The Lesser One Arc 2: Chapter 2: Restaurant

Restaurant

The aftermath of the sniper attack is only slightly more prolonged than the attack itself. Mandrake summons a sheet of glass to replace the broken one and puts it in place with a couple of slaps. The broken glass pieces are shoved into a trash bin and I am the one to carry it into the street.

Mandrake grins. “That damn bastard. The sniper was probably hired by the Darks to give us a scare.” He holds the bullet he caught between two fingers up to the light. “But I must say, using pure gold bullets sure stinks of petty overspending.”

As he says, the bullet is indeed made of gold.

“Well,” says Mandrake. “At least we know that the Darks have a good source of funding. But we could have guessed that, right?”

I nod. “Can I see the bullet?”

“Sure,” says Mandrake, dropping the solid gold nugget into my hand. It is a lot heavier than I thought it would be. Since it was caught perfectly between two fingers, it hasn’t been deformed much by impact.

“Can I keep this?” I ask.

Mandrake chuckles. “Sure. Though I don’t know what a kid who can easily buy as much gold as they desire would do with a tiny nugget like this. For me this is a lot but for you? No.” He pauses. “It would take some serious capital to buy enough of these to win in a sustained firefight. Plus, it’s just wasteful.”

I cup the gold bullet in my hand. It is warm.

Mandrake rummages through a bin and pulls out a sheet of metal.

“This is a prototype I’m working on,” he says. He hands it to me. “Since you’re the metals expert here, I was wondering what you’d think of it.”

I rub my thumb along the metal. “It’s fine,” I say. To tell the truth, I actually do not know as much about metal as Mandrake seems to think I do.

Though I have studied up a lot in my quest to find a way to teach those conjurers Crayton hired for me.

“Good,” says Mandrake. He takes the sheet and tacks it to the window with nails. Now the only light in the room is coming from a desk lamp. Mandrake sits in the recliner properly this time. He takes out a cigar and cuts it. After a thorough examination, he lights it with an antique lighter. After a single puff he lets it hang out of his fingers.

“I trust you have a strong conscience,” says Mandrake. “You were able to avoid causing trouble even with the huge amount of resources at your disposal.”

“Um, I’m not sure they’re so huge,” I say.

Mandrake takes another puff of his cigar. “Nonsense. You are the master of the entire contents of an S-class portal. Including the bosses. With that power you could conquer the world.”

I shake my head. “But I don’t want to.”

“Exactly,” says Mandrake. “However, your power makes you a sought-after figure. Everyone will want you to be on their side, and they will offer very tempting things in return.”

Besides reviving Alice, which I don’t think anyone would be able to do, I really don’t know what I want deep down inside. I just want to relax and enjoy life while I have it.

Mandrake stands up from the chair and walks to the kitchen. He is still holding his cigar.

“I was going to offer you something to eat,” he says, “But this safe house hasn’t been restocked in a while.” He opens the fridge. “All we have is a couple of microwave dinners.”

I shake my head, and then turn to Sebastian. “What’s the fanciest restaurant in London?”

Sebastian seems to think for a moment. Then he smiles. “A restaurant opened not too long ago that serves conjured meals. They recently gained their third Michelin Star.” He puts his finger to his temple. “I think it was called ‘Conjuratus.’”

I grin. “Great,” I say. “Let’s take Mandrake there.”

Mandrake walks out of the kitchen. “So, do you want something to eat or not?” He looks between me and Sebastian. “What?”

“We’re going to take you out to eat,” I say.

“Well then!” says Mandrake. “I hope it’s somewhere not too expensive!”

“We’re heading to Conjuratus,” I say.

Mandrake’s eyes open wide. “I would love to,” he says. “Are you sure you want to be spending that kind of money on me?”

“You’re a silverbones,” I say. “Don’t you have a lot of money anyways?”

Mandrake shakes his head. “No. As a matter of fact, I make just enough money to live on.”

I am confused. With his power, he could be doing anything, making a ton of money.

Mandrake tilts his head. “I see you’re confused. It’s just a personal creed of mine. I’m very against the idea of wealth.” He shrugs. “But I can’t refuse the kindness of others, either.” He smiles. “Let’s go!”

