Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis

by Anne Rice

  It seemed all the Children of the Night had dressed for the occasion in the usual assortment of gowns, thawbs, and three-piece suits. I was in my usual red velvet and lace, and Armand wore the same extravagant style in shades of blue. Only our tall riding boots looked out of place, but these boots had become the common wear of all those who regularly took to the air, and it was not at all strange to see a blood drinker dressed to the nines, save for muddy boots, and so it was the case now.

  I wondered how all this calculated and lavish eighteenth-century atmosphere appeared to our guests--decadent or beautiful, offensive or tasteful.

  The eight visitors were in fashionable sports attire, the males in tweed or leather jackets, and clean pressed jeans, while the two women wore long sleek form-fitting black dresses, with spectacular and very bright twenty-four-karat gold jewelry and strappy gleaming high-heeled shoes. All appeared to be slightly cold, and trying to politely conceal it. I ordered the heat in the room to be increased immediately.

  All rose when I approached--and as I made my way across the polished parquet floor slowly, I ascertained two things at once: their minds were impenetrable by telepathy, which Arion had already indicated, and they seemed in no way instinctively frightened of us as mortals usually are and they did not exude either distrust or menace. In sum, all the tiny indications of aggression in humans were absent from them. No human being can feel the texture of our skin, or look on it closely in bright light, without experiencing some sort of frisson. Sometimes the instinctive fear is so great the human panics and backs away whether intending to or not. But this distinguished party was surrounded by us, and they appeared to be experiencing absolutely nothing hormonal or instinctual or visceral.

  They certainly weren't humans. I didn't even think they were mammals, though that is what they appeared to be--two women and six men.

  They were all brown skinned but in varying tones from the darkest, Welf and Welftu, to the bronze-skinned women. All had black hair streaked with gold, or black hair heavily streaked with gold. In other words, they appeared to be what the world calls black people, regardless of the differing tones of their skin. And all wore their hair parted in the middle and long to the shoulders which gave them a sort of consecrated look as if they were members of some special sect.

  "Our Prince," said Fareed, adding, "He's eager to welcome you."

  I nodded and I was smiling because I always smiled at moments like this, but I was registering everything.

  Fareed was absolutely right about the group including clones. It was easy to see this due to the skin tone and the hair if nothing else.

  Overall, I could find no recognizable ethnic traits in their features, nothing that resembled any known African or Indian or Australian tribe. Welf had a full African mouth, but did not look African otherwise. They didn't look Polynesian or Sentinelese particularly. But of course Seth or Arion or any of the elders might be seeing something I couldn't see. In sum, they might have come from a time before the ethnic traits we see today in various parts of the world had started to develop.

  "I want you to feel comfortable and safe in my house," I said in English. "I'm relieved you made it here without mishap."

  There were immediate nods and murmurs of thanks. Each in turn took my hand as I offered it. Silky skin, flawless skin, like a fabric of superb manufacture. And they had the special beauty of dark-skinned people, a near polished and sculpted look.

  All possessed similar expressions of high intelligence and inveterate curiosity, and they were truly all completely without fear.

  They were slightly smaller than I expected. Even the taller of the males--Garekyn and Garetu, who were about my height--were thin with delicate bones. They were impeccably groomed and shining clean the way affluent mortals are in these times. And I picked up the scent of expensive perfumes, of the inevitable soaps and shower gels. And blood, yes, blood, abundant blood, blood being pumped strongly through their bodies, blood infusing them as blood infuses the bodies of mortals, creating a wave of desire in me, and once again in my mind that stubborn desire for innocent blood.

  I welcomed each one of them individually, repeating the name that was offered. Garekyn, the accused murderer, looked no different from the others. He made no apology, but he showed no arrogance either. And when the woman Kapetria received my handshake last, she smiled and said:

  "You live up to your legend, Prince." There was no accent to her English. "You're as handsome now as you ever looked in your music videos. I know all your old songs by heart."

