Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis

by Anne Rice

  "That's how he did it," Lestat had said when he recounted the incident. "I was clamping down on my right hand so hard he couldn't use it, and while he had me distracted like that, he used my left hand to slip that pen into my pocket, or so he has bragged. I suppose he's ambidextrous. Likely they're all ambidextrous. I should have known."

  "I think he's furious," said Marius when he and Fareed and Seth talked alone about it. "He wants freedom. He wants a biological body of his own. But he loves Lestat. He has no real concept of what it will be like to be on his own in a body again. But it's a love-hate war they have going on. And Lestat knows that the final maneuvers won't be his."

  "Of course Amel is furious," Fareed murmured. Should Fareed bother to point out to the others that, since the Great Disconnection, Amel's etheric body was now larger and stronger than ever? All those hundreds of disconnected tentacles had snapped back into the complex etheric entity that was Amel. Had they added to Amel's measurable bulk? Something six thousand years ago had driven that spirit to want more vampires created; was it the sheer size of the spirit's etheric body, being as it was infinitely more complex than the etheric body of a simple human being?

  "Everyone is suffering," said Rose. "No one can bear this waiting. There has to be something that we can do!"

  But there was nothing anybody could do.

  And it seemed to Fareed that those who suffered in the extreme were Gabrielle and Marius--and, of course, Louis, who never left the Prince's side. Gabrielle was in the ballroom every night, often saying nothing, doing nothing--simply listening to the music and watching her son. Gabrielle wore her hair free and down and beautifully brushed back from her face. She wore women's gowns of a simple and timeless cut, and double ropes of pearls around her neck.

  Louis had been gravely hurt that Lestat had gone off to meet Rhoshamandes alone. So Lestat had promised never to do such a thing again.

  As for Thorne and Cyril, they swore they would die fighting Kapetria and the Replimoids before they'd give him up. But Lestat gave them the same order nightly: When the moment comes, stand down.

  "I do not want anyone burned," said Lestat as he reiterated his wishes. "I do not want anyone thrown through a wall. I won't have bloodshed, no matter what kind of blood it is. I won't have any creature dying because of this except me."

  As for the ever-changing crowds that filled the Chateau, all knew about this to some extent, but no consensus as to what to do about it had ever formed. Each individual was glad to be untethered from the vital Core. And many a blood drinker, young or old, swore they would die to protect the Prince, but most sensed that they'd never be called on to prove it.

  So when the music surged, and the dancers danced, and the audiences crowded the theater to watched vampire plays, or listen to vampire poetry, or see the films of all ages available through the video streaming of the mortal world, they seemed one and all to forget about the threat, and maybe some in their hearts wondered who the new monarch would be when the Prince disappeared.

  Would it be Marius? Some said that it should have been Marius all along.

  Fareed could not be aloof or indifferent or pragmatic about these matters. He loved the Prince too much, and had from the beginning. And Marius was in too much pain for anyone to make the slightest remark along these lines to him.

  Marius was working on the constitution, and on the rules. Marius was making the code. Marius was devising a way to enforce the rules against those who broke the peace by seeking to move into another's territory, or through the wanton killing of innocent mortals, or innocent blood drinkers. Marius had just about as much authority and responsibility as he had ever wanted. And sometimes, Fareed thought, Marius didn't want any more at all.

  Marius was weary. Marius was anguished. Marius was alone.

  After all, he'd lost his longtime companion, Daniel Molloy, to Armand again, and these two remained at Court only because of the threat to the Prince, and hoped some night to be free to go to Trinity Gate in New York. Meanwhile Pandora, Marius's ancient love, was firmly linked to Arjun again, her legendary fledgling and lover from ages past. Bianca had come back to Court after a long time in Sevraine's compound in Cappadocia. Bianca loved Marius. Fareed could see it. Bianca entered Marius's private study every night and watched him from a distance, her eyes fixed on him as if he were an engrossing spectacle as he sat at his desk writing. She was always dressed in a simple modern gown or a man's suit, her hair adorned in artful ways and sweetly perfumed. But Marius did not seem to notice or care.

