The Immortal Conquistador

by Carrie Vaughn

  Ricardo was used to standing straight, schooling his features so no emotion showed—he had to, in order not to rip apart everyone around him in bloodlust. This was only one of the things he had learned. So he remained calm.

  “A man named Fray Juan. The one who made me.”

  Now the woman frowned, and the expression revealed what she might be like when she was angry, when she sought vengeance. “I do not know this man. Where is he now?”

  “I—destroyed him, señora. I drove a spear through his heart.”

  “You destroyed your Master.”

  “He made me, but he was not my Master.”

  No one was breathing. No one here needed to, but they did not even have breath to gasp. Catalina murmured, “Extraordinary.”

  “Señora, I beg your pardon but I must ask—what am I? What are we?”

  “My dear Don Ricardo, you are a vampire.”

  Knowing the word did not change anything. But there was a word for it. Vampire. A foreign word—not Latin, not even Greek. Something even older then, and stranger. Well then. He nodded thoughtfully and kept on as before.

  “You destroyed your Master—the one who made you,”

  Catalina repeated. “Did you take his place? Did you take his blood?”

  Ricardo didn’t understand the question. “He turned to ash before my eyes when I impaled him.”

  “So his blood—his power—was wasted?”

  He was thinking quickly now, taking what little he knew and interpreting this new information. Was she saying that a vampire could take blood from another vampire and thereby take some of his power? Vampires reproduced by draining a victim, then feeding the victim from the vampire’s own veins to replace the blood. But did this mean vampires could feed on each other? Take power from one another in this manner? Fray Juan had been very old—very powerful. Then again, perhaps not so powerful.

  “Even if I had known I could have done such a thing, I still wouldn’t have taken his power. He—was not a good man.”

  Some of the entourage murmured to one another as if he had said something shocking. Catalina continued studying him. Ricardo knew better than to meet her gaze.

  “Even though I never met the man, I am inclined to agree with you. He came to this country without permission. The Master of all Spain sent me to establish the first vampire Family in the colony. You can understand then why we are all so interested to find you already here.”

  Ricardo wasn’t thinking so much about that as he was: there was a Master vampire of all Spain? Had there always been one? Did every nation have vampires? How many were there, and how had they kept themselves secret? Well, this last question he could answer—he’d done it himself.

  He chuckled. It all seemed so strange. “My lady, I feel something like a child who has been lost in the forest and raised by wild animals. I know nothing of any of this. I cannot explain it to you. Fray Juan came here, obviously. He made four other . . . vampires . . . before he made me. He wanted to rule this land. To bleed it dry, you might say. He was mad.”

  “So you killed him,” Catalina said. “And the other four as well?”

  Again, he bowed, affirming this. And now he had just admitted to killing five vampires before a room full of vampires. Perhaps he ought to think of a plan of escape.

  “As I said, they were all quite mad. I did not agree to their plan, and I had to defend myself. I have been alone ever since. For a hundred years now—”

  The Mistress raised her hand to stop him. “Never say your age. Among our kind age is strength and power. To tell your age is to tell others exactly what your strengths and weaknesses are. We do not say our ages.”

  He knew so little, and he did not trust that anything Fray Juan had taught him was true. Catalina must have thought the same thing, because she continued the lesson. “We live in Families for survival, to protect each other, to ensure our safety against those who would destroy us. You must know that the world is full of those who would destroy us. How is it that you have survived all this time alone?”

  “I do not know,” he said. “As best I could, I imagine.” He had made friends from the first, and they had protected each other.

  “Eduardo, call for some refreshment,” she said to the gentleman. He bowed and left through a door in the back of the room.

  Liveried servants—so many servants in this place—returned moments later with platters holding colored glass goblets, enough for everyone. Ricardo smelled the blood in them.

