Welcome to Rotterdam

Friday, June 11th, 1982

“Shall I come with you, Darling?” June asked. She sat at the desk in the hotel room, brochures spread out in front of her. She twisted a lock of her lustrous blond hair in her finger, staring at one brochure of a medieval church with no small amount of interest.

Dean finished buttoning his shirt and leaned over and kissed her.

“I’ll meet you after. It shouldn’t take long. What is on the agenda for today?”

“I’ve heard amazing things about Laurenskerk,” she replied. “Did you know it is the last remnant of the medieval city of Rotterdam? It was damaged in the Rotterdam Blitz and they considered tearing it down until Queen Wilhelmina interceded and insisted it be saved.”

Dean smothered a smile, “Are you taking the boys?”

June sighed, “Junior has already tried begging off, but Michael seems interested. Perhaps he is just humoring me.”

“Oh honey, it just isn’t Junior’s thing. He’s like his dad. Take Michael and let Junior stay here. He’ll be fine.”

“Dean Edmonds, you can’t be serious!” June stared at him, aghast, “He is sure to head for the red light district and who knows what else!”

“Would you prefer that I take him with me to the interview?” He reached out and patted her hand. “Go on, take Michael and I’ll take Junior. I promise to keep him far away from the red light district and any other evils.”

“You are humoring me, aren’t you?”

“My darling wife, I would never do such a thing.”

June shook her head, “You would, you terrible man. But fine, yes, take Junior. Shall we meet back here for a late lunch?”

He smiled and hugged her, his lips brushing her forehead in an affectionate kiss, “Sounds perfect. I’ll see you then.”

An hour later, he approached the low-slung mid-century modernist building on Jan Evertsenplaats with his grandson Junior in tow. The building consisted of two stories, although the upper one appeared to be a recent addition. In its entirety, the building consisted of dark tinted glass and concrete and a small sign out front read Fyrsta Heim Associates.

This had to be the place.

They entered through the glass door and approached the receptionist. Other than the girl, whose raven black hair was cut short and whose emerald green eyes were complimented by a matching green suit, there was no one else in sight. A heavy wooden door to one side hid the rest of the building from view.

“Goedemorgen.” The girl looked as if she were only a few years older than Junior. “Kan ik jou helpen?”

“Um...” Dean tried to pick the words apart. Had she asked if she could help them?

Junior whistled under his breath, and the girl blushed, two spots of pink appearing in her face. “Oh, you are American, yes?” Her English was heavily accented, yet understandable. Dean found it delightful.

He nodded, “Yes, do I have the right place? I’m supposed to be interviewed for my book by...” He consulted his note, “Anna Verndari?”

“Ja. I mean, yes, I will page her for you.” The girl pressed a button on a small box and spoke quietly into it. There was a whisper of a response in return, “She will be here momentarily, Mr. Edmonds. Would you like tea, water, or perhaps coffee?” She asked as she motioned to two chairs next to the door they had entered.

Junior spoke up, “Do you have any pop?”

Her eyebrows knitted together, “Pop?”

“Soda pop? Coke? Pepsi?”

“Oh, ja. Coca Cola! I will see.” She began to turn away, stopped and swung her gaze to Dean. “Would you like ze Coca Cola as well, Mr. Edmonds?”

“Water will be fine, thank you.”

She bowed slightly and disappeared through the heavy wooden door, reappearing a few moments later with two glasses. Junior sucked his down in a matter of seconds, the straw sucking air loudly as the large wooden door opened yet again.

A tall woman with jet black hair, piercing green eyes, and clothed in an expensive silk business suit locked eyes on Dean. She seemed oddly familiar, but Dean could not place her. Something about her hair, her eyes, and the way that she carried herself - as if she were...

She closed the gap between them and Dean rose to meet her.

“Mr. Edmonds. I’m Anna Verndari, it is a pleasure to meet you.” A smile ghosted across her lips but didn’t settle there. “Please, if you would come this way.”

Junior stood up and her gaze shifted to the boy, saying nothing. Dean felt a shimmer in the air as she pressed her cool hand into his, almost as if her intent had taken form. Junior sat down as quickly as he had stood up. “Actually, maybe I’ll just stay here, Gramps.”

Dean looked over at his grandson, the boy’s face had glazed over slightly. “You sure, Junior?”

“Yeah Gramps, go ahead and do your interview.”

“Sarah,” the woman said, still staring at Junior, “please make sure our young guest has more to eat and drink.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl answered, moving towards Dean’s grandson. “I will get you more of ze Coca-Cola and a slice of spekkoek. It is quite good.”

Dean allowed himself to be led away from Junior, through the heavy wooden door and a stone hallway and stairs beyond that. The hallway was narrow, yet wide enough for them to both walk side by side. The stone beneath their feet was smooth and as they descended the thick steps, the walls changed from smooth concrete to a rich stone etched with designs that appeared quite old. Some of it appeared to be runic, and there were scenes from Paleolithic times combined with different, unrecognizable symbols. “Is that Aramaic?” He asked, reaching out to touch one of them.

Anna’s cool hand on his arm stopped him. “My apologies, Mr. Edmonds, but if you would refrain from touching the walls please. They are quite old.”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry.”

Anna watched his eyes move over the walls. “The building above is quite new. It was rebuilt after World War II as most of Rotterdam was destroyed in bombings. The catacombs below, however, well you can see that they are far older.”

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“We were proud to preserve some rich history,” she said, pointing to a door on the left. “Here we are.”

The door opened and Dean could see it was a conference room of sorts. A simple long table with leather club chairs occupied the center of the room and along the walls were several tapestries. For a split second, he was sure one of the tapestries had moved. More specifically, although impossible, a figure on the tapestry had moved.