  "She's undeniably beautiful," Fareed had said to Marius once about Bianca.

  "Aren't we all?" had been his grim answer. "We were picked for our beauty."

  But such was not the case for Bianca. She'd been given the Dark Gift by Marius because he had needed her at a time of great weakness and suffering. Maybe Marius had to deny the memory of that weakness. Maybe that is why he seemed oblivious to her presence.

  If Marius sought a new dedicated companion in someone else, nobody knew.

  "I am determined that this Court will hold together, no matter what happens," said Marius whenever the subject surfaced. "I am determined that this shall endure!"

  The Prince expressed the same absolute concern. "Keep it together, all of it. I've arranged all the legal papers to guide it down through the centuries. I've done everything I can. Marius will be the protector of this property. Marius will be the protector of the Court. Marius will be the law for the tribe if or when I am gone."

  The Court was vibrant. The Court was intermittently glorious. The Court was filled with surprises, as new ones continued to appear, though less and less often, and some were quite ancient with astonishing stories to tell.

  Fareed came back from Paris every morning well before sunrise, because he wanted to spend the last two hours at the Court. He needed to walk through the ballroom before the musicians had quit for the night; he needed to listen to the music for a while, even if it was only Sybelle playing the harpsichord or Antoine the violin, or Notker's singers forming a large or small choir.

  He needed to see Marius working away in his apartments, amid all the books and papers. He needed to see the smiling face of the Prince himself sitting in a softly lighted corner somewhere in fast conversation with Louis or Viktor. He needed to believe that Amel's prediction was true: Kapetria would find a way to free him without doing Lestat harm.

  Tonight, as the hours pushed towards dawn--and Lestat had no need to go early to his vault to protect anyone from anything--Fareed stood watching Lestat and Louis playing chess with a marvelous medieval set of exquisitely detailed figures. They were in the largest of the salons off the ballroom, sitting at one of the many round tables scattered all through the castle. Lestat appeared calm, even cheerful, smiling and nodding when he saw Fareed nearby.

  A wretched anxiety came over Fareed. If he dies, I can't bear it, Fareed thought. It will destroy me if he dies.

  But rather than reveal this irrational desperation, Fareed turned away and silently retired to his crypt.

  As he lay down to sleep on his broad Egyptian bed--a duplicate of his bed in Paris--he reflected on the one line of speculation that had recently given him hope.

  Lestat was the third host for Amel; Lestat had developed a full vampiric etheric brain and body before ever taking Amel into his body. So what if Amel hadn't mutated Lestat to the same extent that Amel had mutated Akasha, the first host? What if Amel was only possessing Lestat, riding as a parasite inside him? An extrication might be possible in this instance that would never have been possible with Akasha.

  And then there was the spirit's own huge desire for release. The spirit would cooperate when Kapetria's scalpel met the fragile biological brain tissue, and just maybe, maybe it would work.

  "It has to work," Fareed whispered in the darkness. All scientific detachment deserted him. He was weeping, weeping like a child. "It has to work," he said aloud, "because I can't live with Lestat dying! I can't see a future without him. This is
more painful than I can bear."

  30

  Lestat

  THE CALL CAME from Paris. Kapetria wanted me to meet her "out in the open" right in front of Notre Dame at 4:00 a.m. "The sun will be eighteen degrees below the horizon at that time." In other words very close to sunrise--at the time referred to as the dawn of astronomical twilight. Light in the sky but no visible sun.

  "Why should I meet you?" I said.

  "You know why."

  "And what will you do if I don't?"

  "Does it have to come to that?"

  "Yes, unless you answer my questions."

  "I'm going to do everything in my power to achieve this without your being harmed in any way."

  "But you don't know that you can achieve it without my being harmed?"

  "No. I don't."

  "And how do you expect me to respond to that?"

  "You're keeping him a prisoner inside you. I want to free him. I want to take him out."

  He was Amel. And Amel was silent. But Amel was listening.

