Master In His Tomb

by Jack Holloway

  “None of that meant a great deal to me I’m afraid Colonel.”

  “No reason it should.” He turns his attention back to the terminal, switching off the lights. “So, we are alone but for your friends and that cat and I have found the message.” There is a scratching and yowling from a box which Ariadne goes to investigate and gets a claw swipe for her troubles. “May I say I am not sure that the cat is overly intelligent. Your pony on the other hand…”

  He’s right the Pony is quietly sitting and munching oats. I could swear it is listening from the way it watches us over the bowl but that must be a trick of the light or long term psychosis. Bonk on the head. Bonk!

  “The pony, I have a proposition in respect of the pony. We can talk after the pony? I mean message?”

  The old man’s face crinkles into a grin. “Fine. The message is a message at second remove. My part was simply to wait here for you. They did say you might or might not turn up.”

  “That must have been quite a burden.”

  “Honestly, I have nowhere better to be so it wasn’t too much hardship sitting out that in here. And it was better for a while. There were villages up on the hills and people who I grew fond of. They would sit around up top and read and laugh and live. It’s not all bad you know. Until it is.”

  He casts a fleeting glance towards Ariadne. There is a wistfulness to it that I don’t quite follow. Before I can dig deeper he speaks again reading from his screen. “The message.”

  “Finally,” Ariadne groans, tapping at the box in which Hemlock resides.

  “Serah left a recording containing some vital information in the Masters’ Sanctum, by the old library. Not the records, the library. This is double underlined and in bold.” He resets his monocle as he reads. “You will have no difficulty getting in, given your provenance. Which is more than I can say for the sad sacks who have tried their luck over the years.”

  The colonel settles back and switches off the screen. “That is all there is on that.”

  Ariadne is looking at the old gentleman with a dubious look. “umm, so... was that it?”

  “Patience.” He double times it to the shadowy back of the bunker, and shuffles around in a pile of yellowing papers. There is a veritable blizzard of flying paperwork as he works his way through the stacks.

  “You know,” says Ariadne “if I had a message to deliver that I’d stuck around for decades to deliver I’d probably keep it somewhere I could find it a bit easier than this. And I’d be a little less high and mighty about how much other people talk – even if it is warranted in the case of a certain pointy-toothed fashion victim.”

  “Hush, Ariadne.” I pause. “Fashion victim?”

  She shrugs. “You look like Austin Powers. From the old movies. In a top hat.”

  “I am not going to ask.”

  Then she coughs, plumes of dust are erupting from the old Colonel’s efforts. “Sweet mother of mercy, is there any chance you could hurry it up there, oldster? Air’s getting a bit dusty and I just coughed out the last of that bloody cloud monster dust.”

  “Ah yes. The Cloud Monsters. Such interesting creatures.” A pile of old folders fall.

  This generates a storm of cursing in German and additional crashing, but eventually the Colonel emerges with a small notepad consisting of three yellowed sheets of paper and a backing of damp cardboard and his monocle hanging off its chain.

  He passes it triumphantly to me.

  “That’s it. And that’s what she wrote. There’s more down in the City. Which is good as that was your plan no? A visit to the City. Well now you have a good reason for going.” He pops in his monocle and looks at Ariadne. “Though I think your skinny witch may have to watch her arteries. They like her kind down there.”

  “What did you call me, you old git?”

  “He called you a witch, young lady. Which you are.”

  “Bollocks to this, I’m perfectly proportioned not bloody skinny, though the food has been a bit rough recently. Chasing a stupid Vampire and no bloody meal breaks.” She harrumphs. “I’m waiting outside.”

  The Colonel watches her go. “I have not missed female company. Benefit of age I suppose. Though my tastes never really ran solely in that direction. Funny how little all of that matters as you age. I would suggest that you head out too Albrecht the Vampire. Time is a wasting as they said in the old Apache movies and I need to switch everything off, there were some Union scouts sniffing about here last night so I shall be keeping my head down until they… sod off.”

