A fight for dominance and nobility

Thirty-seven: an old nemesis

The brothel changed. It is no longer that dingy small place but a much bigger building than before. I could have sworn it is a pub. As soon as I stepped inside, I am greeted by silence. I guess they have heard of me as well. Everyone is staring at me as if I put on a whole circus show for their entertainment, but I do love it when their fear grows with each, and every step I take. I am approached by an older man; his attire speaks volumes about his position. He must be the owner of this brothel.

'Mr Blanchet, it is such an honour to be graced by your presence inside our walls.' He sticks out his hand, but I just stared at it, not bothering to shake it once. He cleared his throat to avoid any awkwardness. 'Well, I can bring the finest girls to your pleasure. That is if you want.'

'I am not interested in any of your girls. 'I remarked.

'Oh, forgive my mistake. 'He bowed down. 'What do you need, s-sir?'

'A seat at the finest table.'

'This way.'

He led me to the table at the back, it was less crowded but as soon as I approached everyone stood up and moved to the front.

My eyes were fixated on the entrance. There is only one person who would want to meet in a place like this. Pierre. The descendant of Pierre the first. It is funny how war waged between his great grandfather and my own father. He is fighting a battle that he will never win. This world does not apply to the rules of the past.

'Alexander flees France for England.' I looked up at the source of the voice. There he stood, his viziers behind him with guns hidden inside their coats judging by the way their coats looked more buff. They were doing a terrible job hiding it hence I can already see their hands slowly reaching for their weapons. 'You are nothing but a Coward Blanchet. The headlines said a lot about the time you left. '

'Your men are reaching for guns in their coats, you already have one stuffed in your sock. You are all waiting for me to strike. The very same person you liable as a coward is the one who wields nothing but a bottle of whiskey for a drink.'

I raised my hand signalling the innkeeper to prepare some rum.

Pierre chuckled. His scarred face already says a lot about his nature. A man who always partakes in a fight without pure reason or gaining nothing but being feared by the people of France. 'I see the English taught you confidence, but I will break it down with a simple snap of a finger, you acknowledge that right?'

I stared at him. It has long since I have seen him. His blonde hair is having streaks of grey in it. Age is something those mundane beings cannot control but surrender to it. Just like the way their cells are slowly dying which will eventually lead them to inevitable death.

'You are aging.' I stated.

'And you are immortal.'

I shook my head. 'a curse people of your kind wish to possess.'

Pierre whistled to a lady who came seductively at him. 'Listen here dove, prepare your friends because it seems as if my friend here,' he gestured to me. 'Will need a release.'

The young lass giggled before swiftly turning away. My eyes were still fixated on Pierre.

'Tell me, Blanchet, how is England? '

'Get to the point, Pierre.' I bit out.

He chuckled before staring down at the table. The innkeeper brought our drinks and placed it before us. Pierre drank him aggressively. 'Listen here,' he pointed his finger at me. 'Your father took away my great grandfather's wealth through sheer greediness.'