  When the tray was offered to him, he took a cup and nodded thanks. He did not ask where it had come from, whom they had taken this from and how, and if those people—this much blood would have had to come from more than one—were still alive or if they had been killed. It wasn’t just that he might not like the answer; he had the feeling it would be impolite to ask at all. At least they had not laid a child in front of him and expected him to kill it, as Fray Juan had done all those years ago.

  The other devils—vampires—in the room waited for their Mistress. When she had her glass, she raised it high in a toast. “To Don Ricardo, welcome. We are so very glad to meet you and bring you into our fold.” She drank, and all her fellows raised their glasses and drank, too.

  Ricardo hesitated for a moment, considering her words. He wasn’t sure he liked them. But he drank. The blood was still warm, and it filled him like fire.

  Whoever’s blood this was tasted as if he had been afraid.

  He watched the others over the rim of the cup to see how they drank, how they managed—was this a perfunctory matter of survival? No—they indulged. Their throats worked, swallowing the sustenance. They made small moans and sighed with pleasure. Elinor’s expression of bliss—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, chin tipped up—was nearly erotic.

  From her throne, Catalina watched him. He was sure he was being judged. How was the feral child behaving? Was he truly one of them? Ricardo sipped the blood as he would a decent brandy after dinner. Ran his tongue along his teeth to get every drop of it. Enjoyed, in spite of himself, the warm rush of power the drink provided. Made no other overt display.

  “You have probably never had any instruction in the laws of hospitality among our kind,” Catalina said, seeming to revel in her role as instructor. She seemed practiced at it. “When you bring a vampire into your space, you are obligated to provide sustenance. Failing to do so invites a wild chaos. To be a Master means you provide for all your people.” She gestured to the glittering beauty of her entourage. “This is the true display of power. Do you understand?”

  The vampire Family was a like royal court. She provided for them; they served her. He understood very well, and he wanted to go home now.

  She set her cup on a table, rose from her throne, and approached. Her court moved aside, fawning. Ricardo stood his ground as she touched his sleeve, studied his face, and finally took his hand as a mother might a child’s. Her gaze traced his features; he would not let her look into his eyes. Which was awkward, when she stood this close.

  She said, “Ricardo. I am very sorry your time thus far has been spent alone and unsupported. I cannot imagine. You have my deepest sympathies.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “But no longer. This is my territory now, and you are no longer alone. We will take care of you.” Her smile was gracious, serene. She expected him to be glad of this pronouncement.

  But what if he didn’t want them to take care of him? He only wanted to go back to Zacatecas and live—exist, rather—as he always had. But he did not feel he was being given a choice.

  He replied as carefully and firmly as he could. “I am very grateful to you for your hospitality. But I have a home, you see. I would like to return there, to continue living as I have. Perhaps I could visit you from time to time.”

  Eduardo’s hand tightened on the pommel of his rapier. That small gesture told Ricardo much.

  Catalina was polite, calm, careful. She was too controlled, too powerful, to reveal any slip of emotion. “I am n
ot sure you understand the situation. I cannot let you do that. Your home is my home now. It is how things are done.”

  “Is it?” Ricardo said coolly.

  She gave a flirting smile. “I can’t have you plotting behind my back now, can I?”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. While it was a statement of fact, no one here would believe him. Because they would all plot behind Catalina’s back, if they had his resources.

  She nodded, seeming to concede the point. “As you yourself have stated, there is so much you don’t yet understand. I would count it a personal favor if you would stay with us for at least a few days, to help you know us better. Then perhaps I will understand you better.”

  Such a reasonable invitation, but her tone still suggested: prisoner. Ricardo bowed, acceding to the request.

  “Dawn comes soon. Eduardo, show our guest to a room. Show him how we care for our favored people.”

  “My lady,” Eduardo answered. In fact, he came to Ricardo’s shoulder in the manner of a guard to a prisoner.

  “Gracias,” Ricardo said. “And Happy Christmas to you, Doña Catalina.”

  He was rather pleased at the chilled, shocked looks that brought on.

  Catalina stared. “You are very strange, señor.”

  He merely bowed. The scent of blood lingered amidst the smoke of candles.