  We wait two old souls sharing a secret.

  “When do you think she’ll realise the door is closed?”

  Swearing.

  “I think she knows.” I gather up Hemlock in his new box home, and hand him to Emmet.

  “Do you want to take some supplies for your angry young friend and the cat? I can also spare a lot of oats if you plan on keeping the pony?” More swearing from the entrance in filthy French. “I had better address that issue before she does something irreparable, I have some experience with angry witches.”

  He clicks open the door to the bunker using a remote of the type old Nan used for her gramophone, the pressure of the air lightens and the swearing disappears into the howl of the wind as it plays across the entrance.

  I turn to our host. A brave and loyal man. I could use the assistance, and he seems to know a little of the state of Paris in these waning days. “Would you care to join us Colonel, I’m sure we could use a man with your skills, and drop you off somewhere congenial after should you still wish to pursue a comfortable retirement?”

  “A kind offer. However as I have said before I am happy enough here. I have food, I have shelter and I do not have to deal with idiots.” He sighs. “I have dealt with many idiots in my time and this with my radio is plenty for me.” A curt laugh. “It is funny. All those years of wishing I could be somewhere else, as I waited and now, I think about it, and all I want is home and a little proper coffee maybe.”

  “Colonel?”

  “Yes Albrecht?”

  “Thank you for the message. You have done your duty.” I nod to him and quietly wish him well.

  He nods and snaps out a parade ground salute. “I suppose you merit that. I’m technically still on secondment to the Family military and you would be in charge now.”

  I look at the pony. It has not moved an inch and is watching us over the bowl again. “If you did want the company and you did fancy a little travel I could offer you the assistance of a pony? She’s pretty healthy and could be useful type to have around if you ever move out of… here.”

  He looks back at the pony, it looks back at him. “I am not sure that you would be able to move her in any event. She seems to have settled in for the long haul.”

  “Keep her. Deal with your excess oats problem.”

  “There is that.” He smiles and brushes a little dust off his uniform. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, but I do not believe we will meet again. I wish you and yours luck with your plans and if you do manage to do something about… that… feel free to look me up. I have lots of stories about your old friends that you may find amusing.”

  I wave for Emmet and we head back out into the cold. Ariadne is waiting wrapped up in her snow cape. “You bloody well took your time.”

  “Had to say goodbye. He is an interesting man.”

  “Dirty old git. Staring at my arse and…”

  “I really don’t think he was, Ariadne. I think he’s just blind as a bat without that monocle.”

  “Oh.” She considers for a moment. “Oh.”

  “And I think he may not be that interested in the female form…”

  She widens her eyes. “Oh. Well I guess that’s always possible.”

  She considers. “Good on him. Where’s my pony?”

  There is the hint of a Germanic chuckle from the bunker as the door shuts with a dull thud.

  26

  Shopping in the City of Lights

  And with the sepulchra
l… whirr of motors… we are left outside the bunker. The snow is ankle deep on the ground now and is falling in drifts against the stony Russian army stretched out in its eternal advance on Paris. Night approaches, stealthy and perilous.

  The three pages I have been handed consist of drawings and notes, but I cannot decipher them properly here - they would not survive the weather and Ariadne has just noticed I gave away her pet pony and is threatening to ‘hex’ me ‘good’.

  Probably for the best, it was a rather odd animal, and Emmet is more than capable of carrying everything we need.

  “I got you some tinned fruit and more of that condensed milk.” She shivers and growls like a chilled wolfhound. “And a couple of porta-stoves whatever those are. And I promise more meal breaks from now on.”

  A small smile. “I’ll let you off for giving away Buttons then Lumpy. She’d have wandered off and got eaten down there. It was worrying me something rotten. Just, don’t give away me cat.”

  “I don’t think Hemlock would let me.” Hissing from the box.

