========================= The Call To Arms (01/02) by War Maestro ========================= "Hmmm," Julia said. "This is interesting." The UF ListCobra weighed down the edges of the large piece of paper with a paperweight, a chipped china coffee mug, and her glass of Merlot. The interesting piece of paper was a photocopy of an old-looking, handwritten document. At the top, written in careful cursive, was: Deed of Grant of Lands of Upper Canada The Mississauga Nation of Indians His Majesty King George the Third our Great Father of Britain It was a copy of the Blackwing Treaty. Despite her FK loyalties being primarily to the UF, Julia was curious about all things FK and had bought the photocopy on Ebay for next to nothing, plus shipping. What had caught her attention was not the signatures of the treaty's witnesses (which included one J. Vachon) but some clearly visible notes on the right side of the page, next to the small drawings that were the signatures of the Mississauga witnesses. The notes were written in a different hand than the treaty was, and were in what appeared to be a native language. Using her not inconsiderable powers of analysis, Julia concluded they were probably in Mississauga. But why were these notes added to the treaty? What did they say? Julia's curiosity went into overdrive. Suddenly she simply had to know. She tried emailing the seller of the treaty photocopy, who had the original. However, after waiting a week, the answer was not helpful. "What notes? I don't see any notes, just some very faint lines." Julia thoughtfully looked at her copy. The notes were probably enhanced by being photocopied, like those annoying gray shadows that show up where a paper is folded when you photocopy it. That explained why no one had mentioned them before. She rolled up the treaty and stuffed it in its mailing tube. Next stop, the New York Public Library. But two fruitless weeks of searching for answers in her free time brought nothing. No one knew anything at all. At the American Museum of Natural History, she learned that the Mississauga didn't have a written language at the time the treaty was signed, so the text was probably a crude phonetic interpretation of the spoken language. Unfortunately, the museum had no one on staff who spoke the Mississauga. "Try someone in Toronto," the Anthropology Division sub-curator advised her. "Start at the Royal Ontario Museum." Julia scowled. She didn't have time to send letters or emails all over Ontario, but at the same time she wanted to solve this mystery. It had become a quest, an obsession, and she was loath to give up. She was, after all, the ListCobra, and cobras never give up. "Tenacious" was her middle name. That evening she was sitting in her bedroom with a therapeutic glass of wine, listening to a recording of Verdi's Macbeth and staring at the treaty page. The back of her mind was busy comparing this recording of the 1847 original version and finding it wanting---the 1865 heavily revised version was so much better, in her Verdi-junkie estimation. Her eyes traveled aimlessly down the list of signatures at the bottom of the page, and halted on one written in large, round script. J. Vachon. Julia frowned at the name. Did Vachon speak Mississauga? It stood to reason that he did. He had, after all, slouched his way across the Native American wilderness a couple of hundred years ago, and had actually fought on their side against the English. The details were fuzzy in her mind, perhaps because she had already drunk an entire bottle of Barolo while listening to Shostakovich's Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. Not one of her favorite works, but dark and as riveting as a 32-car pileup in the oncoming lanes. The point, though, was that he got along with them well enough to sign the treaty on their side of the page. With his vampiric photographic memory, learning the language probably had been a snap. Thoughts started lining up and clicking into place. The text was in Mississauga. Vachon (probably) spoke Mississauga. Vaqueros keep tabs on the object of their affection. Julia knew Cloud, a Vaquero. Cloud could find Vachon and show him the text. Vachon could translate the text. Julia's curiosity would be satisfied. Julia sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. It was a perfect solution. Someone else would do all the work and she would get her answers. All she had to do was get the text to Cloud. ================ "Cloud? It's Julia." "Julia?" "Yeah, Julia. UF ListCobra. We met at LCA?" "Oh, of course! Julia! You were stage managing the auction." Julia made a harrumphing noise. "Just once. They needed some structure." "Okay, whatever you say. What can I do for you?" Cloud asked cheerfully. "Can you get hold of Vachon? In the communication sense, I mean, not actually grabbing him." "Um, I think so. It's not my turn to keep track of him. Why? Aren't Nick and Lacroix enough for you?" "Nothing like that. I have a little favor to ask of him---I need a document translated, and it's in Mississauga. It's just a couple of paragraphs, no big deal." "Oh, I see," Cloud said doubtfully. "You know that he's not the most dependable guy in the world, right? We love him, but we're realists." Julia sighed. "I know. Tell him I'll send him some guitar strings or something in payment." She described the mysterious text on the treaty, and how she had come to discover it. "So you see, I just want to know what it says. He should be able to do this in about ten minutes." "I'll do what I can," Cloud promised. "Why don't you fax me a copy of the text, and I'll get the ball rolling. One of us will know how to get in touch with him." "Thanks! I owe you one," Julia said gratefully. And so it began. ========================= It took another two weeks, but Cloud finally found out where Vachon was, and to her amazement, he was in San Diego. Which, coincidentally, was where Cloud was. "What are you doing here?" She demanded when he finally answered his cell phone. "Got a gig," he said simply. "Where?" "A club called DarkDream. You know, one of those Goth places. I always get a kick out of the vamp wannabes. Anyway, we're playing there until next Monday. Then it's off to San Francisco, Vancouver, and then back