  In fact, I was in Paris. I was just leaving Armand's home in Saint-Germain-des-Pres. We'd encountered an ugly problem there, a young and foolish fledgling named Amber who'd victimized one of Armand's oldest and most loyal mortal servants. Armand insisted that I, myself, extinguish the brief immortal life of the fledgling, and we knew where the fledgling was. I was going to do it, and now we were standing in the courtyard with the wooden gates to the street still closed, pondering just how we would do this--bring the fledgling back here or simply carry out the death sentence offstage. Armand wanted her brought back as an example. I loathed the idea of the grisly spectacle.

  And now this.

  Armand's face crumpled, and I saw pain in him such as I hadn't seen in years. "So this is it," he said in his old Russian.

  "Maybe," I said. "Maybe not."

  I addressed Kapetria. "Maybe you need to do some more work on the whole problem," I said. "Amel's perfectly safe where he is."

  "I don't think I can do better."

  "Not good enough."

  "What do you want us to do?" she asked as if I were in control of that aspect of things. "Please come. Don't make this a battle."

  "You can't win a battle. And I can't make myself participate in my own ruin without a fight."

  She was still there, but she wasn't answering.

  "I might come," I said. "I have an hour to think about it, don't I? Then again, I might not."

  "Come now, please." She clicked off.

  "Forget that unfortunate girl for a moment," I said to Armand. "You can deal with her tomorrow on your own. I have to think about this, think if I'm going to make a stand."

  I glanced up at the roofs of the four-story house that formed a rectangle around the courtyard. Cyril sat up there on the edge of the roof like a gargoyle looking down at me. Thorne stood beside him, hands in the pockets of his leather pants.

  "What are you going to do!" Armand whispered. Only now was I seeing how hard this had been for him. He was actually trembling. He had become the boy he'd been when Marius brought him over. "Lestat, don't let them do it!" he said. "Take her prisoner, and blast the rest into infinity!"

  "Is that what you would do?" I asked.

  "Yes, that's what I'd do. That's what I've wanted to do all along." His eyes were shot with blood and blazing. A spectacle to see his angelic face so contorted with rage and grief. "I'd blast every one of them off this earth because they are a threat to us! What are we becoming? We are vampires. And they are our enemy. Destroy them. You, I, Cyril, and Thorne--we can do it all ourselves."

  "Can't do it," I whispered.

  "Lestat!" He moved towards me with his hands out, then he stepped back and looked up to the rooftop. Cyril and Thorne appeared almost instantly at his side. "You cannot let this happen!" he said to them.

  "He's the captain of the damned ship," said Cyril.

  "I do what the Prince tells me to do," said Thorne with a long agonized sigh.

  "I haven't made up my mind," I said. "There's one more vote here right now to be taken into consideration, and I'm not hearing that vote."

  Just the pulse on the back of my neck.

  I thought of that little fledging Amber, hiding in her cellar only moments from here, sobbing and crying and waiting to be executed. I thought of the Court.

  Last night the most extraordinary thing had happened. Marius had come in, and danced with Bianca. He'd worn a simple modern suit and tie, as they say, and she had been in a gown of black sequins and tiny twinkling jewels. They had danced for hours, no matter what the orchestra played. Marius, the one who would be King tomorrow night if I were gone by then, gone Heaven only knows where?

  Was Memnoch waiting for me in that hideous purgatorial school of his? I couldn't help but wonder whether my unanchored soul would shoot up to that geographical part of the astral plane.

  "All right," I said. "Listen to me once again. This is my life! Mine alone to risk if I choose! And I don't want to go out with the blood of those Replimoids on my hands! I have enough blood on my hands, don't I? I'm telling you now that I am the Prince and I am ordering you to let me go to meet this woman alone."

  I went upwards, rising hundreds of feet above the tiny crestfallen gathering.

  And within seconds I was looking down at the pavement in front of Notre Dame--where Kapetria stood, a tiny figure in a trench coat and pants stranded in the empty square, apparently alone. But she wasn't alone.

