Chapter Three – Reality Cheque

It began in the nineteenth century, an obscure gentlemen's-club in the heart of London. It dedicated itself to the pursuit of sinful pleasures, an attempt to satiate the desires of the flesh. It catered to the rich and included many of the most influential people of the day, prominent politicians, businessmen and those with titles to their names. Rumours abounded of plots by the club to overthrow the government or assassinate world leaders, but nothing ever came of these schemes, if they ever even existed. And then, in the early twentieth century, the club disappeared, from public view at least.

Whether or not it continued to flourish in secret in England is unclear, though there is evidence of something of a revival during the 1960s. Whatever the truth of the matter, The Hellfire Club finally returned to the public domain in Manhattan in the seventies. The club was located just a few blocks south of Avengers Mansion. It was rather ironic, possibly the greatest heroes and villains the world has ever seen dwelling in such close proximity. Not everyone involved with the Hellfire Club was a criminal. It was advertised simply as a particularly risqué gentlemen's club and was patronised by many famous figures, including many prominent actors, sportsmen and several US presidents. A secretive inner circle, however, ran the main club. The members of this circle took titles named after chess pieces and, within the clubs sanctum sanctorum, concocted their plans for world domination. Unlike many previous would-be world-conquerors, this group actually had enough political clout to potentially succeed.

The present inner circle continued the work of their illustrious predecessors. They were led by Shinobi Shaw who had inherited the position from his father, the previous Black King, the late Sebastian Shaw. The circumstances of his death were unresolved, though many suspected Shinobi's involvement. None were brave enough, or foolish enough, to make such accusations aloud. Shaw ruled through fear. That fear was well justified.

The sanctum sanctorum was at the top of the club's building. It usually commanded a magnificent view of Central Park, but at present heavy, sumptuous curtains blocked all windows. A log fire spat and crackled in a fireplace at one side of the room. Shaw set his brandy-goblet down on the mantle above the fire and surveyed his fellow conspirators. Emma Frost, the White Queen, stood in the opposite corner of the room. She had not aged well, Shaw thought. She was studying him as a vulture might view the last moments of a prospective meal. She would find me distinctly unpalatable, Shinobi sneered inwardly, relishing the violent imagery.

The White King, Trevor Marcus, Shaw's opposite number and chief rival for power, sat at a card table in the centre of the room. He was the only one in the room without a glass, but then he could not drink. A flamboyant hat concealed the left side of his face, hiding the fact that it had no skin or musculature, being instead a mask of a rare titanium alloy. Like the rest, Marcus was dressed in replica nineteenth century costume; unlike the others he was a cyborg. The half-machine was undoubtedly a genius, but Shaw felt that he lacked imagination. His machine parts, advantageous though they may be, had robbed him of vision. Shaw had long ago dismissed any threat to his position from Marcus.

Marcus' opponent for the night was Christian de Sade, not his real name, but the one he was known by within the club. He occupied the position of Black Knight. He also never wore the same face to any Inner Circle gathering. Shaw had never seen him outside of the club and suspected that he would not want to. De Sade was undoubtedly the most dangerous person in the room and the only one Shaw feared. No, fear was too strong a word. Shaw feared no one, but he certainly had a healthy respect for de Sade. De Sade, however, had no desire for power. He had no time for petty politics and manipulation, considering such things beneath his noticed. He lived for the hunt and the kill. More than any of his colleagues he delighted in inflicting pain and they willingly left such matters to him when such measures proved necessary. It was an amicable arrangement all round, but Shaw knew that de Sade was the only Circle member he could never hope to understand.

Shaw turned to the fifth member in the room, the one standing next to him. Taking her hand in his, he kissed it. It was an elaborate and formal gesture that seemed at odds with their relationship. It was well known that Shaw and Rebecca were lovers. She shared his bed more frequently than any other woman in Shaw's life. The relationship was conducted on equal terms, both using the other for temporary physical gratification and little else. Nevertheless, they were closer than any other two members of the Inner Circle. The Black Queen delighted in displaying her superiority. She knew she was a favoured member of the Circle and continually baited the White Queen, whose time had come and gone. She also had the figure, Shaw noted, to do justice to her revealing black and midnight blue outfit. Tonight she was wearing a blood red rose in the raven hair coiled high atop her head.

Shaw reached for his goblet. It was time to bring this gathering to order.

'A toast,' he announced, raising his glass high, 'to our soon to be unrivalled domination of the world.' Despite his Asian ancestry, on his mother's side, he spoke without a trace of accent. His colleagues raised their glasses in answer to his toast. Three of them did so in unison, the White Queen deliberately hesitated. She deliberately challenges me, Shaw thought. What does the old crone hope to do to depose me? Not for the first time, he wondered if it would be wiser to eliminate her before she could do any damage, but he dismissed the idea. She had made no overt moves against him and precipitous action on his part would only serve to undermine his authority. Besides, she was still exceedingly powerful and that power might yet prove useful in the fulfilment of Shaw's schemes.

