Seeker (39 page)

“I have been watching from afar,” the Ancient said, his old voice cracked, “and saw the horror of that “revolution” two years ago. Such a waste of time, and not what she…” He stopped and coughed, waving away what he was going to say. “That does not matter, what matters is I have seen the way the
Three
have changed my people, brought them on to the path of civilization. Things need to be known if the Three are to lead the
upyr
to salvation.”

Frederick smiled. “You have been watching, if you know of the new name for our people.”

“Yes, a symbolic act I approve of. Now we must talk of the Book of Origin, as it has become known. Or the Book of Sekhmet, as you will now call it, for it is for Her that it is written.”

She listened intently as they talked about the Book, which the Ancient was to pass on to Frederick. Frederick didn't understand why he was being tasked with finishing the Ancient's work, but the Ancient assured Frederick that his blood would help him to understand. The conversation continued on, and she realised for the first time that it was because he had the Ancient's blood in his that Frederick would be able to find the Seeker. She had not known this; a fact Frederick had kept from her
.

The two men talked some more, and she followed them as they travelled from Tuzara and up the hills to the monastery of Cãpriana. The three stopped a short distance away, she further back than the men, and they watched as a mob, riled up by the war waging about them, set fire to the monastery, driving the monks out. The mob set about beating on the monks, and words such as traitors were thrown with the punches. Celeste had never bothered to learn Romanian, but then since becoming an upyr she had found herself able to understand any language she was exposed to, it was a curious upyr trait that to this day she still did not understand, but as a result she understood the mob clearly. Once the mob had moved on, leaving the monks dying where they had been beaten, the Ancient took Frederick to the monastery
.

The wind blew heavily over the hill, and Frederick had to support the Ancient, who was being buffeted by the elements. For her own part Celeste was unaffected by the winds; she was as insubstantial as any ghost
.

They entered the old building, the wooden door still open from where the angry mob had dragged the monks out, and a heated discussion followed, while the fires around them continued to grow. Celeste stood at the doorway, listening as Frederick insisted he go to the crypt and fetch the Book. The Ancient refused the help, saying how it was his time
.

Celeste felt a pulling and the scene dissolved around her. Suddenly she was in the crypt, watching the Ancient retrieve the Book from its hiding place. At this point it was barely a collection of paper and papyrus, bound together by string, a result of its tumultuous two-hundred-year journey from person to person after it had been stolen from the Ancient. Many other small pieces of paper were in piles beside where the book lay, notes the Ancient had made in the time the Book had been lost to him. He reached for them and gasped with the effort
.

Celeste moved to help, but her words were not heard. She passed right through him, a reminder that she was not really part of the events. She could only watch as the old Egyptian vampire tried to hold all the papers to himself, while balancing the Book atop of them
.

He stumbled from the crypt, crying out in anguish as the papers toppled out of his hands. His quick reflexes saved the Book and many sheets, but most of them fell into the flames about him
.

Together they watched in despair as the notes burned. So much knowledge was lost there, details of the prophecy destined to remain unknown until Onuris returned. Celeste blinked, unsure of how she knew this
.

“My lady?”

A voice she recognised. She looked about her as the scene dissolved once again, and for a moment she was standing back at the doorway of the monastery, watching the Ancient stagger towards Frederick, the remainder of the Book and notes held tightly in his arms
.

“My lady, please awake.”

The voice was insistent. She tried to wave it aside, but the scene around her was fading into darkness, as if swallowed by shadows. “Wait, I have yet to finish…”

“Please, it is important.”

She blinked open her eyes only to find herself lying in her bed, the ever gentle visage of Nathan looking down at her. For a moment she just stared, as she allowed her mind to catch up.

She remembered looking at the painting of herself and Frederick from five years ago, and then connecting with Frederick's mind…

She sat up abruptly, causing Nathan to jump back. She offered a smile. “How long?”

“You have been asleep for almost twelve hours, my lady,” Nathan told her.