  That meant she knew everything. She'd read the memoirs, listened to Benji's broadcasts, of course, and she knew the story and mythology of our entire tribe.

  "Ah, my rock music adventures," I said. "You're too kind, but thank you."

  "I'm very glad you've agreed to receive us," she said. "I'm eager to tell you all about us--why we were sent here, and when and what happened."

  This struck me as a remarkable statement.

  "I'm impressed," I said frankly. "Very impressed. This is a great opportunity."

  "Yes," she replied. "An opportunity."

  "And you've been well treated, had a meal and time to rest?" I asked. This was a verbal gesture because I knew the answer, but they eagerly replied with nods and murmurs that it was a reception beyond their expectations, with Kapetria again speaking to me on behalf of the group.

  "We found the entire village charming," she said with an easy and radiant smile. "We hadn't expected to be able to use our computers and cell phones here. We hadn't expected such interesting shops, and all this so far off the beaten path."

  "Yes, it's a small self-contained world, the village," I replied. "Requires a certain retiring type to enjoy this kind of exile."

  "But the rewards are considerable," she said, "or so your devoted staff has told me."

  "I find myself marveling," I said, "that they ask so few questions about the people who live in this castle."

  "Maybe they know more than they ever admit," she suggested, "and they aren't curious so much as cautious."

  "Ah, could be," I replied. "Come, we'll go up to the Council Chamber in the north tower. The walls are lined with soundproof insulation. It cannot keep out all the telepathic eavesdroppers but it works surprisingly well against most."

  And did these creatures have telepathic powers of their own?

  I sensed that they did not.

  "We will record all of this," said Fareed. "I want to remind you of cameras and speakers in the walls."

  "We'll be recording it as well," said Kapetria. She held up a tiny black digital recording device with a small screen which would likely outlast the battery of any cell phone if the meeting went on into the night, which, frankly, I was hoping it would.

  I smiled. Our coming out into the modern world had begun over forty years ago with a human radio interviewer in a rented room in San Francisco inviting Louis to tell his story to a tape recorder. And now here we were, all of us, storing every word and gesture of this historic meeting on the modern offspring of that old recorder.

  I led the procession through the many large and small rooms to the northern stairs, with Kapetria walking beside me, her heels making that erotic click on the hardwood floors that women's high-heeled shoes so often make. Odd that it made the hair on my neck and arms rise, and that I felt again the intense desire for blood and for her blood. Were the others feeling this?

  Pandora and Arion were there when we entered the Council Chamber, and so was my mother, hanging back with hard eyes, in her usual dusty khaki attire making a sharp contrast to the gowns of Pandora and Sevraine or the casual glamour of the two visiting women. Armand was the last to enter behind me. Again, I caught that signal to me as he passed by. Be prepared to do what must be done.

  The room had been lovingly prepared, no doubt about that.

  Additional chairs had been placed around the great central oval table, and the greenhouses had been raided for every perfect bloom imaginable, and the chandelier threw
a warm glow over all. I felt a rather foolish pride suddenly at the spectacle of it with the potted rose trees in the corners, and vases of white lilies on the mantelpieces and on the side tables bouquets or pots of random flowers, and the twin fires vigorously at work on their oak logs. Mirrors, mirrors, everywhere, everywhere, that is, where there were not murals, with all the happy rosy-cheeked putti staring down from the ceiling corners, and other gods and goddesses gazing on from the plaster borders that surrounded the windows and the doors.

  Our guests did appear to appreciate this. There was a flurry of new introductions, nods, and handshakes. Derek, the former prisoner of Roland and Rhoshamandes, seemed visibly delighted in some way by the scent and the colors of the flowers, breathing deeply and reaching out to touch a pot of exquisite fuchsias before examining the mahogany shield-back chairs as if they were treasures. His hand was trembling as he touched the carving.

  Marius invited our guests to gather on the side of the table to my left and Kapetria gestured for four of the party to take the chairs back along the wall.