'De Sade,' he asked, 'how is the plan proceeding?'

De Sade stroked his moustaches and looked up at Shaw. He held the other man's stare just slightly longer than was necessary before answering. 'The ceremony is prepared,' he replied, his voice oozing indifference, 'at least in terms of texts and artefacts. The more mystical side of the proceedings I leave to our-' he sneered '- illustrious colleague.'

The White Queen shot him a venomous look. Not a vulture, Shaw decided, a viper. You've made yourself a dangerous enemy, de Sade, not that you care.

'Don't seek to judge me, de Sade,' Frost taunted, her every pore releasing malice into the air. 'I could mould you like putty in my hands. I could have you bow down before me and beg for mercy before you could even raise a finger against me. I've broken better men than you and for less.'

'I don't doubt it,' de Sade replied, tapping his skull, 'but aren't you just a little bit afraid of what you might find in here?'

'I fear no one,' the White Queen commented, 'least of all a snivelling little toad of a man like you.'

'You might be surprised, Emma. You won't find me as easy to manipulate as other minds.'

Emma Frost threw him a lopsided smile. 'All men have a tendency to do what I want.'

'Enough,' Shaw commanded. Sooner or later, he knew he would have to let the confrontation play itself out, but only one of them would survive it and for the moment he needed them both. 'Is the ceremony ready, Ms Frost?'

'Naturally, Shaw,' Emma replied, turning to face him. Shaw found himself struggling not to be overwhelmed by her personality. Her wide blue eyes threatened to engulf him, her ruby lips to devour him. The power she was projecting was incredible, made more so because Shaw suspected it was completely involuntary. He had to break from her gaze in an effort to fight off her beguilement. No wonder she found it so easy to fill her bed at night.

'The ceremony can proceed as soon as I am given a suitable candidate,' Frost continued.

Shaw took a sip from his goblet in an effort to moisten his suddenly parched throat. 'Is the candidate procured, Marcus?' he asked. He would have entrusted de Sade with this task, but he needed the victim to be intact.

Marcus nodded and snapped his fingers. Immediately, two burly men in brocaded jackets bustled a third, younger man into the room. Shaw knew that the men could not possibly have heard Marcus through the heavy door and suspected that some form of radio communication was involved. Marcus was an obsessive show-off, but Shaw wished that the cyborg would eventually realise that his parlour tricks were wasted on him.

The youth was in his late teens, Shaw guessed, possibly a student. He looked to be a good physical specimen, sufficient for their needs, but he left Emma to make the final decision. With a slight nod in Shaw's direction, she went to stand in front of the candidate. She ran her eyes across him as he struggled in the iron grip of his captors, granting him no more respect than she would a piece of cheap furniture. Apparently satisfied, Frost suddenly grasped the youth's head in her cupped hands and forced him to look at her. Shaw had a fleeting impression of a glow emanating from her ice blue eyes, but it was gone before he could grasp it. The youth suddenly relaxed, his struggles ceasing, and his eyes glazed over. A blissful smile played across his bland features. Like putty in her hands, Shaw thought with a glance at de Sade, but the other man seemed to be more interested in the colour of his brandy than in the proceedings.

'He will satisfy our needs,' Frost told Shaw.

'He certainly wouldn't satisfy mine,' Rebecca sneered.

'I'm surprised you can afford to be that choosy,' Emma shot back.

Shaw considered intervening on Rebecca's behalf – an attack on her could be construed as a blow to him – but he preferred to let his people fight their own battles. Besides, if Rebecca was to fall from her perch she was easily replaceable. The two queens, however, seemed satisfied to leave their conflict unresolved, at least for now.

Shaw drained his goblet. 'Then it is time for our work to commence.' He reached for a rope bell-pull that hung by the fireplace. A maid in a ridiculously short black and white outfit entered the room. Shaw barely spared her a glance. 'Send in Ms Braddock,' he commanded.

The maid left soundlessly and within moments another figure was let into the room. She wore a blood red cloak that concealed everything from her throat to her ankles. She was clearly Asian – pureblood if appearances were to be believed – unlike Shaw. A red brand surrounded her right eye. Her hair, worn loose and trailing to the base of her spine, was a rich, deep purple.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' Shaw announced, 'may I present our newest member, the Red Queen.'

'This is a breach of protocol, Shaw,' Marcus barked. 'We should have been consulted before you invited her to join us.'