Anna Verndari spoke a word under her breath, barely audible, and Dean blinked. It was a tapestry, after all, the breeze from the door had caused it. As he sat down he tore his gaze away from the larger one, which displayed a narrow rope bridge over a deep chasm, with a roaring river below. At the end of the rope bridge was a dark slit of an opening in the rocky stone wall, and the image of a sentry standing at the ready. At the other end of the narrow bridge was a thick, impenetrable forest of trees, their trunks red and brown and creatures, monsters really, were partially hidden within the leaves.

Dean studied the different panels. One showed a medieval stone house, another a village. Within each scene were fruits of impossible shapes and colors, combined with simple cottages and odd creatures hiding in the shadows. His eyes kept coming back to the first panel, however, the one with the rope bridge, churning river, and tiny entrance. Overhead, there were two moons in the sky. One was full and round, a hunter’s moon, bloated and yellow. The other was a sliver of a moon.

“What a fascinating piece you have here.”

Anna Verndari nodded, a glass of water in her hand was extended towards him. “Indeed. It is quite old.”

“You don’t see many pieces that are made from pure fantasy from the Middle Ages,” Dean said, sipping the water absently as he sat down in one of the comfortable chairs, his eyes still fixed on the tapestry. “They tended to be more religious, at most ecumenical in nature.” The water was sweet and there was an almost cloying aftertaste. He drained the glass as Anna sat in a chair across from him. She leaned forward, her lips shaping words that he couldn’t quite make out. Her eyes reminded him of...

“Dean?” June’s voice broke through memories of tapestries and stone walls. “You are a million miles away.”

Dean blinked and looked around, noticing where he was for the first time. The tall windows of the hotel restaurant were clad in thick drapes, closed against the fiery rays of the setting sun.

“Sorry, dear. What were you saying?”

“I asked how the interview went. What magazine was it for again?” June asked, reaching for her glass of water. “I think I’ll have a glass of wine. Would you like one? We could get a bottle.”

“I, uh, wine would be fine.” Dean managed, shaking the last of the cobwebs from his brain.

“Are you coming down with something?” June asked, her pretty face furrowing with concern.

“No, sorry, dear. Just distracted.”

She smiled at him, “Okay, if you are sure. I hope you don’t mind me insisting on dinner with you, just the two of us. The boys seemed happy enough to order room service. Michael and I had such a lovely time at Laurenskerk. The guide showed us the difference between the old and new construction but honestly, if she hadn’t, I would have never known. The work was absolutely masterful.”

Dean listened with half of an ear to June’s words. How did the interview go? I don’t even remember it. It was as if it had happened to someone else.

“Dean?”

“Some literary magazine that I can’t remember the name of now.” The words fell off of his tongue.

June laughed, “Honey, I asked you if you wanted an appetizer.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, go ahead and order one.”

“Well what do you want?”

“Surprise me.” He managed a smile. “I’m famished.”

“All right then. So how was the interview?”

If only he could remember. “It, uh, oh, you know, the standard questions and all that.”

He shrugged and lifted his glass of water to his lips, the cold liquid slipping down his rather dry throat. His throat felt soothed, but the water tasted different. Not as sweet. He turned and stretched, as if trying to release a tension he hadn’t realized was there.

“Nothing to write home about, I guess. I’ve already forgotten what she wanted to know.”

June reached out and squeezed his hand. “Well then, let’s have a nice dinner and you can help me plan some outings with the boys as we head south. Both of them sound quite interested in touring some castles.”

Dean nodded and turned his attention to the menu.

Deep underground, the Primera Veu met, Anna Verndari at the head of the table, her business suit exchanged for robes intricately embroidered in metallic filament and richly colored threads. Around the table were three women and one man, all clothed the same. On the walls the sconces flickered, flames weaving and smoking.

“I questioned Edmonds at length,” Anna Verndari said in the expectant silence, “And I am sure that he knows nothing more about our people. Our secret is safe.”

“So how was he able to describe the cliffs of Behel and the entry point of Fyrsta Heim so specifically?” Castor’s voice rang out.

“It seems that Conor’s last act was bringing Mr. Edmonds and Magdalene Aaronson through the World walls temporarily.” Anna answered.

“So it is possible.” One of the women spoke, her voice little more than a whisper.

Anna shook her head. “It was an aberration.”

“We should explore this further,” Castor added, his eyes alight with excitement. “To be able to return, all of us, to our World after all of these centuries. This is...”

“Silence.” Anna’s voice was a sharp knife, cutting off the excited murmurs of the other two women. “It is impossible. This has been tried, over and over.”

“And two have succeeded.” Castor spoke again, ignoring the wrath that appeared on Anna’s face. “We must...”

“Must I remind you of your place, Castor?” The youngest woman shuddered at the tone in Anna’s voice. “You are here at our behest, but you do not have a voice in this Council.”

Castor stared back at her. “Perhaps, Madame Crone, you should remember our most ancient history. In the World, male and female Njerez had equal power and equal vote.”

Anna bent her slender fingers into claws and leaned forward, her jaw tensed, “And shall I remind you Castor Lagenfeld of how the actions of your gender brought us here to this place?” They locked stares until Castor broke first, staring at his lap, his own hands clenched tight.

“We are safe. This was an aberration. Mona Saronica does not share her mother’s and her brother’s powers. There is no one left who can do what Zenobia and Conor were able to do. This discussion is now over. We are here, we are safe, and we will continue as we have for more than a millennia.”

There was silence as she turned to each of the others, daring them to object. “As it should be.” Anna said, leaning back in her chair.

“Quod ut is mos persevero futurus,” The others answered in unison.