Sebastian leads Mandrake and I through the building until we reach the street. Our limo is already pulled up next to the sidewalk. Sebastian opens the doors for Mandrake and me. I get in first.

Mandrake sits down.

I open the mini fridge. “Do you like alcohol?” I ask.

Mandrake raises an eyebrow. “What’s a minor like you doing with vintage whiskeys?”

“There’s also brandies and gin,” says Sebastian, from the front seat.

“I’ll take the gin,” says Mandrake. He grabs a bottle of gin and pours himself a glass. Glancing at me, he smiles. “Well, I suppose you need something to drink as well.”

I open the hidden fridge and pull out a diet root beer, popping it open with a snap.

Mandrake chuckles. “Diet root beer. Good choice, lad.”

Sebastian sighs from the front seat. Yeah, yeah. Diet root beer isn’t exactly suited for a rich young prince like me. Appearances and all that. I take a guilty sip of the beverage and set it down on the table with high edges.

Mandrake watches the cars beside us, not saying a word. I am left wondering what he is thinking.

“You haven’t told me directly,” I say, “But what’s the purpose of the Silverbones?”

“Immortality,” says Mandrake. “Or, at least, the search for it.” He sighs. “Plus a lot of other things. Look, lad. Don’t worry about what we do before you’ve made a decision.”

“But it’s obvious what I want to do,” I say. “I’m no bad guy.”

“So they all say,” says Mandrake. “I’m not counting on your presence until after the Darks contact you. We’ll see how moral you are after you’re presented with their offer.”

We pull into the parking lot of Conjuratus. It’s a fancy building in the London suburbs that is decorated as one would expect a high-class restaurant to look.

Sebastian opens the door for me, and I step out. Mandrake follows.

Sebastian bows. “I will not be accompanying you this time,” he says. He hands me a card. “Here is the method of payment.”

It looks like a simple debit card. I shrug and put it in my pocket.

“That’s a British Express Platinum, my boy,” says Mandrake. He seems genuinely impressed.

I take the card back out of my pocket and examine it. It doesn’t look that special to me. Sure, it’s shiny and has good build, but I would expect that of any payment plastic. I place it back in my pocket.

Mandrake chuckles, and then turns to the entrance of the restaurant. “This will be the first time I’ve eaten high-class conjured food,” he says.

We both step in. I am dressed sharply—it’s been a habit of mine ever since I realized I could—and, of course, Mandrake is wearing a black suit and fedora. We are dressed for the establishment.

A waiter approaches us.

“Reservation for Mr. Red, correct?” he says.

I nod.

“Right this way, gentlemen,” says the waiter. He leads us to a rather private table near the back of the establishment. I can catch a glimpse of the kitchen from here.

We both sit down. The waiter hands us our menus.

I read through it and decide to try the Duck Flambe.

“So, what are you going to have?” I say, to Mandrake.

“Just a steak,” says Mandrake. “I’m not very used to establishments like this.”

“Neither am I,” I say. “But I suppose at chances like this I have to try something brave.”

“That’s a good way to think about it,” says Mandrake, as he puts his menu down. He folds his hands and rests his elbows on the table.

“I have to ask,” he says. “Do you know where your money is coming from?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I say. “I just accept the fact that the portal beings working for me aren’t causing too much trouble.”

“Hrm,” says Mandrake. “You also have your Rearden Metal, right?” he says.

I nod.

Mandrake crosses his arms. “It’s normal for any human who has absorbed a multi-thousand-year ring to manifest many special powers. Entrance to the Silverbones requires absorption of at least a five-thousand-year spirit,” he says. He taps his finger on the table. “I myself have acquired a twelve-thousand-year spirit. I was originally the owner of an organic compound manifestation. A certain polymer that doesn’t have an official name. I was assigned to be an adventurer because I could use the polymer to create shields.”

“So you’re a tank-class,” I say.

“Correct,” says Mandrake. “And I manifested a wide range of powers having to do with plastics and organic compounds. That metal sheet I showed you is actually an organometal.”

I whistle. “I should try making something like that.”

Mandrake chuckles. “I don’t doubt you could. Rearden Metal and my creation are in different classes, but both are strong.”

The waiter comes to the table and we order. After the waiter leaves, Mandrake folds his hands.

“So, you’re here in London for just another month, right?” Mandrake says.

