Incarnation (28 page)

Speculation about what we might encounter once we met the aging lion occupied me as the carriage turned onto Downing Street. We passed Number 10 and continued on toward what some said was still the true seat of power in the British Empire.

A butler—young for his post, square shouldered and straight backed with a soldier’s manner—admitted us. “The prime minister is expecting you,” he said.

The title might be honorary now, but the security surrounding Gladstone was anything but. In addition to the butler’s martial bearing, we passed several men in civilian clothing with bulges beneath their jackets that suggested they were carrying sidearms.

As we followed the butler, I murmured to Marco, “Gladstone knows about the foundry? And the manor?”

“We must assume that he knows all. Never make the mistake of underestimating him.”

With that bit of advice uppermost in mind, I stepped into a room that looked not like the refuge of a retired gentleman but rather the hub of an imperial venture. Maps of every part of the world covered the walls. Teleprinters clattered with incoming messages. I even recognized a Babbage difference engine capable of executing computations far swifter than any
human. Increasingly, they were being used to correlate reports on activity throughout the realm.

Several male secretaries were in attendance, but they departed speedily when the man behind the desk waved them out. I saw in a glance that Gladstone was very old. His large head was sparsely covered with white hair, but his muttonchop whiskers were still impressive. He had a square face with a strong jaw and large eyes surrounded by a web of lines. Despite Stoker’s warnings about his health, his back was still straight and his shoulders well set.

At the sight of us, he rose and came out from behind his desk. He moved a little stiffly but no more so than many men decades his junior.

“Marco, good to see you.” His voice was deep, steady, and resonant, the voice of an orator who had held Parliament spellbound. “Bram . . . and this is—”

His gaze, still penetrating despite his years, shifted to me. In a glance, he seemed to see all that I was or could be. But that was a trick, I told myself, the stratagem of a man for whom politicking and manipulation were second nature. “Miss Weston, is it? I thought our paths would cross before too long.”

I knew what I was supposed to say, something about the pleasure of meeting him, perhaps even what an honor it was. But such niceties were beyond me.

“They might have crossed sooner had you attempted to help me rather than drive a stake through my heart and consign me to the grave.”

Stoker made a choking sound. Marco’s reaction was more interesting, confined as it was to a faint smile. He showed neither shock not disapproval at my accusation, which I took
to mean that he had already figured out for himself what must have happened.

“Your operatives followed Mordred to Whitby,” I said. “When they realized what he had done, they notified you immediately.” I gestured at the clattering teleprinters. “It would not have been difficult. With no thought as to why Mordred had acted as he had, you ordered that I be destroyed. Had I been fully a vampire instead of what I am, I would have been.”

I expected Gladstone to deny the charge, but the Lion of Parliament was beyond any such consideration. To the contrary, he appeared entirely unapologetic.

Regarding me with the interest he might give to a particularly exotic creature, he said, “It’s true, then, you’re a halfling. I must say that’s a surprise. Those who are expert in such matters have always said that any such hybrid is impossible. Too many contradictions in cell structure or something to that effect.”

“Apparently, they were wrong.”

“Indeed. At any rate, you are correct that my instinct was to have you disposed of quickly. Mordred seemed to have lost control of himself, violating the pact that had existed between us for centuries. No unwilling human was to ever be taken by a vampire. And only very small numbers of those who were willing were ever to be incarnated. In this manner, we have preserved social order and stability. What do you imagine would have happened had we failed to do so?”

“People would have realized that the world is far more richly varied than they have imagined,” I said. “They would have adapted accordingly.”

Gladstone snorted. “That sort of dangerous naiveté will doom us all. If ordinary people ever wake up to the fact that they share this realm with a race of beings possessed of vastly
greater strength and stamina who regard them as
food,
devastation will follow. Blood will run in the streets, anarchy will rule, and we will descend into a new dark age. To prevent such calamity, honorable men may be compelled to take measures repellant to their finer natures, but—”

Before he could lapse into an oration better suited to the floor of the Commons, I said, “They are closer to being awakened than you know. A young man named Harley Langworthe was slaughtered last night by vampires at the Bagatelle. Afterward, they went on a rampage through the city that was stopped only by the efforts of other nonhuman creatures, all that stood between humanity and mass destruction.”

The color fled from Gladstone’s face. He staggered and had to put out a hand to steady himself. I had a moment’s concern that I might have gone too far but he recovered quickly. “I knew about the trouble last night, but Langworthe . . . for God’s sake, he was little more than a boy.”

“He is only the beginning,” I said. “If Mordred isn’t found and restored to power, the secret you and others like you have kept for so long will be secret no more. The anarchy you fear will be upon us. Everything you have worked for, everything you love will fall into ruin.”

“Lucy . . .” Marco spoke softly but his meaning was clear. He thought I should stop, but I had no intention of doing so. Creature of the dark though I was, I was determined to shine a light into the abyss that we were all approaching at terrifying speed.

“No,” Gladstone said. In place of his earlier confidence, he sounded suddenly weary. “It’s all right. Miss Weston is correct. We have no time to waste. Come, let us sit down.”

We took chairs before the large fireplace, swept clean and
filled with flowers. As though feeling the need to remind himself, our host said, “For almost three hundred and fifty years, there has been a pact between the British government and the vampires ruled by Mordred. We have accepted their presence in Britain, and in return, they have helped to protect the realm. It has worked out to all our benefit.”

Leaving aside that humans had been fed on regularly. Presumably, they were not typically from Harley Langworthe’s class.