to Toronto." "Kewl! Need a roadie?" Cloud asked wistfully. "Nah, but thanks anyway. Got a full crew from the Raven with us. What's up?" "I've got a favor to ask. Do you speak Mississauga?" "Huh? Let me think---oh, yeah, I do. It's been a while, though. About a hundred years, in fact." "Great! So I have a little translation job for you to do. Just a few paragraphs. How about I come down to the club after your set tonight?" "Okay," Vachon said doubtfully. "I'm a little rusty, but I'll see what I can do. Just a couple of paragraphs, you say?" "Uh-huh. it'll take no time at all, I'm sure." "Okay, then. I'll see you at the club at about two. In the morning, of course. Just come back to the dressing room. I'll tell the manager we're expecting you." Cloud gulped. She hadn't pulled an all-nighter for quite a while. But she had promised Julia. DarkDream wasn't her favorite club, but it certainly had its attractions at times---like Vachon's band. It would be fun. Really. She hung up the phone and decided that a nap would be a very, very good idea. Many hours later, Cloud appeared as promised at the tiny dressing room backstage and knocked on the door. It was opened by a guy who looked vaguely familiar. "Yeah?" "I'm here to see Vachon," Cloud said, then suddenly she remembered where she'd seen the man before. "Say, aren't you the 'floss your fangs' guy?" The man scowled. "I'm gonna kill Knight one of these days," he growled. "I get fifteen seconds of screen time and all I get out of it is dental floss jokes for the next ten years." He turned. "Hey, Javier, there's a chick here to see you." Cloud edged into the crowded room. Vachon was draped over a battered armchair. "Hi, Cloud, long time no see," he greeted her. "Like your outfit. Did you ride your bike down here?" Cloud looked around at the five people in the room---Mr. Fang Floss, Vachon, and three other men who were obviously the guys in the band---and realized they were all vampires. Yikes. The things she did for her friends. "Yeah, I rode the bike." She looked down at her leather, metal-studded jacket, chaps, and motorcycle boots. "You should be a detective." Vachon laughed easily. "Maybe that'll be the next career. Anyway, what's this about some text to translate?" He swung his feet back to the floor and held out his hand. "Let's see." He looked at his companions. "You guys---get out of here, okay? We've got some work to do." To Cloud's relief, the rest of the vampires shuffled out of the dressing room. She turned to Vachon. "Here it is. I hope you can figure it out---Julia's really obsessed with finding out what it says." Vachon took the fax and examined it. "Uh, I'm pretty sure it's Mississauga. What'd this guy do, just write down what he heard? Good thing I took that phonics course." His lips moved as he silently sounded out the syllables. Cloud took a notebook and pen out of her jacket pocket and sat down, ready to write down the words as Vachon translated. "Let's see..." Vachon paused. "This looks like it's talking about water, a lake, no, a river. 'Go to the Thunder Father of Mist, and travel, uh, a half, no, a quarter of a day towards the endless lake..." He looked up. "I think they're talking about Niagara Falls, there. The folks I knew called it the Father of Mist." He looked back at the fax and continued. "The stone near the white cliff keeps the wisdom of the Elders...uh, the sacred stone speaks of the cure for the disease that bites viciously like a wolf in winter and often kills." He sat back and rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully. "I think that's what it says. It's a different dialect than the one I knew, if I'm sounding out these words the right way. Anyway, I think it says that if you start at Niagara Falls and travel downriver towards Lake Ontario, somewhere along the way is a stone that contains some ancient wisdom, something about a cure." He nodded slowly. "I've seen stones with pictograph carvings on them in Ontario, years ago. Never knew what they were about, though. They were really old, big stones covered with pictures." Cloud was busy scribbling in her notebook. "'The cure for the disease that bites viciously like a wolf in winter and often kills...'" she quoted. She looked at Vachon. "Gee, what does that sound like to you? It sort of reminds me of vampires." "Oh, all these ancient cultures have stories about vampires and cures. Doesn't mean a thing," Vachon scoffed, but he looked thoughtful. "You know, I did hear some rumors when I was hanging around the Mississauga..." his voice trailed off. "Uh, you didn't hear me say that." Cloud looked innocently at the vampire. "Me? Hear anything? I'm just the secretary here. I didn't hear anything. Not a word." "Cloud..." Vachon stared at her intently. "You didn't hear me say anything. I couldn't translate the text." Cloud stood up and decisively snapped the notebook shut. "Empirical evidence, Vachon. The whammy isn't going to work. Anyway, it's so vague it's probably nothing. Like someone's going to go traipsing through the Ontario woods looking for some moldy, moss-covered old stone in November. Not." "Cloud!" Vachon looked worried. "I'll just email Julia and that'll be the end of it, I'm sure. No biggie." Cloud opened the dressing room door. "Thanks a lot, Vachon. The band was pretty good----you should play San Diego more often. Hope the tour goes well for you. Bye!" She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing a sigh of relief. This was important stuff. She clutched the notebook tightly to her chest. In her hands was a possible cure for vampirism! Even Vachon thought so, she could tell from his worried look. She hurried out of the club and got on her bike. Kicking it into life, she vroomed away into the night towards home. But the urgent need to tell someone about her discovery made her stop in a parking lot halfway home. She took out her cell phone, dialed a long distance number, and waited impatiently as it rang. Finally a voice sounded in her ear. "Yeah? This better be important, or someone's gonna die..." it said groggily. "Julia? It's Cloud. Listen closely, this is really important." She paused. "Send out the call to arms to all factions. It's time to go to Toronto." "It's time to go to War."