She shook her head. No, that wasn't right. She hadn't been sleeping at all. She had fallen back into the images she had seen in Willem's mind when she and Frederick had linked with him. Only what she had seen…they were not dreams, but memories! She had spent twelve hours observing the Ancient, as he prepared for the arrival of Frederick, making sure all his notes were together with the Book, right through to him handing over the Book to Frederick. Not only observing, though, she felt what the Ancient had felt, knew what he knew. Only the knowledge was slipping from her, and she was left with a sense of great sadness over work unfinished.

The memory of the events, however, stayed with her. And she now understood why Frederick was able to track down the Seeker. Celeste smiled to herself. She had been right to trust him after all. What with recent events, and bad decisions over Willem, Celeste hadn't been so sure of him. Once again she was certain of Frederick, as certain as the Ancient himself had been.

One thing still puzzled her, though; why was Willem remembering this? He was clearly not the reincarnation of Onuris, but he was more than a normal upyr. Somehow he was linked to the Ancient. Perhaps that is what led Frederick to him, a blood bond beyond even that which she shared with Frederick?

“My lady,” Nathan said, interrupting her musings, “DI Swanson has been in touch. She left a message for you to contact her as soon as possible. I told her you were non-contactable, but she insisted.” He smiled apologetically, clearly not wishing to impart the news he had been given. “It would seem that Detective Chief Inspector Rowe has contacted the parents of Mr. Townsend.”

This news shook Celeste into action. “Please tell Theodor and Erwyn that we're having an emergency meeting…”

“I'm afraid that Mr. Gwyther has not returned since last night.”

Celeste blinked. It was not unknown for Erwyn to go off on his own; he had always liked his own time, despite Theodor's best attempts to rein him in. It was a concern, especially now, but she pushed it aside. Erwyn would return at some point during the day, and then they would be able to bring him up to speed on events. “Very well, Nathan, tell
Theodor
that I wish to meet with him, and then contact Frederick. We need to see him now, before anyone else spots him.” She shook her head. “Why now? We're so close to prophecy.” She blinked, surprised to see that Nathan had yet to leave. “What is it?” she asked, knowing he would not linger unless he had something important to say.

“Mr. Holtzrichter has already been in touch, and he's on his way here now.”

Celeste smiled and took a deep breath. “Good, then things might yet be okay.”

* * *

Sam smiled at Frederick, but the smile was not returned. Ever since he had discovered the arm and the missing Book, Frederick had fallen into a funk. His mood wasn't helped when he discovered the busted lock on the street door, and he cursed himself for being so caught in the passion that he failed to notice it the night before. Sam had said nothing about that; after all as far as he was concerned the “passion” served its purpose. Frederick said little else unless asked a question directly, which suited Sam just fine. He had his own thoughts to occupy him for now.

They were sitting on the train, nearing Benfleet. Soon they would be at Canvey and Sam would meet the Three. Of course he had met them before, but that was before he understood the truth of them. Now he would be watching them more carefully, observing how they interacted, gauging their threat through their actions with each other.

With a few pointed questions he had learned a little more from Frederick about being an upyr. Unlike the vampires of old they were not subject to the fatalities of garlic, wooden stakes, or sunlight. Neither did they have a problem with reflection, which was just as well, since Sam did wonder how he would have failed to notice a lack of reflection from Frederick before the events at the alley. He had asked Frederick about how one became an upyr, but the response was garbled, so intent was Frederick on finding a suitable container for the severed arm. As best as Sam could work out it came down to the expected sucking fest, with the draining of the blood of the victim, and then drinking the blood of the upyr. Much as it was in most vampire lore, it seemed. Sam suspected there was more to it, since he had no memory of events between Frederick drinking from him and waking up in Lilly's garden, but clearly something had happened in between. At least two days' worth of something.

Frederick stood up as soon as the automated voice informed them that they were approaching Benfleet. He picked up the holdall that had once belonged to Willem, now containing a box which in turn housed the severed arm. Sam stood up and followed him to the door.