  The room was comfortable. No—it was opulent. Finer than any room in his family’s manor back in Spain. Silk and velvet, a wide bed and gilt fixtures. Ricardo had grown used to the merely practical.

  The windows were all boarded shut. How sad, that he only felt safe in rooms where the windows were boarded shut. And yet, always, he knew when the sun rose, when daylight was near. The weight of it turned his bones to ice. So he took off his boots, removed his cloak and doublet, and stretched out on the too-soft bed to sleep out the day.

  He awoke instantly.

  For a time he lay in bed, sure that someone had knocked on the door, or perhaps merely waited outside, listening. Of course, Catalina would set spies on him.

  He could not stay here. Not even for the few days the Mistress had suggested. He had refused to be one of Fray Juan’s minions, he would not be one of hers. Wasn’t Mexico large enough for both of them to have space to keep to themselves?

  Space was not the issue, he supposed.

  Quickly, he dressed, then stood at the door, waiting for that feeling of ice along his spine. Here in Catalina’s den, vampires were everywhere, and that sense was dull and constant—but it wasn’t urgent, and it wasn’t right outside. He tried the handle, was not surprised to find the door locked.

  He squeezed, wrenched, and broke the handle off. The sound of ripping wood was satisfying, but loud—he’d have to move quickly. Fortunately, the next room was dark. He imagined himself a shadow and, keeping his sword still by his leg, he moved as quickly and quietly as he could. Running any of these demons through with his sword would not kill them. He wondered if he should even carry it, but it was an old habit, and the weapon’s weight steadied him.

  He had other weapons, other tools. Ideally, he would not kill any of them. He suspected that if he destroyed one, he would have to destroy them all. He had been through that once before. While Catalina appeared refined and lovely seated on her throne, a power held her aloft and filled the room. Fray Juan could not have stood against her.

  Fray Juan had not told him very much, in the end. But he had learned much on his own. To escape, Ricardo must be like a shadow and slip out of here. Vanish before the light of day rose.

  He passed through successive rooms—and got lost. The house was very large indeed, and one room ran into another. At every doorway he paused—vampires did not have heartbeats, so he watched for other cues, for the growing chill on his spine, the urgent tingle at the back of his neck that told him they were near. The trouble was, this building was filled with them. Every doorway held danger. Each room might be the one where Eduardo was waiting for him.

  Instead, he paused and listened for a current of air. He did not search for danger but for a way out. In this way he discovered the scent of smoke from evening cook fires, and of the often-rank air of a city with too many horses, dogs, rats, and people crammed into too small a space.

  He could follow that thread out of here, like Theseus in the labyrinth.

  “Señor, you must stop.”

  The vampire who found him wasn’t Eduardo or Catalina. This was a man whose thinness made him look particularly young. His doublet hung on him a size too large, as if he was trying to make himself bigger. He wore a rapier, but like Ricardo’s, it seemed mostly a prop on which to put his hand. Pietro. The boy’s name was Pietro, and Ricardo saw when he turned that he must have only been seventeen or eighteen. How maddening, to go through eternity with looks that invited everyone to treat you as a child. He might be a thousand years old, for all Ricardo knew. But no—this one didn’t feel old. He had not yet learned to use his youth as a weapon, inviting folk to underestimate him. He wasn’t yet so powerful.

  “Señor,” Ricardo said with a respectful bow. “I was not sure anyone was awake yet.”

  “The others are about. I’m sure the Mistress would like to speak with you.”

  The boy was not experienced enough to be wary of Ricardo. He thought he was safe in the fortress of his mistress. Pietro met Ricardo’s gaze straight on.

  Ricardo spoke gently, stepping toward the boy, holding his gaze, trapping him. “Pietro. I am just a poor country gentleman. This place, your Mistress—I fear it is all too rich for me. Far too complicated to understand. I am overcome, and so I flee back to my simple life. You can explain this to your Mistress, that I am poor and simple, and it would be best for you all to leave me alone and in obscurity. You will never hear from me again.”