I looked around at the three men assembled there—Gladstone of the ruling class, Stoker the loyal subject who nonetheless was showing signs of being able to think for himself, and Marco, whose clan of Protectors had challenged the agreement with the vampires by defending humans even in the face of it. For all the differences they represented, a balance of sorts had existed.

“What changed?” I asked.

“We did,” Marco replied, preempting whatever the prime minister had been about to say. “Humans changed. The more control we have gained over nature, the more we have sought. Little regard has been given to how fundamentally we are altering ourselves in the process.”

Gladstone snorted. He appeared to have recovered from his shock over Langworthe. “Nonsense. Human nature is eternal. Cain is still very much with us, as is Abel. Judas walks our streets but, it is to be hoped, so do Peter and Paul.” With a nod in my direction, he added, “Not to forget the female, we still have faithful Ruths and perfidious Delilahs.”

I remembered that Gladstone had been an evangelical in his youth, of the unyielding Scottish variety. Later, as his political stature grew, he had adopted a more High Anglican
view of the world, but in his twilight years the teachings of his childhood seemed to have overtaken him once again.

“Human nature,” I countered, “can be changed beyond all recognition in the blink of an eye. If you doubt it, consider what happened to me.”

“Well . . . yes, but,” he said, “that was a highly unusual case. We had no idea what Mordred intended, none whatsoever. It was completely out of keeping with all his previous behavior.” He looked at me closely. “Did he not realize what he was creating, or did he have some particular purpose for doing so?”

With a note of pride, I said, “I am a descendant of Morgaine le Fey. The blood of the Slayer runs in my veins. Mordred knew that when he incarnated me. He understood what I would become. Whether because I am a halfling or because of Mordred’s own connection to Morgaine, I am able to communicate with him. He chose me for that purpose.”

At once, Gladstone sat up in his chair. His prodigious brows drew together in a fierce stare. “Has he told you his whereabouts?”

Reluctant as I was to trust him, I replied noncommittally. “Not precisely. What do you know of them?”

“If I knew anything at all, do you imagine that I would have kept it to myself?”

I was about to answer when Marco forestalled me. Quietly but with unmistakable command, he said, “Prime Minister, you were present at the meeting of the Star Committee last year when the decision was taken to seek a means of destroying the vampires, were you not?”

Gladstone shook his head in dismay. “I will not ask how you come by such knowledge as no doubt you would not tell me. But you have it wrong. The only decision was to authorize
research, nothing more, and that strictly as a contingency should it ever be needed.”

“I see,” Marco said slowly. “So the idea was that a means of destroying vampires would be found but not necessarily used. Kept in the back pocket, as it were?”

“It is the responsibility of those in power to plan for all sorts of contingencies,” Gladstone insisted. “Our pact was with Mordred, but we were aware that there was opposition to him among some of the vampires. We had to ask ourselves what would happen if he was deposed as their king.”

“Deposed by Lady Blanche?” I suggested.

The lion nodded. “She seemed the likeliest candidate and now she has made her intentions clear.” Speaking to all of us, he said, “She must be stopped.”

“We cannot do that without Mordred,” I said. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know. . . .”

“But you do know who may be responsible for his disappearance.” Stoker had not spoken until that moment. I had thought him still too overawed by Gladstone or to loyal to pressure him in any way, but apparently I was mistaken.

“I can scarcely believe that what happened at that Star Committee meeting has anything to do with Mordred’s disappearance,” the prime minister insisted.

Stoker was having none of that. Firmly, he said, “How could it not? Anyone serious about researching a means of destroying vampires would, first and foremost, require a vampire to study. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, of course, but it was supposed to be someone very junior . . . perhaps one newly incarnated and still not certain how to get about. Someone like that would be vulnerable, but
not Mordred, never him. None of us ever imagined that he would be the target.”

“Whose target?” I demanded. “Give us a name.”

Gladstone stared off into space. He appeared to be reliving the actions that had brought us to our present dire circumstances, trying to understand how he could have made such a terrible miscalculation.

“Dr. Sebastian de Vere presented a very reasonable proposal,” he said at length. “Natural outgrowth of his earlier research . . . prudent thing to do . . . our responsibility . . .” Abruptly, he pounded his fist in the palm of his hand. “He virtually guaranteed success! Said we were on the verge of a new world order in which humanity would finally assume its rightful place above all others. It was up to us to make sure that happened or someone else would.”

At mention of the name, I froze, so much so that I almost missed what followed immediately thereafter. Not that it mattered. Stoker summed it up perfectly.

“In all candor, Prime Minister, whoever you’re talking about sounds insane. You cited Scripture earlier, but even before then men knew that we are not meant to be gods. Look what happened to Prometheus when he brought fire to earth or to Icarus when he flew too close to the sun.”

“Sebastian de Vere may be insane,” Marco interjected. He looked deeply concerned but not particularly surprised. “What we can be certain of is that he is brilliant. His research into human evolution and cellular change is unparalleled.”

I recovered myself enough to ask, “De Vere is a member of the Golden Dawn, is he not? Didn’t you tell me that his research has skirted too close to the wind on more than one occasion?”

Marco nodded. “He has a reputation as a man who believes that the ends always justify the means.”

“That’s well and good,” Stoker said, “but I fail to see how any human, no matter how determined, could have captured Mordred.”

The prime minister made to rise only to fall back in his chair when he heard Marco’s reply.

“De Vere is no ordinary human; he is a renegade Protector. He was born into my clan and trained for that role. The night before he was to be inducted, the heart he was about to receive disappeared. De Vere claimed to have no idea what happened to it. Before another could be found for him, he declared that he was no longer interested in being a Protector but intended to devote himself to his scientific studies.”