He placed a hand on Frederick's shoulder. “It's going to be okay, we'll find your Book,” he said gently.

Frederick smiled, but there was little hope behind it. “We better. Last time it was lost the upyr world was almost torn apart.”

Another story for another time, Sam guessed. Although, now that Frederick mentioned it, a bell rang in his head. It had been lost in 1588. Sam frowned. Like those memories of the burning monastery of Cãpriana, and the arrival of Sekhmet in the temple, he just knew he was right. Once again Sam pondered what he had become as a result of being turned into an upyr.

Could it be that as an oracle into the past he had a role to play in helping the upyr find the Seeker? That made sense to Sam. Although he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to help them. He would wait until he had a chance to study the Three, see what he could learn from them, before he decided on what he wished to do.

* * *

“She has disappeared. I know, it is most unfortunate, but no one knows where she is.”

Erwyn wasn't that fussed anymore. Finding out about the Maia situation was a smokescreen. He had bigger things to concern himself with than setting Maia on her father now. Of course, if she had gone missing it could be that she was nearer than anyone suspected.

“Then what about the fulfilment of prophecy?” Erwyn asked. “We don't want Frederick and the Three getting in our way.”

“Erwyn, you worry too much, I always tell you that. Things will come to pass when they do. We are on schedule, and soon we shall find our creator.”

For the first time ever Erwyn couldn't stand the laid back tone of Julius's voice. “You mean you will find him?”

“Of course, but you will help like you always help me, yes?”

Erwyn narrowed his eyes. “Yes, of course,” he said, no longer meaning a single word. “Okay, I need to go; if you hear anything about Maia let me know, yeah?”

Julius said he would and the line went dead. Erwyn pocketed his phone and looked out of the window. He was less than an hour away from Cambridge.

* * *

At first Jake had felt a little uncomfortable walking around such a strange house on his own, like he was intruding. But Charlie had insisted he make himself at home, and so after a bit of rummaging about he'd found the frying pan and vegetable oil. While he cooked he found himself opening the copy of
Attitude
that was sitting on the kitchen side, and on and off, as he prepared the food, he became engrossed in the interview with another celebrity who beat the press in outing him. As well as talking about his view on sexuality, Matthew Phillips partook in a photo shoot, modelling new and interesting fashions, and for the first time Jake actually saw he was good looking. Phillips never looked all that on
Corrie
where he played a bit of a roughneck builder.

Jake was laughing by the end of it, thinking that Phillips had scored a point against the so-called “freedom of the press.” He didn't understand why the press felt the need to involve themselves in something that was obviously intensely personal.

Charlie joined him in the kitchen just as he was dishing out the fried breakfast, pulling a t-shirt over his well-toned torso. He looked at the plate of food, and turned his nose up.

“Erm, thanks, mate, but I try not to have so much cholesterol first thing in the morning. Plays havoc with my morning workout, you know?”

“Oh, is that what you were doing?” Jake asked, before he realised what he was saying. “Shit, I mean…”

Charlie laughed. “Listening in, eh? Yeah, every morning first thing I do some exercise. Crunches, stretches, sit-ups, some weights. Nothing like getting hot and sweaty in the morning,” he added, with a wink.

Jake felt himself going red. “Sorry, guy, I didn't mean to imply…”

“Ah, don't worry about it.” Charlie lifted his shirt. “What do you think, not bad for thirty-seven, eh?”

“Not bad at all,” Jake replied, feeling a bit more comfortable. He patted his own gut. “Guess I need some work.”

“Well, you know, if you want we can do a little work on that later between canvassing sessions.” Charlie turned to the cupboard and reached for a box of Alpen. “Will told me you work on a building site, which is probably great for the arms and legs, but a diet of beer kind of defeats all that hard work, yeah?”

Jake found himself smiling, both at the humour in Charlie's voice and the fact that Willem had told Charlie about him. “Not untrue,” he said, and started work on his breakfast. “Putting away two plates of fry up is certainly going to need a bit of working out later.”