Incarnation (15 page)

“No . . . in fact, he has not been seen in months.”

“What a shame. Is Lady Blanche very disappointed?”

“Rather more than that.” He hesitated, clearly still uncertain how much to tell me, but as I already knew the name . . . slowly, he said, “Mordred is the king who created us all and who ruled over us until his sudden disappearance early this year. His fate remains a mystery. If you know anything of it—”

“What could I possibly know?”

“That, too, is a mystery. Who you are, why you are here, what you intend or are intended for. He must have had a reason for incarnating you.” His gaze narrowed on me. “Perhaps you are the one who can find him.”

A universal hope apparently, afflicting humans and vampires alike. I had to hope they would not all end up gravely disappointed.

“I would certainly like to do so. There must have been some place he frequented. If not here, where?” Even vampires
needed somewhere to escape the sunlight, rest, and rejuvenate themselves. But a being who might be tempted by a library, surely he had needed more?

“Since we realized that he was gone,” Felix said, “we have kept watch on all his residences—the house here in London, the estate in Kent, the manor in Scotland, the villa near Rome, the apartment in Paris, everywhere. All to no avail. But there is one other possibility. Are you familiar with Southwark?”

As was the case with all of London, the part of the city that lay along the south shore of the Thames had grown hugely in recent decades. What had been a haven for actors, prostitutes, and the like had become a teeming mass of factories and mills belching black smoke at all hours of the day and night. Proper young ladies, even those who liked to consider themselves modern thinkers, did not venture there.

“I know very little about it,” I confessed.

“For centuries there was a walled manor on the hill at the top of the high street, overlooking the river. Mordred kept his court there. I never saw it for myself, but by all reports it was a remarkable place, a true palace enticing beyond compare. But these days, if you go to that spot, you will find not the home of a king but a huge, dirty, clamorous foundry. Like all of its kind, it produces a great din, belches foulness into the air, and is populated by humans who look to be little more than brutes laboring among fiery pits and rivers of molten metal. Those who have seen it say that it resembles hell itself.”

“Go on,” I urged.

“But there are also those who say that appearances are deceiving and the manor is still there, if you know how to find it. Further, they believe that Mordred still frequents the area.”

“Surely Lady Blanche and others of the old noble families can find the manor? They must have looked for him there.”

“Rumor has it that they have tried but failed. Whatever deception the king worked, it is deeper and darker than even they can penetrate.”

Which left little hope that I would succeed, yet I had to try and very soon. Searching for Mordred had made me all the more vividly aware of how swiftly the very essence of him was draining away. Time was running out.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “Did Lady Blanche instruct you to do so?”

He pretended to be hurt, although perhaps it was not entirely pretense. Everyone has his pride, even when he can ill afford it.

“You think I’m her toady, don’t you?”

“I do not—”

He brushed aside my protestations. “Don’t deny it; everyone thinks that. It’s true to a certain extent, but this is also true: Mordred kept the peace between vampires and humans for centuries. With him gone, war is a certainty. I’m more afraid of that than I am of Lady Blanche, but she fears it as well, whether she is willing to admit as much or not.”

He was taking a risk confiding in me as he had done. Lady Blanche might come to agree with what he had done, but not before she exacted a price for it.

Softly, I said, “I thank you for your candor. I will do my best to find him.” I began to rise only to stop when Felix grasped my hand.

“You cannot leave now. Lady Blanche’s doubts about you must be erased. If they are not, she will do everything in her
power to destroy you.” Pointedly, he added, “And anyone she thinks has helped you.”

Slowly, I sat down again. “How can I win her confidence?”

“I doubt that you can, at least not quickly. Just try not to do anything that could lead her to see you as a threat. You are a newly incarnated vampire struggling to find your way and profoundly grateful for the interest she has taken in you. Let her believe that you regard her, not Mordred, as your true mentor. Nothing will please her more or make her more inclined to assure that you survive.”

“Do you think that I should tell her that Mordred was the one who incarnated me?”

“You must,” Felix insisted. “Your arrival in the wake of his disappearance is simply too coincidental. She already suspects and by admitting it, you can counter any concerns that she has about you.”

“That I could be a halfling?”

He nodded. “Or a rival.” When I looked at him in bewilderment, he added, “It is not unusual for newly incarnated vampires to desire the one who turned them.”

Hastily, I said, “I do not. To the contrary, I only want to know why he did this.”

“Tell her that . . . just like that. He has been her passion for centuries. If she thought for a moment that you—”

“Be assured, I will disabuse her of any such notion.” Indeed, I would do so without even the need to lie. The truth was that though I felt a compulsion to find Mordred, it was of Marco that I found myself thinking all too often. Of the human who knew more about my own kind than I did, who went among us without fear, and who was willing to ally with a vampire to
prevent a war that could destroy everything I still held most dear.

When her ladyship emerged from her chamber a few hours later, I was there to greet her. I wasted no time telling her of what I had discovered about the one responsible for my incarnation, stressing how greatly his abandonment upset me even to the extent of causing me to loathe him.

“Truly,” I said, “I do not know what I would have done if I had not found you. I have so much to learn and I believe you are the only one who can teach me, yet I dare not assume upon your favor . . .”

Had I been speaking to a human, I might have feared that I was laying it on a bit thickly. But I was learning that vampires took flattery at face value, regarding it merely as their due.

