Master In His Tomb

by Jack Holloway

  “You think so, Mister Lump?” Oh goodness, now she is really annoyed. I may have to back off a little.

  “A compromise then. We hole up here so you can grab a little sleep and then head out when it’s nice and dark right before morning breaks, such as it is.”

  Ariadne looks at the cat. The cat pulls a face. She concedes with a sigh. “If we can get out of this shithole one moment earlier I suppose I should be jumping at it. Sure you’re going to be able to handle the night stuff? It’s not just Russians and Witches out there. Some of what’s up there, comes down here.” She bobs her head, ponytail moving in time. “I won’t give the Union much credit, goddess rot them but they do keep the worst of it at bay, back home.”

  “The night stuff?” I am spluttering with irritation at the way she tosses away such barbarisms. “What a poetically lacking allusion young lady. I am a creature of the night, the starry hours, I have a wistful attachment to the beauty of the moon and constellations. We vampires are poets at heart. Looking up to the sky and seeing the faces of our long-departed children and the cities where we once lived in the desolation of shadow. But we are fair, you need sleep and the cat needs sleep and a little claw-play on a kitchen table.”

  “Not sure where that came from Lumpy. I was just asking if you think you’re up for a fight with bug things from the beyond. I’m going to be too busy keeping myself safe to help you.”

  Hmm I may have missed her point in my irritation. My amour-propre requires an affirmation.

  “I am confident in my own abilities, young lady.”

  We are talking at cross purposes again. “Then there’s the actual vampires out there. Every one of you I’ve met has been a dead-hearted blood-sucking monster who’d eat you soon as look at you. Particularly,” she clarifies “at night. When we’ll be walking about.”

  I shake my head sadly, that my kind has incurred such a reputation? Unacceptable. “The excesses of youth. Once I’ve addressed this ice age in scarlet , I promise you dear girl I will explain the rules of the game to whatever authority remains amongst my people. Once done, we will rebuild. We will be what we were, and we will help our human and witch friends lead the truly fulfilling lives that they deserve.”

  “Good luck with that Lumpy. Far as I can tell the wild vamps don’t listen to anyone. Holing up in ruins and chowing down on locals wherever that might be. Buenos Aires? Yum. Out-Paris? Delicious. Nasty little scum-suckers the lot of them. They have no authority unless you’re into pack dominance mechanics.”

  “We’re hierarchical young lady. Always someone in charge. Just a matter of persuading them to respect the traditions.” I smile. “And it is a bit like wolves now you mention them. Noble creatures but I’m the biggest and strongest so…”

  “Sod this. It’s like being trapped with a… broken poetry generator. A shoe-gazing poet with a faulty thesaurus.”

  “Should I be offended, Ariadne?”

  The witch takes off her hat and sets it besides her before settling into her makeshift bed. “You know what? You do what you want Lumpy. I’m here for the ride and I’m getting as much sleep as I can before we head off to your stupid castle.”

  Within the minute she is snoring gently.

  “It’s not a stupid castle. It’s a rather fine castle, in the Neo-gothic style,” I sniff before heading out to the edge of the copse to watch the witches at play. I set my hat atop my head with purpose. It falls off if I look up without doing that.

  And in the four hours I let Ariadne rest I see three witches drop from the sky whilst studiously ignoring the guide book.

  Quite the mystery.

  16

  Tourist Trap

  The night run goes well. Right up to the point it does not.

  As we are approach the road that should wind its way up to the Castle, the first signs of trouble appear. Hemlock starts sniffing the air which starts Ariadne doing the same.

  “I would ask…”

  “Bio-diesel.” My blank look requires elucidation. “Fuel. For old relics the local Ruskies drive about.”

  “Do they make a rumbling-growling sound?”

  “Like you would not believe.”

  Right on schedule a large group of Russians appear on the horizon, hunkered down in armoured vehicles. Electric lights blazing and weapons cycling. The runes on their armour scatter the light into rainbows that make the whole thing look more like an ancient procession of celebrants than a military convoy.

  The engines growl like beasts and there are far too many to fight. They are also broadcasting out waves of a crude form of magical tracing signal from a tower built into one of the vehicles that brushes across my mind with a feather touch. Asking questions in debased Russian to which my only reply is silence.

  Above us, not a single one of the witches are in sight. They know better than to interfere with a force of this size.

  “Should have stayed in the woods, Lumpy.”

  I ignore the quip and cast around for cover, we need something substantial.

  “Bit quicker Lumpy. They’re coming this way…”

  “I can see that, woman. Let me concentrate.”

  I let my spirit rise up above the sullen earth and search for something that will meet my requirements. My eyes have broader reach from here even as my body stands and gawps in my absence.

  A modern wood, too obvious if they know who they chase. I need an alternative. Something unexpected.

  There we are.

  A structurally sound farmhouse nearby. Relatively speaking of course. I return to my body and gently chivvy my companions in that direction using a minor time distortion spell. Not too much, as the side effects of an ill-timed temporal displacement can be messy for the living.