  Soundlessly I dropped down to the balustraded walk closest to the top of the cathedral's north tower. She was standing about fifty feet from the central door. Other Replimoids were all through the streets to the far left of the square as I looked down on it, cleaving to the buildings. And I could see them on the bridge over the river. From above I'd seen them along the flanks of the cathedral.

  I wondered what they thought they could do. I put my hands on the balustrade and looked out over Paris for as far as I could see. Long years ago, Armand and I had met at Notre Dame, and he had come alone into the cathedral to confront me, and confront his own fears that the power of God would strike him dead should he do this--because he was a Child of Satan and the cathedral was a place of light.

  Of course Kapetria must have known this, must have read it in the "pages," but I suspected she had more practical reasons for wanting to meet here, that her Frankensteinian laboratory was somewhere quite nearby.

  I scanned the world for Armand, for Thorne, for Cyril. No trace of them. But Gregory Duff Collingsworth was also in the square, many yards away from Kapetria, lost in the shadows, his eyes fixed on me.

  I shot downwards, grabbing Kapetria by the waist and then rising hundreds of feet over Paris, as I cradled her in my arms to protect her from the wind. Below, the Replimoids descended on the square from all directions.

  Slowly, I set Kapetria down on the roof of the north tower, which was flat enough and big enough for her not to be in danger of falling.

  She was terrified. The first time I'd ever seen her show any fear whatsoever, and she clung to me and drew in her breath and trembled, and then fell at my feet. Of course I picked her up. I hadn't meant for her to fall. She came back to consciousness immediately, but the fear had her again, and she buried her head in my chest.

  "Is this the woman who roamed the high towers of Atalantaya?" I asked.

  "There were railings," she said. "High safe railings."

  But what she really meant to say was that no one had ever picked up her and carried her into the air like this before. And I remembered when Magnus, my maker, had taken me prisoner and set me down on a rooftop in Paris, and I'd felt the same terror she was feeling now. Primate, mammalian fear.

  Holding her firmly, I moved towards the edge so she could see her followers gathered in the square below, but she struggled against me. She didn't want to look over the edge. She didn't want to be close to it.

  There was nothing to do but to take her to a safer place, so I did. I moved more slowly this time, an
d, holding her all the more firmly, pushed her head down against my chest so she wouldn't be tempted to look about her. I took her swiftly to the topmost roof of Collingsworth Pharmaceuticals, miles from the cathedral and miles from the old city, where she was surrounded by parapets of substantial width and height.

  She was shaking ever more violently than before. She walked fast over to the nearest parapet wall, and sat with her back against it, her knees raised and her arms hugging her chest. Her loose black hair was mussed and she pulled her trench coat down over her knees, over her wool pants, as if she were freezing cold.

  "You want to tell me what you plan to do?" I asked.

  I expected her to be furious, to hit me with a volley of insults for this vulgar display of power, this vain attempt to seize the upper hand, when in fact I didn't really have the upper hand. But she did none of this.

  "I'm ready to do it," she said. "I'm going to wait for sunrise of course, when you are unconscious naturally, and then I'm going to do several things, flush out your blood and replace it entirely with Replimoid blood, open your skull--which you won't feel of course--and attempt to remove Amel intact into the waiting brain of another body that is ready and filled with Replimoid blood as well. Then I'm going to close up your skull, and close up the wound, and leave you there, bound, unconscious until sunset, at which time I believe your incisions will be healed, your hair will have grown back, and you'll be able to free yourself easily from your bonds. You can then leave the laboratory at your leisure because we will be long gone."

  "And you think I'm just going to let you do this," I said, "when there are no guarantees that I'll survive, or that Amel will survive?"

  "I have to try it, and I am as prepared as I will ever be," she said.

  Why was I doing this? I wondered. Why was I putting her through this when I was prepared in fact to give up? Just when I'd decided to give up, I couldn't say. Might have been a week ago or a month ago. Might have been at the council table after she'd finished her long story, and I was drinking her blood and I saw her with Amel--Amel who was still silent now and saying nothing--walking through the ancient laboratories of Atalantaya. I felt a misery so heavy that I wasn't hearing her anymore.