  It was plain the elder generation was at the table, with the clones behind them, though Derek took some coaxing before giving up and sitting to Kapetria's right. He'd wanted to have Dertu take his place, but Kapetria was firm on her wishes.

  These four were the ones who had but one gold streak in their hair. Derek was the only one among them who appeared somewhat fragile, a bit thinner than the others, and perhaps tired. No wonder, but there was no fear in him of us either, and in fact, he was staring at me with the license of a little child, just the way he'd stared at the fuchsias or the furnishings. Marvelously innocent face.

  But they all had highly expressive faces, mobile and flexible faces. And again that finely polished sculpted look that so enhanced their allure.

  I took my usual chair at the head of the table, with Marius opposite me at the far end. My mother sat to my left with Sevraine beside her, and Pandora beside Sevraine, with Derek, Kapetria, Welf, and Garekyn filling out the remaining places. On Marius's left and coming towards me up the length of the table were Teskhamen, Gremt, Arion, Gregory, Seth, Fareed, and Armand.

  Seth was about in the middle, directly opposite Kapetria. Then came David, the youngest blood drinker in the room. And Armand was close to my right hand.

  Cyril and Thorne shut the doors and came round to where I could see them, and then took their positions as Marius directed, flanking the row of seated guests along the far-left wall. But they remained standing.

  I sat forward and folded my hands, my eyes finding the tiny camera lenses in the walls, and my ears picking up the very low throb of the audio and video devices.

  "Amel is with us," I said, addressing Kapetria. "He's inside me, but then you know all about that. You know the whole story. Well, he's present, so to speak, but whether he'll say anything remains to be seen. He may speak up. He may not. But he is here. And he can see and listen through any one of us, but not through more than one at a time."

  "Thank you for explaining this," said Kapetria. She smiled. Her white teeth were perfect. They all had perfect teeth. But her face, expressive as it was, was transformed when she smiled. "And if I want to address a question directly to Amel?" I wondered if she was a true female in any sense.

  "Address the question to me." I sat back and folded my arms, remembering vaguely some inane nonsense about what this gesture means in such a group, but ignoring it, and I continued to speak. "That's the best that I can offer. He is here, as I said. He is listening. I can feel it."

  "How?" she asked, with an innocent curiosity. Her huge eyes suggested Middle Eastern women to me. Her eyebrows were high placed and long, rising at the outer ends.

  "A pressure," I said, "at the back of my neck, the pressure of something living inside me, something that can flex when it wants to. When he's not here, well, the pressure's just gone."

  She appeared to be thinking this over.

  "Before we go on," I said, "let me say that we're prepared to restore the house of Garekyn Brovotkin in London. But there is no way our brother, Killer, can be restored to us or the blood drinker killed on the West Coast."

  "This is unfortunate," said Garekyn immediately, "but I didn't mean to kill them. How is Eleni? You do understand why I tried to escape Trinity Gate, don't you, why I injured Eleni?" He alone of the group had an accent to his English, which was Russian. His eyes were smaller than those of Kapetria and he had a rather long thin nose. Too long, too thin, perhaps, but it complicated his beauty, made his eyes seem all the more vibrant, and his mouth all the more sensual, as if it were a very carefully designed flaw.

  "I do understand," I said. "I would have done in both cases what you did," I volunteered. "And it's clear you could have killed Eleni had you chosen to do so."

  "That's absolutely true," said Garekyn. He was obviously surprised to hear me say it. "I have no mad appetite for devouring vampiric brains," he assured me. "I am truly sorry for the death of the vampire in California, but that one had weapons and broke into my room. There was another with him. I could have killed both, but I killed only one."

  "And what did you find so interesting about the brain of Killer?" I asked. "And why did you take the head of the one you killed in California?" I realized my voice was a bit too harsh and I was sorry for it. I was sorry that we had begun in this way.