  The cat seems disinterested by our predicament, and is taking the opportunity of my distraction (it being my turn to carry him) to partake of the kibble in my carry-all. How there is any left is beyond me.

  “Rotund cat.” I may not need food, but I abhor waste. No cat could possibly get through that much kibble. Not the way I would have handled it. “Cat need diet.”

  A hissing voice from inside the bag. “Wasn’t it trying to persuade people to do things your way that got you into your original predicament Master Lumpy? Leave me to my small pleasures.”

  That’s one way to look at it. I stay silent as we wend our way closer and closer to the farm and further from the Russian column. Hemlock’s sass does not merit a response.

  We reach the fence as a series of icy blasts announce the arrival of a snowstorm.

  “Perfect.” I exclaim into the howling wind. Ariadne is holding on to her hat.

  And it really is perfect. The building is in wonderful condition, the roof is lined with well-founded red clay tiles, the outside is lime washed with decals painted with tasteful skill, the fringe of the garden is a little overgrown but there are delicious juicy blackberries on bushes set out across the tended lawn, between well cared for apple and plum trees.

  The contrast with the rest of this gods-forsaken place is remarkable. I could happily live in this place. It has a glamour to it.

  We make our way up the pebble dashed garden path under bright skies, warm sun against our skins, past the white-painted picket fence and the banks of show-perfect flowers that would do honour to Chelsea itself.

  And as we do, I realise that this is ridiculous.

  “Hold, Ariadne” I grip her shoulder to stop her from reaching the green door, beckoning and promising a better life.

  “What’s up… oh yeah. I see your point. We’re in a perfect looking farmhouse that just magically appeared in the middle of the ruins of Poland at just the right time for us to hide from a column of Russians,” she is backing up now and fumbling with one hand for an amulet around her neck. “Fuck. Back back back we go… If it’s what I think it’ll take a moment for it to…”

  The world snaps and the farmhouse rises up in front of us, its domestic visage breaking into a malignant new predatory reality. The manicured
gardens twist into darkened knots of dead vegetation erupting from the churning earth, the sweet berries transform before our eyes into cold whorls of poison ivy flying outwards to grasp at us, the house itself unfolds into the claws of a dimorphous fist-wedge reaching out to scoop us up into the suddenly monstrous churning clouds, a tentacle the size of a tower twisting down as lines of grasping snakes slither towards us.

  A maw the size of a cathedral door dripping drool that hisses as it lands in great gobbets of slavver around us.

  “Retreat!” I shout through a suddenly fang filled mouth. And in Greek. Not the time.

  Some cloud predator. Gods above and below is this what the world is like? Nothing here is real. Well, nearly nothing.

  The picket fence is definitely real and it proves a near terminal impediment to our backward scoot. The witch is faster than I, and a little nimbler. She clambers up and over with a swish of robes. Given the difference in our strengths that is a blessing as the snaking roots concentrate their attention on me, their binding waves reaching and sloughing away against the wards I have etched under my skin.

  I plan ahead for events of this nature.

  Many years ago, I asked a true friend to skin me, and tattoo the flesh below with the strongest runes of the time.

  A master of great power has scrimshawed my bones with etched power.

  It took three raw bloody months for my skin to grow back and my hands still ache in the cold, but my foresight has been rewarded once again. It is greatly comforting that my wards are still efficacious even against the horrors of the modern world.

  More sturdy limbs reach for me as the witch and cat retreat. A stand is required to slow this monster down. I break the first two grippers to reach me with an exertion of force and flames called from my earliest memories, the chariot’s wheels crack bones once more, the temples burn along with their priests, the not-house recoils, earth and stone flung hard and breaking the line of the fence. It is followed by a deep howling from the maw above that rattles my bones.

  I grimace, knowing that the Russian column will have heard that. As will anything in a twenty-mile radius.

  “So much for a quiet approach!” I shout. “You are quite the inconvenience, monster!”

  And I channel more power, hurling at the creature before it can respond.

  The thing from the clouds is in full retreat now, rippling lines of muscle pull the huge fist-claw back up into the sky, its heavily veined skin around the door-mouth fizzing and darkening as the fires burn it, and there is a deep burst of pressure pressed into my lungs as the possessing entity, a monster many miles in length, lurches away leaving eddies and crackling lightning in the dark red twilight above.

  A light fall of signifiers follows the monster’s retreat, pattering and crawling across the earth, trying to form meanings in the dirt. There is some link there which I do not understand. Signifiers are the things that make up the souls, all that potential snuffed out from the dead witch.

  No time for this. We need to get away.

  I rush back to the shadowy woods where the witch and cat are waiting, her hands are shaking.

  “Holy mother of the earth that was close Lumpy. Do you see why I said things have changed?” I acknowledge her concerns with a gentle pat on the back, she is clearly distraught, her breathing heavy from the shock and the chase. She needs a moment to recover and probably a little reassurance.

  “Nothing I can’t handle young lady. Though I will admit that that was somewhat invigorating. Are there more of those creatures around? What made them… Come back here cat friend, I will look after you! No more scary house monsters!”

