dawn.”
“How do you know where he will be?” the musician said, “Changelings are well known to be unpredictable, especially in their early days.” Changelings very unpredictability was what made them so difficult to track down. It was the musician's unique ability to predict their movements that made him so valuable. Or at least that was one reason.
“True, but he has been receiving help from someone with more experience. Unfortunately for them, that experience has made them predictable.”
"Someone with more experience?"
"The Courts have changed while you've been playing your music to drunkards."
“Who?” the musician said, growing impatient. The listener knew the hook was set and was enjoying playing with the musician a little.
“A small group of changelings which has been eluding us for a time.”
“You said someone.”
“They are a group defined by their leader; without their leader they are nothing. You need only concern yourself about this new changeling.”
“Why do you care so much about this one changeling? You usually let the Queens fight over Changelings.”
“Under no circumstance are you to allow the changeling to choose a Court. Either Court. This is more important than bringing the changeling to me. If you can keep him alive and free from both Courts, I will consider that you have held up your end of the deal.”
“You mean you don’t even want him to choose Seelie? Why do you want him them?”
“Why is not a question to be answered lightly.”
"Tell me if you want me to help you," the musician said, finally returning to his seat. "I'm not getting involved unless I know what's going on."
“I can assure you that when you catch up with the changeling you will understand,” the listener explained vaguely. “Do we have a deal?”
The musician frowned before answering. “I get you this changeling or at least keep him alive and free, and you get me a meeting with either Vick or Justine with all due speed?”
The listener nodded.
“How long do I need to protect him?” the musician said, “Because I’m not agreeing to lifetime deal.”
The listener smiled and nodded once more in acknowledgement of the musician's distrustful manner. “You will only need to protect him until eight dawns from now. After that he will no longer need your protection.”
“One day past his quickening.”
The listener nodded.
"And how much can you tell me about this changeling?"
"I can tell you his name and who his father is."
"But only after I agree to this deal I'm guessing."
"Of course."
"So your proposed deal is this: Immediately after we both agree to this deal, you tell me this changeling's name and who his father is and take me to where he will be at dawn. I either bring the changeling to you or keep him free and alive past eight dawns from now. In return, you will set up a meeting between me and either Vick or Justine with all due haste. I understand that a strict timeline is hard to nail down at this time, but you will put your best effort in to make this meeting happen quickly."
The listener nodded once more before saying, "You have summarized the deal quite succinctly."
"Then we are agreed," said the musician holding out his hand.
The two shook hands. “A pleasure doing business with you,” the listener said.
The musician leaned over the bar to grab his guitar case from where the bar tender had stowed it. The bar tender glanced over prepared to yell, but only nodded when he saw it was only the musician. “I would appreciate it if you would take me as close as you can,” the musician said as he looked into the mirror behind the bar.
The listener put his hand on the shoulder of the musician and said, “Of course.” Then both the listener and the musician disappeared from the bar. There was no sound or flash of light and those in the bar seemed not notice their sudden disappearance and casual disregard of physics.
The musician and the listener reappeared standing in front of a dusty old mirror in a dimly lit room. The last few rays of sunlight shone through cracks in the walls. It was an old, ramshackle house that had obviously been abandoned for several years if not decades. “The changeling will be arriving at a farmhouse a few miles in that direction in a few hours. If you start now you should arrive at roughly the same time. The changeling's name is Jack Donnelly and I am his father. Good luck to you.” Before the musician could speak, the listener looked into the old mirror and disappeared from the abandoned house.
“Nice talking to you, your majesty,” the musician said to the empty house in an annoyed voice, “It’s been good to see you. I think I can handle it from here. I’ll contact you in eight days. Damn, I thought Fae were supposed to have good manners. And I somehow doubt he wants this Jack Donnelly protected out of fatherly love.”
With that the musician sighed and left the now empty house. He headed towards the farmhouse where this changeling was supposed to be arriving. There was no road or path in the direction he needed to go so he set out across the open fields. Long grass and weeds choked the ground which slowed his progress. He pushed his way through the waves of green and brown, speckled with occasional color from wild flowers leaving a trail of slightly trampled grasses in his wake.
The Sun was just beginning to shine its light over the horizon by the time the musician was getting close to the house. The house sat on a hill, overlooking its fields which lay empty after the harvest. It was an average farmhouse. Its white paint was just beginning to peel. Its gutters were just beginning to rust. It was a two story affair but not large. There were a few lights on in the lower level. There was a long gravel drive leading up to the house from the road which was a ways off. As Eric started across the last of the muddy fields, a car was sitting in the driveway still clicking as it cooled down. It appeared that the changeling and his new friends had beaten him here.
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