  But Garekyn appeared unfazed. "I saw something in the exposed brain of Killer," he said, "something obviously different from the other organic material, something alive in a unique way, and this something, when I put it into my mouth, created visions in me, visions which intensified as I swallowed it. The visions had begun with a taste of the creature's blood." He paused, studying me intently. "I don't expect you to enjoy hearing such things, as these victims were your brothers," he said, "but again, I was in each instance under attack, and these visions had a crucial value to me." He touched his chest with his fist as he said these words. "These visions revealed something potentially precious to me. I had come in search of you, all of you, for a specific reason, and these visions had to do with this reason." He glanced around the table for the first time, his eyes settling on Marius for a long moment before returning to me. "I tasted visions in the blood of Eleni, and I did not kill her. Of course I took the head of the vampire who attacked me in California. I took it to a safe place and I broke open the head and I drank the fluid of the brain and again I saw things."

  I nodded.

  "I understand," I said.

  "What can I do to make up for this," he asked, "to put us now on even and secure footing?"

  Marius spoke up.

  "I think that we can put these things aside for now," he said. "After all, you were defending yourself." I knew he was very impatient with all this but I don't think they realized it.

  "Yes, defending myself, and from death, I thought," Garekyn flashed back.

  Welf, who had said nothing all the while, glanced directly at Garekyn when he said the word "death." Welf's eyes were heavy lidded, which gave him a drowsy and contented look, and his eyes and nose were more classically symmetrical. He had the fuller, more sensuous mouth.

  Clearly these creatures were not automatons without emotion. And their faces reflected a multitude of tiny changes with every passing second. Even Derek who stared forward now as if he were in shock had a face that reflected his inner struggle, his black pupils dancing almost frenetically.

  Marius went on speaking in his capable, gentle, and authoritative voice.

  "And we ask you to be aware," he said, "that we had no knowledge whatsoever of Derek here being held prisoner by Roland of Hungary. We scarcely know that blood drinker. He's never come to Court." Marius looked intently at me. He was plainly frustrated. "We are engaged in a process here that's new to us. Whatever is to be achieved here, it's not yet complete."

  "I know," said Kapetria under her breath. "I understand this. I've prepared myself with as much knowledge of you as I could obtain."

  "And we have no r
eal control," said Marius, "over Rhoshamandes who was so cruel to Derek. We're relieved to see that Derek's arm has been restored."

  "Derek's left arm regenerated," said Kapetria without the slightest indication that what she was saying was striking. "And Rhoshamandes's rash action led us to a remarkable discovery. We have Dertu as the result of what happened." She gestured with her left hand to the obvious duplicate of Derek who sat against the wall, Dertu of the golden and black hair. Not one distinctive streak, but many streaks, Dertu who was so calm compared to Derek.

  A low mirthless laugh came out of Fareed, who I knew at once had figured this out long before. "You came into this world," Fareed said, "without knowing that you might propagate in this way--by simple fragmentation?"

  "We came into this world, my friend, without knowing many things," said Kapetria. "We were sent here for a specific purpose. Indeed, our makers called us 'the People of the Purpose.' " Her eyes moved easily over us as she spoke, but came back to Fareed. "And we were given only the information deemed necessary for the fulfillment of that purpose. It was for this purpose that we were made."

  "And what was the purpose?" asked Marius. I feared his question had a sharp edge, but I saw no indication that anyone else did.

  "We will come to that," said Kapetria. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Marius, and then at Seth. "Believe me, I want to tell you. But first let me make this observation." She again addressed me. "It is that your method of propagation through the blood and through the brain has many things in common with ours. I suspect that Amel is no more in control of this propagation and its limitations than we are of ours." She paused as if to allow us to ponder this. "In fact, I have a working hypothesis that you are all connected to Amel because his method of propagation has failed. The method wanted each of you to be an independent unit; but the method couldn't achieve its end, and so you are somehow one enormous organism."

  "I don't think so," said Seth. "I've considered this, but you see, it was Amel who pushed from the beginning for propagation--for more blood drinkers so that he might taste more blood--and for a group of connected entities to satisfy his thirst."