  “Let’s see how far we can get before we hit a good place for some supper and then I’ll decide if I can forgive yer. Sure, there’ll be something with a roof down in town.”

  “Ready for a trip to the city of lights Emmet?” His eyes glow with the comedic light only I recognise. A golem of discernment and humour.

  “Why you talk to that Golem, I have not the faintest. Wherever we’re going, let’s get a wiggle on.” She activates a cantrip to remove the snow from the brim of her hat and starts off down the slope to the first line of ruins at a cocky saunter.

  All that is visible of Hemlock is a pair of furry ears sticking out of the side bag appended, box-wise, to Emmet. Like me, Emmet does not feel the cold and in the interests of alacrity I ask him to lead the way. He drags his feet a little leaving a fine cleared path for us to follow into the ruins of Paris.

  I soon pass the witch who falls in behind me with another growl.

  Our journey into the City is swift. Our progress is faster the further we go as the detritus of war impedes us less and less, though Ariadne’s search for something with a decent roof is forlorn until we’re well into the city. Not that much can impede old Emmet. Or me when I’m so minded. We have to clear a few long abandoned roadblocks here and there, consisting of burnt out vehicles that would have required dear Ariadne to make a detour, but which are the work of moments for us.

  “It would be rude to inconvenience a lady.” I say, tossing the skeleton of a van out into a ruin-field with a heavy thud.

  “Show off.”

  Nearer the centre, the dwellers of this place have cleared much of the rubble from fallen buildings over the years, and the skeletons of homes and shops lie open to the elements, everything inside reduced by the time’s hand to unrecognisable shapes buried deep under the icy shroud.

  Eyes watch us from the sewers. Rats and things like rats.

  Ariadne is checking out a likely looking shop that might once have been a diner as a potential resting place given the rapidly darkening skies, whilst Emmet and I scout ahead a little to a crossroads upon which a poorly executed statue rests on its side.

  “What is that supposed to be, Emmet?”

  “Art.”

  “Pah.” The statue is bad. It looks like the artist melted the artists model rather than the bronze.

  I assess our routes. The road that would lead down to the Seine looks a likely post prandial route at first glance, but that impression is subject to immediate reassessment as a figure rises from the ground in front of us like an unwelcome jack-in-the-box. A dozen others pop out of the buildings either side of us in a co-ordinated and well practiced pincer movement.

  But my teeth don’t itch so the threat is minimal.

  “Hello.” Raising enthusiasm for such an indifferent matter is difficult now I approach my target. The greeting is strained.

  “Master Albrecht. A surprise. Thought I could sense you somewhere about but then I thought… how could that be? It’d be like seeing King Arthur or maybe Darth Vader. Really weird moment if you’re settling down for your cornflakes. When were you going to announce yourself? You know the rules, you wrote half of them if you can believe anything those old gets said?”

  Vampire. Young but not too young to be able to reason with. This is acceptable. “Good afternoon, my young friend.” I exert my will. “I take it we can rely upon your hospitality?”

  He is an impressive figure in freshly laundered black and red. He’s even sporting a cravat. Close set eyes blue under a mop of slicked brown hair and with a muscular build that hints at athletic pursuits when he was alive. Sharp teeth and nails are the only immediately visible indication of his undead status. That and the fact that I know who he is. We are related after all.

  He struggles for an eternal moment and then gives into the power of our shared blood. “Great. Just great. You didn’t need to do that you know? Kinda rude. So yes, you get hospitality. I don’t really have a choice in the matter, do I? We would have played nice if you’d just asked you know.”

  I frown. “Sass is not appreciated, young man.”

  “To you anyway.” He looks at the Golem. “Maybe him and the cat. I quite like cats. Good predatory creatures. Didn’t you have another slightly tastier looking friend?” He bares his fangs. Rudely.

  “She’ll be with us in a moment, and I suggest you keep your own counsel on her, she’s stronger than she looks.”

