Chapter 2
Viktor led the Darksmith and his apprentice through the double doors of the top floor, past the portraits of former Ministers of Finance who had reined over the national Ministry of the preceding years. He led them to the second conference room, which had the title "Scarlet Ibis" engraved over the double doors.
Viktor barged into the room unceremoniously. They had booked the room for a meeting and had assured the building's caterers that they would provide their own helpers. They would remain undisturbed until the watchman made his patrol later that night.
Viktor surveyed the board. His manservant Grigori, a pale figure with a bushy beard and mustache and an aristocratic nose, stood on the far side of the room facing the expansive windows. His attention had been drawn to the darkening skies. "Striking view, isn't it." His gaze never wavered; his reflection in the glass was a clear mimicry. "Like having a clear view of what is to come." Grigori turned to face Viktor.
He sniffed Viktor's collar, his brows shot up, Grigori snickered at the scent of silver that lined Viktor's waistcoat and jacket that assailed him, " a tad…immature?" Grigori lent accusingly.
Viktor's attention had already been caught by the sight of the other young boy in the room. He sat on a chair in the corner. Nikolai, sullen, looked out at the same intense weather. The dark clouds rolling in from the horizon were nearly upon the shoreline. The deep-barreled rumbling and flashes of lightning promised a dire circumstance to the evening. Viktor sighed, annoyed. He drew himself up beside Grigori. "What the hell Grigori, this is not a family affair!" he ground out quietly.
Grigori looked at him, unfazed by his master's aura of malice. "I am not to leave young master unattended. He is quite traumatized by the events that occurred last night - you should have a word..." Viktor walked away from him.
Had Viktor paid attention to what he had said? Grigori scowled as he watched Viktor grab the weapon that had wanted repair. Grigori's attention, too, had been stirred by the remarkable aesthetics of the club. Hell's Embrace, Viktor's superior weapon, had been chipped badly during his last battle.
The club was about two and a half feet in height, its weight - hefty. Though as a man of strong build Viktor felt no extremity in wielding it. The wood the club was made of was jagged, but smooth to the touch, as though chiseled from a tree trunk and then sandpapered with exquisite care. Its crown was encrusted with clear, hard crystals and black moon rock. Spikes adorned its circular rim.