“You have it, child,” Lady Blanche said. In contrast to her gentle words, her smile was chilling. The pearls at her throat gleamed cold and hard. She twisted them around her hand as she regarded me. “But in return, you must promise to never betray our friendship. Do you understand?”

When I assured her that I did, she seemed satisfied. Yet I felt her gaze upon me all through that night as I remained at her side. Lady Blanche introduced me to the many guests who thronged the club, leaving no doubt that I had her approval. The outpouring of attention and, I must say, respect was gratifying as far as it went, but I did not forget for a moment how quickly it all could change. A single misstep and I would find myself receiving attention of a far different sort, more in keeping with the dark, vibrating tremors I felt emanating from the club itself.

Felix hovered nearby, ever watchful as the hours wore on
until finally, just when I thought I could bear no more, dawn sent the children of the night to their rest.

I seized a few hours on my bier but found little ease. At noon, while the club slumbered, I slipped past the snake and walked quickly through the passage to where the griffin kept watch.

CHAPTER 11

A
s promised, Marco was waiting for me on the border between the old city and the new. He looked as handsome and compelling as ever, but there was a hint of strain around his eyes that suggested he had not slept. When he saw me, a smile flashed across his face, stripping years from him. For a moment, he looked like the boy I had seen in the photograph.

“There you are,” he said. “I was becoming worried.”

As he spoke, the nearby church bells began to toll the noonday hour. Restraining the impulse to point out that I was not a moment late, I said, “I have news about Mordred. Lady Blanche knows that he incarnated me. She means to keep me close and assure my loyalty, although why exactly I cannot say.”

I had tried over the course of the night to determine the lady’s intentions but without success. She might hope to use me to draw Mordred back or to assure that I could not fulfill the purpose for which he had created me. Either seemed equally possible.

Marco frowned. “Do you think she has any idea where he is?”

“If she does, she has not told Felix Deschamps. He is her—”

“I know who Deschamps is. He’s not a bad sort, really. I can’t say that I envy him having to deal with her.”

Under other circumstances, I might have asked how a human had become so well acquainted with the vampire kindred. But time was passing all too swiftly. Mordred’s presence was still strong enough in my mind for me to believe that I could find him, yet he was also undeniably weaker than he had been even the day before.

“Felix shares our dread about the potential for war between humans and vampires,” I said. “He wants to help. He has told me of a place where Mordred might be found.” Quickly, I related what I had learned about the manor.

Marco was nodding before I finished. “I know the place. That is, I know the foundry. There have been rumors of strange events that bore investigating.”

“What sort of events?”

“Men frightened by things glimpsed out of the corners of their eyes but invisible when looked at straight on. Odd sounds, soft and faint yet somehow audible over the clamor of the workings. The brush of wind where there should be none. Daily, someone puts down his tools and flees. The others hang on only because they’re desperate for jobs and the pay is good.”

“Then you think it is possible that the manor really could still exist in some way?”

Marco looked doubtful. “The hidden world exists but it is part of this world. Most humans can’t see it because of their own limitations. They see something entirely ordinary rather than what is, and if they ever do become curious, they are discouraged from looking deeper by the use of glamours. But that isn’t what you’re describing, is it?”

Slowly, I shook my head. “A foundry is real. People work
in it, things come out of it. The same space cannot also be occupied by a centuries-old manor fit for a king.”

“By all we know, that is true,” Marco agreed. “However, we could be dealing with some sort of palimpsest.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What is that?”

“Layers placed one on top of another, usually involving writing. The practice comes from the days when most writing of any importance was done on parchment, which was expensive and hard to come by. Scribes developed the habit of scrapping the surface clean so that it could be used again. However, impressions of the earlier writing remained below. Some can still be detected.”

“Then we should take a closer look.” He hesitated and I saw that he was about to refuse, no doubt to insist that he go alone. Some nonsense about it not being safe for me. Quickly, I added, “I will hazard a guess that you’ve already been there, drawn by the reports of strange goings on, and that you discovered nothing.”

He did not deny it but said, “Probably because there is nothing to be found.”

“Perhaps, but given what I am, it is likely I will be able to see things that you cannot.”

Moments passed before he said reluctantly, “Very well, but promise me that you will stay close beside me at all times and if I say we must leave, you will do so immediately.”

I saw no reason to accept his authority to such a degree, but neither was I disposed to argue, not then. He took my curt nod for acquiesce.

“Stay close to me,” he said. “The streets are chaos, all to the good as that will protect us from the Watchers.”

Only then did I notice that the spot where we stood, and
everywhere that I could see in all directions, teemed with people. Every byway leading to St. Paul’s Cathedral was so filled as to be virtually impassable. Men, women, and children of every class had turned out to welcome Her Imperial Majesty Victoria, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Queen, Defender of the Faith, Empress of India, as her procession made its way to the cathedral where a service would be held to give thanks for the grace and wisdom of her long reign. Her grateful subjects packed the sidewalks, spilled over into the streets, and hung from windows and balconies. The more agile among them had climbed lampposts for a better view, shouting down to those below what they could see. The few carriages that had wandered in among the masses were trapped. The horses for the most part stood placidly, perhaps glad of the rest. Drivers and passengers might fume, but they had no way to free themselves except to wait.