  The boy stared, lips parted, gaze vacant. He nodded, just a little. “We will never hear from you again,” he murmured.

  “That’s right. Really, it’s for the best that you let me go.”

  “Yes. It’s for the best.”

  “Indeed. Muchas gracias to you, señor.” He bowed again, and the boy nodded, the tension of confusion around his lips.

  Ricardo left the boy staring at a wall as if it held the answer to some great problem. Moving quickly, he followed the currents in the air to a servants’ door in back of the house—it wasn’t barred, it wasn’t guarded. Two human women were there, collecting the day’s washing, that was all. They were even easier to deceive than Pietro had been. “I heard a noise in the hallway, you should go see what it is.” They blinked, startled, and fled to do exactly what he suggested.

  Just like that, he was outside under a wide open sky, hazy with the glow from evening torches and fires. He would not be happy until he was north again and could see the great wash of stars in the black sky of true night. He fled, using his skill and power to move swiftly, like mist. He hadn’t fed tonight; he grew more tired than he liked. He had little choice, though.

  In short order he found the inn where Henri and Suerte were waiting for him. By scent, by the feel of their particular souls in the air, he found their room.

  They jumped, startled, when he swung open the door—they hadn’t heard him, and he had forgotten to knock.

  “Ricardo!” Henri exclaimed. “What happened to you?”

  “I’ll tell you on the road. We must be away. We have preparations to make.”

  Both man and son looked frightened, so they had some idea of what they might be facing. “But what—”

  “I will explain. Let’s go.”

  His estancia was not very defensible. A memory intruded from when Coronado’s company lay siege to a Zuni city, in the far north. City—little more than a group of clay houses clustered together. But it was on a mesa, surrounded by open plain, and for all their primitive weapons those people had defended themselves well. Ricardo remembered.

  He wished for high ground now rather than this pleasant valley. He did not know what sort of assault Catalina and her peopl
e could manage, if they would come themselves in the dark of night, mounting a vampire battle of shadows and blood, or if she had a company of human soldiers, mercenaries perhaps, who would come in daylight to attack his people while Ricardo slept and could do nothing about it.

  He did not know how much time he had to prepare, how much time Catalina would need to find this place. He, Henri, and Suerte had rushed home as quickly as a wagon and horse could manage, which wasn’t quickly at all.

  He wished he could believe that Catalina would leave him alone, but it was clear, even in the short time he’d spoken with her, that she saw him as a rival. That all vampires would see him as a rival. That battle he’d fought a hundred years ago against Fray Juan and his men—he would have to fight it all over again.

  Over, and over, and over again, every time he encountered one of them. He just wanted to be left alone.

  He set his people to building a palisade and wondered if he ought to call in a priest to consecrate one of the buildings here. Make it a church where vampires could not enter.

  But that would not stop human soldiers.

  They worked by torchlight to sharpen logs while others of his people dug trenches in which to mount them, an angry fence to keep out invaders. Also, they had plenty of bows and arrows—the women made more, as many as they could, and he instructed the archers to aim for the heart. Wooden stakes were death to vampires; he hoped wooden arrows were the same.

  Catalina would say he was mad to instruct and arm his people who might now rise up against him. But Ricardo trusted them. It was why he would not hand them over to her rule.

  Ricardo paused to look over the defenses taking shape. “We are being invaded,” he observed, because yes, he was transforming his beautiful estancia into a fortress.

  “Again,” Henri said with a huff.

  Ricardo had to think about that a moment. He smiled, but he wasn’t pleased.

  He had been in battle. Ostensibly, his education had prepared him to fight, to lead armies, to conquer. He imagined every scenario that might come to pass if Catalina sent Eduardo and an army of vampires and their enspelled human servants against the estancia. He couldn’t imagine it, because he didn’t know the size of this army. He didn’t know if they would bring weapons. He didn’t know anything about who they were.