  Emmet chuckles, “she’d turn that young whippersnapper inside out before he got a drop.”

  “Yeah. Witches are a shitter.” He smiles, teeth sharp. “Last guy in charge here taught that lesson pretty good. I keep my distance.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I gesture. “As to your question, I do know the rules. Do you?”

  His friends stride out of cover and drop to their knees as does he, though grudgingly. “Yeah. I know them. What is ours is yours and what we are is also yours, lost and near last Master Albrecht. And I formally take note that these things are all under our protection too. Including the one stealing shit in the shop. Happy?”

  I nod.

  He spits and then sneers. “Welcome home. You’re a couple of decades late, but what’s a bit of time between vamps eh?

  The Vampire’s name is Camelle, and he is the progeny of Master Renfield, who unfortunately fell afoul of the Sailor King’s minions just before my incarceration. Nasty business as we had to arrange a last-minute annihilation before he could break faith with the Family of the time. As such his get is also a sixth-generation progeny of mine which makes his attitude even more grating.

  One of the ghouls hisses and twists as Ariadne emerges from the diner carrying a grab bag of goodies, reaching for her with dirty fingers.

  “Oh, for fecks sake. FECK OFF GHOUL.”

  I lash the minion back and glare at Camelle. “There she is, under my protection and under your protection too junior?”

  Camelle rolls his eyes. “Yep.”

  A quick flick of will from the younger man and the contract is enforced in respect of Ariadne. The Paris vampires and by extension their servants accept the burden unwillingly but with the absolute sincerity that only comes with mystic bonds forged across eternity.

  I gesture Ariadne over. “Don’t worry dear girl, these are my friends and we are going to find something better than tinned peaches for you to eat.”

  “Thank feck for that.” She considers. “A hot meal would be pretty tasty right now. I found… more tins, and some t-shirts.”

  “Yeah, don’t eat the tins,” the nearest vampire chips in. “Bit of floating radiation’s likely kept them bug free but can’t have you dropping dead of food poisoning with the boss watching. If you really feel you have to though, knock yourself out.”

  She drops the tins and growls. The Vampire hisses back.

  “Enough. I really wish you could be a little more welcoming to my friends Camelle. This will not be an extended stay and it will be some time before I return.
”

  His saliva supply is impressive. It is tough to spit that much when you’re a vampire. “What we want and what we get aren’t one and the same, A. Present situation teaches me that lesson in spades. But hot food without a stomach twisting dose of radiation and a resting place with some comfy beds we can do. Least till you tell us what you want and you shift off to doing more Master stuff.”

  “Acceptable.” I give him a jab of will. “For now.”

  “Great. Cool beans.” A sour look at the sky. “Come with us.”

  There is a sadness to the relationship between the Masters and their progeny. A deep secret that hides in our very nature. Ties of blood and spirit, the thirst for blood we pass down and which must be mastered, all prevent true friendships developing. I am not sure that I could ever be friends with Camelle, but the possibility is taken away by our nature.

  The same applies to the vampires and their ghouls. It is why I prefer the company of humans. Living or dead they are mere biological machines after conversion.

  As we walk, the snows return. Camelle’s spit hisses in the fresh fall. “You brought the weather with you. Classy.”

  It is true that the skies above are restless. Something odd is going on up there. More than simple weather. I consider asking Camelle or even Ariadne if they know why the currents run in a single direction, and the odd patterns of power that they form, but the snow is falling thick and deep and even, like in the song and I don’t want to acquire a reputation for being inconsiderate.

  “I always hated Paris.” I mutter, mostly to myself as we wend our way down to the Riverside.

  27

  Youth, Disrespectful

  Camelle’s family is based out of the old sewers and catacombs that tunnel their way under Paris. Even before the Council adopted this place as our de-facto capital (damn missing that vote, the order of business had been written so very obliquely,) the Family used the catacombs for storage and what Helene euphemistically called ‘projects’.