'I lead the circle, Marcus,' Shaw warned, 'and here my word is law. I deem it necessary that she join us and so she shall, regardless of what they rest of you may believe. She will help the White Queen conduct tonight's ceremony.'

'I need no help,' Frost replied.

'Nonetheless, you will accept it. My plan is perfect and you will all follow it to the letter.'

'We will follow you tonight, Shaw,' Marcus announced, 'but beyond that will depend on the outcome of the night's work.'

All but Rebecca appeared agreed on this point. The Black Queen leaned across to consult Shaw. 'Darling, surely you could have consulted me?'

'Dearest,' Shaw whispered in return, 'I find your company pleasurable, even delightful, but never believe our relationship extends beyond the physical. You couldn't possibly keep up with my intellect.'

Shaw could see the fury building behind Rebecca's eyes. She looked ready to strike him, but he knew that she would never give Emma the satisfaction. She was still the favoured member of the Inner Circle and dared not jeopardise her position.

'And now to procure the instrument through which we shall obtain our power,' Shaw declared, tugging on the bell-rope once more. This time he instructed the maid to send in Doctor Caradine. He also noticed Marcus staring lasciviously at the maid's long, stockinged legs. The man could have his fun later, once their work was complete. At least it was not de Sade; then he would have to start looking for a new maid.

Caradine was a short, black man wearing a navy blue suit that looked two sizes too big for him. He was a lecturer at Empire State University and had been hired by the group to get them into the Egyptology department, specifically into the relic room where a particular sarcophagus was being kept. He was to be paid well for his efforts.

'We wish to perform the ceremony tonight,' Shaw told him. 'We will have access to the sarcophagus.' It was a statement not a question.

'I will conduct you there at once,' Caradine stammered, his voice thin and ready, 'but I wish to be paid first.'

Shaw removed a chequebook from a pocket. 'The agreement was cash,' Caradine objected, his hands raised, though if in anger or fear even he was unsure.

'The agreement has been changed,' Shaw replied. 'I am a world renowned businessman; do you doubt the quality of my credit.'

'N-no, not at all,' Caradine replied hastily.

'Of course not,' Shaw agreed, 'so you will not object to accepting a cheque from me as payment.' He handed one over.

'But this is for only half the amount we agreed,' Caradine said, startled.

'You get the rest when the ceremony is underway,' Shaw promised, 'not before.'

'Very well,' Caradine agreed. 'We should leave immediately.'

Within minutes, a convoy of black cars was flitting its way between skyscrapers as it made its way across Manhattan.

The Egyptology department, a subset of the universities History department, was located in a small grey block of a building on the west side of the campus. At the gates, Caradine struggled to bluff their way past the security guards, but the White Queen simply waved her companions through. The guards would never even remember that they had been there. Marcus and de Sade had brought a number of extra men with them to help carry the necessary equipment for the ceremony. Shaw made a note of them. They would have to be disposed of once the work was done. There could be no witnesses.

The relic room was cluttered with Egyptian paraphernalia, some valuable, some less so. Only one object interested Shaw, the rune inscribed sarcophagus resting against the room's back wall. With a slight inclination of his head, he signalled to Marcus and de Sade to begin preparations. All items in the room, with the exception of the chosen sarcophagus were dumped unceremoniously in the corridor outside. Tall candles were arranged to line the edges of the room, braziers of burning incense surrounded the relic which had been laid flat on top of a wooden altar. Chalk markings were inscribed hastily, but accurately, on the cold floor.

'There's just one thing I don't understand,' Rebecca announced to anyone who would listen.

'Only one thing, little girl?' the White Queen taunted. 'You do surprise me.'

Rebecca refused to be baited, pressing on instead with her query. 'Why has our prize become tied to an ancient Egyptian artefact.'

Emma Frost nodded slowly, as if acknowledging the wisdom behind the question. 'The entity we wish to bind has been reduced to what is essentially an astral form. The Ancient Egyptians called such a form the spirit or Ka. They developed techniques for manipulating this Ka and imbued the artefacts with as much power in the spirit-world as in our own material universe. How they obtained this knowledge is unclear, though some scholars suspect alien intervention. Whatever, the point is that Egyptian artefacts can exist in both worlds simultaneously. Thus, our 'prize' has bound himself to this sarcophagus in an effort to return. An effort which, I might add, is doomed to failure without our help.'

A second altar had been erected beside the first. 'Bind the candidate to the altar,' Frost ordered, pointing to it.' Marcus' flunkies hastened to obey.

'And now the rest of my payment, if you please Shaw,' Caradine requested.

'Of course, Doctor,' Shaw replied, handing him a second cheque. 'Spend it wisely.'

Caradine hurried from the room not wishing to stay any longer than he had to. Shaw sighed; good help was so hard to find these days.