I nod. “Just long enough to teach the conjurers Esmex hired to produce Rearden Metal.”

Mandrake sighs. “I don’t know if that will come to good or not, but it’s part of my personal creed to never profit from what I can produce.”

I shake my head. “I don’t really want to profit,” I say. “I just want to be useful to the world.”

“Well, that’s noble of you,” says Mandrake, with a small smile.

The waiter arrives with our dinners.

“That was quick!” says Mandrake, as the food is placed on the table.

The waiter gives a professional smile. “All our food is conjured in its final form by our head chef.”

I look at the beautiful duck roast in front of me. As the waiter leaves, I take a bite, making sure to adhere to the English etiquette I was taught not long ago.

There is a loud screech and a crash. A car comes barreling through the front of the restaurant and smashes the wall, sending tables and dishes flying.

A couple seconds of silence pass. The car doors open and a gigantic, beefy man with Schwarzenegger-class muscles steps out. He is holding a chaingun.

“Get down!” yells Mandrake, as he tips the table in the direction of the attacker. He forms a semi-clear barrier of organic material between us and the gunman.

The gun opens fire, sounding less like individual bullets and more like the tearing of a cosmic sheet of paper. Screams are everywhere. Broken dishes and tracer rounds fly all over the place. One of the restaurant goers seems to be an adventurer and tries to fight back. Before he can take out his weapon, he is turned into a fine red mist.

“Damn Ronald,” says Mandrake, as he crouches behind the table and his shield.

“Is that his name?” I say, as I watch the restaurant explode.

Hundreds of bullets are pinging against Mandrake’s shield.

Mandrake’s face is deadly serious. “Yes. He’s not someone you want to mess with.” He pauses. “Not that anyone in the Darks is to begin with.”

The chain gun is still firing. I’m pretty sure that, by now, everyone in the room is dead. And yet the gun keeps firing.

Finally, the chain gun stops. All that is left is the sound of it spinning, and then that stops.

Ronald takes a couple of steps towards us, shells clinking beneath his feet. He stops in the middle of the room.

“Come out, come out!” he says, with a thick German accent. His eyes lock on us. He grins. “We need to borrow little Markus for a moment,” he says. “If you don’t turn him over,” Ronald holds up a bomb detonator, “I will put a hole in this street. Many people will die!”

“You’ve already killed enough,” says Mandrake. “Why do you want to kill more?”

“Kill?” says Ronald. “I do not kill. I stomp. I crush. I flatten.” He turns the chain gun towards us. It begins to spin again.

Mandrake whispers to me. “If he directs the gun against my shield, I won’t be able to hold long.” He cringes. “I’m going to have to let you go. They won’t kill you or torture you. You’re too valuable.”

I shake my head. “I have an idea.” I reach into my personal dimension and find the stone golem boss from the S-class portal. It’s still there. When I see it in my mind’s eye, it stands up from a sitting position and kneels before me.

“Master,” it says.

I snap my fingers.

A white portal appears on the restaurant floor, covering several broken tables and dead bodies. The golem begins to rise from the ground. First its head, then its shoulders. When it is at its waist, it tears a hole in the ceiling. With two gigantic steps, it walks out of the portal and tramps towards Ronald.

“You bastard!” yells Ronald, as the golem picks him up in both hands.

“Guns don’t work against portal beings,” I say, grinning slightly.

Of course, my grin falls when I see the dead bodies being crushed underneath my golem’s feet.

It returns for a split second when the golem throws Ronald like a professional baseball pitcher and sends the killer flying over the city skyline. Then the golem bows to me, returns to the portal, and sinks back into the floor.

“That won’t kill him,” says Mandrake. “It will barely scratch him.” He sighs. “Now they’re probably going to punish you at some point. And they won’t be attacking you alone anymore. If you try the golem trick on Blastoid, you’ll end up with a cloud of steam and a pile of broken rocks.” Mandrake wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.

Police sirens wail in the distance.

“Well,” says Mandrake, “After the theft at the National Gallery, the news will have a lot of things to report today.” He turns to the dozens of dead bodies covering the restaurant floor. “Namaste,” he says, holding his hands together.

“Rest in peace,” I say, holding my own hands together.

It looks like the war has just begun.