  It does feel good to let go after all these years. I am not a weak man, nor do I scare easily, I like to be reminded of that once in a blue moon.

  And.

  The witch is just staring at me. The cat is considering its position, eventually settling on a tree stump looking towards where the armour column had been. His tail is a bushy thing, sweeping across the forest floor and picking up burrs.

  Ariadne speaks.

  “You are a fecking nut Lumpy, you know that? You are fucking insane. Are there any more them about? Probably. Those things are everywhere round here. I didn’t even notice the fecking thing until we were… if we had walked into that house that would have been it for me – maybe for Hemlock here. We don’t have the luxury of whatever the hell it is that you just did. I know you’re a lord muckity muck vampire and a million years old and all that but we’re just here and you need to remember we can’t survive what you can. Not that you’re fecking alive.” She stomps around whilst ranting. I owe her this, repressed emotion can be very harmful to the fairer sex. “You don’t even know what that’s like now – to be scared, to nearly be killed, you just keep on and on and on. You promised this cat you’d look after us. You promised Nan you’d look after us and… and…”

  So much emotion from such a small witch. I am never sure if I am supposed to do something in situations like this. My old companions I understood. Business like, they knew better than to waste time on histrionics around me. Kept it inside until they could cry and scream in the night and do whatever it is that humans do to comfort each other. Sensible.

  Not this… emotional incontinence. Her world, though not mine, so I let her demonstrate her lack of self-control for a little longer before nodding sagely.

  “You do know that there was nothing to be afraid of Ariadne. I haven’t seen one of those before but it’s no more dangerous than…”

  She stops her anger-dance and boot-splashing for a moment. Mouth open in amazement. “No more dangerous than what you idiot of a dead thing? There was nothing like that in your day. Nothing! Thank fuck for the Union, keeping those things away from us. And that’s not the worst of them. There’s stories from the collapse of how the Indians shot down one of them back in the day and it crushed a city of five million people in its fall. It’s about the most dangerous thing you could meet anywhere, any when and I don’t care what you say about your oh so…”

  She continues in this vein for some time. I take the opportunity to consider my options and the risks associated with each. If there is some danger to these beings, then it seems likely the Russians will hole up and keep their heads down for some time rather than chasing after us and risking getting eaten. This makes it even more efficient for us to continue our travels tonight and we may make the Castle before dawn now that the roads are clear.

  I look up to suggest this to Ariadne, but she is still talking.

  “and I’ve half a mind to take Hemlock and head home. Feck Nan’s orders, back-feck this stupid fecking mission and screw you and your dumb dead… head!”

  “All of me is dead, young lady. Not just my head.”

  That knocks the wind out of her for a moment. I raise an eyebrow. “And if you have finished could I have a moment of your time?”

  Silence. Other than the rain starting up again. Just water this time though, the departing monster appears to have raised the ambient temperature considerably. Water drips from icicles on the trees.

  That settles it.

  “I am not insensible as to how stressful that experience must have been. It would be unpleasant in the extreme to one lacking my wide experience. I will acknowledge that I may have underestimated the dangers of this journey and I have never seen anything quite like that… but…”

  “I knew there was a but coming from you.” Ariadne growls. The shaking is out of her hands. She is quite resilient. My views can be antiquated…

  “But, the departure of the monster appears to have given us an opportunity to make double-time to the castle and I would suggest that we make use of it. If life gives you lemons…”

  She is just gawping at me. Pawing at an amulet of protection. A fetching owl with emerald eyes.

  “And it has started to rain which I care not one jot for, whilst you have your excellent witch’s hat for protection.”

  The cat watches, weighing up the situation. Sometimes I
feel that it is in command here. A drop of meltwater drops on its furry head and it hisses. Time to sweeten the deal.

  “And Hemlock may of course ride in my bag full of… well not much right now… but it still remains watertight and a fine carrier for a cat of his considerable girth.”

  The dark is now near complete, the woods are silent as are my companions. Rain splashes on the leaves above and the smell of wet earth and mushrooms is omnipresent.

  I cajole a little. “Though we would need to go now, if we are to complete our journey in good time…”

  Ariadne shakes her head in disbelief, picks up Hemlock, opens my hessian bag and gently puts the cat into it. Then she starts marching off, out of the woods, and towards the disturbed earth where the cloud creature had originally laid its trap.

  It really did do a remarkable impression of a local house. Must be some mental element to it. I’ll pay more attention.

  It occurs to me that Ariadne doesn’t actually know where we’re going or is too furious to remember.

  “I would suggest heading in that direction though, dear lady.” I point in the opposite direction from Ariadne’s determined march. “The road up to the castle is that way.”

  She stops in place. I can hear her thoughts running laps, pondering whether to eviscerate my condescending blood sucking arse. She decides against it. And considers the insult vaguely comical in context.

  A muffled burst of swearing as the witch turns about. She mutters a cantrip to help with her night vision and we make good time towards the old castle where my friend Emmet awaits.

  “All thing considered that could have gone much worse.” I say, cheery as can be.

  No response from either of my companions.