The Red Queen knelt by the bound candidate, clasping his head between her hands like a vice. 'The Red Queen will impose a psychic suggestion to the physical vessel throughout the ceremony,' Shaw informed his colleagues. 'It will help us to control the entity when we have restored it to our world.'

The White Queen was clearly unhappy with this development, but said nothing. Shaw knew that she had hoped to impose the suggestion herself, but he also knew how much power that would give her, power she alone would control. Frost positioned herself between the altars and placed her hands to link the sarcophagus to the candidate. Then she began to chant. Shaw heard a rumble outside the building. It sounded like thunder, but was really Caradine's car exploding as he turned the ignition. Shaw smiled at his forethought. The loss of two cheques was not nearly as unfortunate as the loss of the equivalent amount in cash.

The candles dimmed, but remained alight. The chant rose in pitch and was joined by a low moaning emanating from who knew where. Shaw noticed Marcus, Rebecca and de Sade retreating to the edges of the room. He had to steel himself not to walk away as well, but he wanted to be close to whatever was happening. It galled him to know that they were completely in Frost's hands now. Only she understood what was taking place during this ceremony. The Red Queen might know, of course, but Shaw did not wish to reveal his ace too early.

The chanting was increasing in intensity. The air around him was thickening. Bright colours danced before his eyes too quick for him to take in. The walls and floor appeared to bend and twist into impossible shapes. Frost seemed to be transforming before his eyes, a transmutation almost of lead into gold. She always maintained the illusion of a stunningly beautiful young woman in the company of others, even though they were all aware of her advanced years, but now she appeared to metamorphose into a goddess, layers of mystery peeling away to reveal the passion and fury beneath. She was as beautiful and terrible as the storm or the night, terrifying in her majesty, overwhelming in her seductive power. Shaw found himself fighting to stay upright and not prostrate himself before his new master.

Frost lifted her hands. A breeze flowed through the room, rustling Rebecca's hair. The hands rose some more. The breeze became a gust of wind. Shaw felt his cloak tugging at his shoulders. Emma Frost draw up her hands until they joined high above her head, her eyes flashing with azure fire at once compelling and terrifying. The wind became a gale, a tornado, stretching across the room, whirling round and round leaving no corner unvisited, as Emma stood motionless at the centre of the maelstrom. Her long blond hair, lifted by the moving winds, was the only evidence that she even felt them.

The incense smell that had permeated the room throughout suddenly increased in intensity many-fold. It was sickly and sweet and conducive to drowsiness. To Shaw, the world became a blur, slipping in and out of focus during brief moments of lucidity. The air was warm and humid – oppressive. Sweat formed on Shaw's brow and trickled down towards his eyes, but he found he could not lift a hand to wipe it away. The moaning had now resolved itself into a number of voices at a variety of pitches. Above it all, Emma continued a chant in an unknown tongue. Affected by the disturbing stimuli engulfing him, Shaw fancied that it was a tongue not designed for mortal men to speak. Below the moaning, he could hear with perfect clarity the crackling of flames.

The flames died. The candles had continued to burn despite the winds, but now, suddenly, they all appeared to have been snuffed out by unseen hands. The room was plunged into enveloping blackness. Silence reigned. There was no sound, no smell, no stimuli of any kind. It was complete and terrifying isolation. Then a feeling - cold, ice cold. Shaw could feel the hairs on the backs of his hands rising up. Then a voice, a shout, a plea. A command.

'Arise,' the White Queen cried out.

Lightning flashed. A blue-white arm of coruscating energy linked the two altars. The relic and the victim both glowed with an unholy light. The sense of power was palpable.

'Arise,' the White Queen screamed once more.

The arc of energy broadened and brightened. It began to change colour, from blue to green, green to yellow, yellow to a sinful red. Shaw took an involuntary step forward. It was as if the sheer power and majesty of the event was calling out to him.

'Arise!' A third time, Frost's voice breaking as she screamed.

The arc leapt. All the energy that had surrounded the sarcophagus now sought hungrily for the victim, the Inner Circle's chosen candidate. The red glow became paler, lighter. It surrounded the figure lying on the altar with a nimbus of golden energy, a man-shaped gilded cage that signified so much more. The young man screamed as if his very being was being torn from his body. Then he fell silent, the glow fading into nothingness.

The White Queen collapsed, striking the floor hard. Shaw was at her side in an instant, marvelling at the strength that it took to maintain her illusion of beauty even under such strain. Her eyes were closed, her hair in disarray. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Shaw helped her to a sitting position. Her eyelids fluttered open.

'We did it, Shaw,' she whispered, the words catching in her throat. 'We have tamed the mutant master of reality. Proteus is here.'