The echoes of the footsteps reached his ears long before he could hear or smell the Apprentice himself. Coming down the long hallway, the long thing louder to his ears than the footsteps were the crashing of the ocean breakers a mile and a half away.
Slowly, the Apprentice approached. His footsteps were light and nervous, but quick. An eager cautiousness, the elder thought. Something useful to tell him? Or had the demon sprites begun to tear at their bindings again? No, the footsteps would be in a more hesitant pattern. Could it be a message from Vienna? No, they would not use an Apprentice. That would come into his head directly. Could the Alchemist have discovered something new? No, the Alchemist was still on leave. How strange -- his curiosity was piqued.
Eight minutes and six seconds later, the Apprentice -- a skilled but still young Cainite named McKinley -- knocked lightly on the closed chamber door. It opened of its own accord, and the Tremere's chair turned, independent of any visible movement.
"Yes? Quickly. I am busy."
"MiLord? Mr. Swift sends me with a message."
"So speak. My time is fleeting. My patience is more so."
"I don't know what it means, MiLord. But he said to tell you that the windsocks have stopped blowing."
Silence greeted him. The elder stared deep into the Apprentice's mind, looking for any sign of trickery or treachery. None was present. Finally, Hammersmith pursed his lips and let out a deep breath and spoke.
"Did Mr. Swift tell you where?"
"Yes, Milord."
"Well?"
"Here, Milord. In the Bronx."
More silence followed. The elder was deep in thought.
After ten minutes, the Apprentice finally dared speak. "MiLord? What does this mean?"
Lord Denver Hammersmith finally stood from his chair. "Everything has changed. Everything I am doing is now on hold. I must inform Vienna."
"MiLord?"
"Oh yes. One more thing. Put men with guns at the front doors. The magical defenses will work no longer."