One night while I was staying over on the couch at my parents', I found myself lying awake at two o'clock in the morning because Garen and the Comte de Saint-Germaine were having an argument in my head and wouldn't shut up until I'd written it down. I dashed it out in just under an hour, then crashed, getting a lovely four hours before my kid brother came in and put loud music on. Here you go, boys! The story you demanded. Now shut up and get out of my head.

The Lantern Debate

He had always been fond of parties. High society life with its constant whirl and comings and goings both fascinated and amused him, the constant gossip-mongering and cut-throat secret dealings between courtiers who knew very well that their wives were sleeping with the help, and didn’t care because most of them were also sleeping with the help. Their petty lives were so brief, so bright and dramatic compared to his. He loved to watch them, manipulate them, especially the women. He had acquired a great fortune over the years, much of it in jewels and secret knowledge. The jewels he dispensed freely to his favourites, the knowledge he let slip a morsel at a time, a little bit here, a little bit there. He liked to think of himself as highly mysterious, a dark handsome stranger come to sweep them off their feet and then disappear, leaving behind gifts of gems and precious metal.

He was also a natural philosopher, with a laboratory built and outfitted by the king himself as an amusement. The king, however, would be horrified at some of the components and potions he used, and so there was many a night when he would leave his richly appointed suite at Chambord and venture out into the greater city in search of the darker, less legal ingredients needed for his experiments.

The night was chill, and he wrapped his greatcoat closer to keep out the damp. The streets were dark, the only illumination coming from a few paltry lanterns hung here and there at doorposts, fighting a brave and futile battle against the fog that drifted off the Seine. There was not a sound, save the beating of his heart and the tap of his shoes on the stone cobbles.

“You.”

The man stopped short. “Me,” he said calmly.

“Turn around.”

There was nothing to be done save obey. He turned, slowly, and peered into the shadows. A slight, ragged form detached itself from a wall and stood before him.

“I know what you are,” said the form. “I know what you do, and how long you’ve been doing it.”

“And what of it, boy?” The man gave a short laugh. “Do you want a love potion for your sweetheart? Poison for a rival? I’m afraid I don’t give charity, so if you wish me to make you something, you’ll have to pay for it.”

“I have no money that you’d want. My sweetheart is dead, my rival long gone. I only wish to ask—How can you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Play with them the way you do. They have so much misery, why do you make it worse? You know very well that you’ll live longer than any of them. Why do you bother?”

The man looked about for the nearest lantern. He strode over and stood just out of the circle of light. “Come closer,” he said. “I like to see who I’m speaking to.”

The shadowy figure stepped slowly, carefully into the lantern’s meager glow. His feet were bare, which accounted for the silence of his movement, the flesh pale and bloodless from the cold stone. He looked to be no more than fifteen or sixteen, dressed in a pair of ragged breeches far too large for him, and a coarse linen shirt with frayed cuffs under a waistcoat held together by two mismatched buttons. His features were difficult to discern in the dim light, but his hair seemed to mirror the flame of the lantern.

“There, now you see me. Not all who live long live in the favour of the great and mighty. I’m a bit fuzzy on dates, but by my reckoning it’s been about one hundred thirty years that I’ve wandered, living on scraps and surviving by my wits.”

Skeptical, the man held his position. “Do you seek my congratulations? If so, you have them. It’s rare indeed to find someone who manages to travel for over a century and still appear as a youth. How do you do it? Alchemy? Or have you sold your soul to the Evil One, as they whisper that I have.”

“Neither. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, since it’s clear you don’t believe me anyway. You seem to enjoy tricks and mystery, and I’d hate to spoil your fun by ruining the secret.” The shadows on his face shifted as he grinned. “You have me at a disadvantage. You can see me, but I can’t see you.”

“You’re a fool,” said the man. “You’re a foolish boy, and I’ll be damned if I know what it is that you want. I’m a wealthy man. How am I to know that this isn’t a set up for a robbery?”

“You can’t. You’ll just have to trust me when I say that you have nothing I want.”

“Then why waylay me?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’ll answer it with one of my own. If you are indeed as old as you say, why do you not take advantage of the people around you as I do? You wallow in your rags and poverty, behaving as if you have no way out of it. It would be simple enough for you to gain wealth and power as I have. You could get yourself a pair of shoes, at the very least.”

“Because I do not see ordinary humans as playthings to be twisted this way and that for my own amusement.” There was a strong undertone of malice in his voice. “Just because they don’t live as long as we doesn’t mean their lives are any less meaningful. In fact, because they’re so short, they’re even more meaningful. They know that they won’t live forever, most of them, so they try to make a difference in whatever short time they have. A family—parents, children. A husband and wife who grow old together. Don’t you envy them?”

“No, I don’t. I had parents once, a brother or two, even. The fools, all they did was hold me back. They’re long dead, and I don’t miss them.”

“What of women?”

“I get my fill. I pay them pretty compliments, give them potions to preserve their beauty and jewels from my collection to adorn it, and they repay me with all the companionship I desire.”

“Then you’ve never found anyone that you would be willing to grow old and die with.”

“Never.”

The boy was quiet for a moment, as if considering. “There was a girl, many years ago. I’d have given anything for the chance to be with her always. But I couldn’t.”

“What happened, did your little sweetheart become old and grey? Did you leave her when she lost her youth?” The man’s tone was mocking.

“No!” There was a hitch in his voice. “She was killed, right at the height of her life, right at the beginning.”

“At least you did not have to watch her shrivel and weaken before your eyes. Better for her to die young, when you still loved her.”

The boy gave a strangled cry and dove for the man, who sidestepped easily in the dark. Unable to see until his vision adjusted, the boy tripped over his numb feet, fell sprawling on the cobblestones and lay still. The man nudged at the prone form with his toe. He was rewarded by a grunt and a twitch.

“I think,” the boy said, pulling himself sitting. “That we have no more to say to each other.”

“I suspect that very well may be. Sentimental fools bore me even when they pay for my services, and the poor ones are not worth my bother.”

“Then go. I don’t like you, or your methods. Steer clear of me and I’ll steer clear of you.”

“I shall do that happily. The poor hold no interest for me.” He turned and left. The tapping footsteps faded as the man made for the wealthier part of the city, and the high society that amused him so with their pettiness. As silence once more settled over the street, the boy picked himself up, twitched his shoulders to keep from shivering, and disappeared into the night.