Master In His Tomb

by Jack Holloway

  Me included. It was deep in those shadowy crypts that I’d decided that plan number 5 -blot out the sun- would not be practical, given the food supply issues and the new sciences suggesting that without the energy of the sun everything would die. Bar us. Not an admirable fate for a blood sucking species.

  I even added a note to the plan in gall ink that someone appears not to have read.

  There have been vampires in Paris since the earliest days of our people. It’s part of the reason I avoided the place back in the day except when absolutely required, for instance when someone had dug up one of my old plans and was considering practical implementation.

  Legends say that the oldest recognisable vampires came here in the misty darkness of time before writing from drowned lands to the North, their wains blasting bronze horns at the locals, and then settled in for a wanton round of raiding and warfare that only really ended when the Romans imposed a bit of order.

  It was always a Mecca for the newly turned, dinner and a show available no matter the hour, but even I am surprised at the sheer number of young vampires jumping and howling amongst the ruins, and the bloodless wrecks of their meals.

  Tradition matters. We do not change, despite my greatest efforts.

  I pass a twitching corpse trying to rise, an elderly woman drained within the past day. It is dressed much as the peasants from the Little Russias had been as they were beaten by their Cossack overlords and upon rising it will wander the city until it drops.

  Wasteful, in both cases. The humans only need a guiding hand to truly excel. What horrors has this poor woman experienced that have led her to this junction? And as for the vampires. Well, it is obvious they have gone down a dark path. Without guidance a young vampire is little more than a helpless baby.

  A baby with massive strength and the ability to jump a hundred yards, but still lacking even the most basic survival instincts. Hunger passed down from our ancient ancestors in the old forests of drowned Doggerland gnaws at them, without light the shadows grow and consume.

  It’s what makes them such great soldiers when properly husbanded, and such a horror when they have no one looking out for their interests.

  “I am not sure I approve of the direction you’ve taken us, Camelle, your population is far too large to stay undercover and you don’t have to drain your meals dry every time, that is gluttony. I know it’s amusing but that is short sighted. You need to keep your young under better control, lock them up when they’re deep in the thirst..”

  He gives a lopsided grin, mop of hair bouncing as he walks. “Adapting to the time Master Albrecht, not enough of us older ones left to keep the young ‘ins under any kind of control. And it keeps the troops happy. As to supply we’ve got plenty. Took a while. Not much in the abandoned zone and there’s those stinking wasps and their drones crawling over it right now, but we get lots of food from the east. Lots of recruits. The edge baronies that haven’t got with the program aren’t good at keeping us out, none of them are until you get to the little Russias and it’s good practice for the big leagues when we do move west. Then there’s the communities along the Rhine, those suckers trade us their older relatives for stuff we find here and pick up from the drone drops. Humans are more pragmatic than you oldsters think. They’ll be fine. Until we take over.”

  “Yes. They are.” It has always been a problem how quickly they sell each other out. Another reason we must be a light and not whatever this is.

  We descend into a subway station which has been built into the undercity via a series of hand carved tunnels.

  “Shoddy. In my time we would have used magic.”

  “Yeah? We work with what we’ve got.”

  We move quickly through the poorly constructed tunnels with their low roofs and mining lights, before we reach the edge of the catacombs.

  “Happy we left Buttons behind.” Ariadne comments after one too many hat-knock incidents. “She’d have hated it here.”

  We pass a dozen youngsters playing dice next to a bone monument made of skulls. This is not our doing but rather those of a strange little man from around my time who seemed to take a great delight in building with the bones of his ancestors. I cannot remember his name but he left quite the legacy.

  They drop to their knees, scattering knucklebone dice, and hiss out their respects.

  “One knee, idiots.” Camelle shouts. “Ignore them, Master Albrecht. Takes a while to get the rules…”

  “I know.” I nod. “Good attitude though.”

  Within the catacombs, tunnels held up by brick supports crisscross between the older structures.

  “You have been busy Camelle.”

  Camelle nods. “The Union left years ago and we’ve been doing pretty good, give or take a few infighting issues. Spreading out. Got a network running. We call them the shadow cities, bit am-dram but the name’s stuck. Paris is the league’s lead city, if you ignore the Shadow Pope and his whining.”

  “Shadow Pope? League?”

  “Paris, Marseille, Milan, Rome, Geneva, Vienna. The wrecks and ruins of the old world, you oldsters always thought we’d just go nuts and destroy ourselves in a feeding frenzy if you left us the hell alone, got out of our heads. And maybe before the war that would be right, but look outside. No one round here stopping us doing anything, weather’s fine and the other masters trained us up good for their dumb fucked up little war, so we’ve learnt some discipline. This is our world now. This little bit of it anyway. We’re the Shadow Union.”

  I snort. “Shadow this, shadow that. Well that’s a word that’s getting a lot of use, you may have discipline, but you don’t seem to have much imagination. Did you pick it deliberately?”

  “Yeah,” he replies, “and we’re here.” He gestures to the right and I see we are at a set of brightly lit guest quarters. For proper guests not involuntary ones. Their lodgings have more chains, I suspect.

  “Imagination. That’s something you take away when you make us, ‘dad’. So we’re the Shadow Union as we can’t think of anything better, and the Union is our main enemy.”

  “Don’t get on with anyone.” Ariadne mutters.

  Camelle barks out a laugh as he directs his underlings, scuttling about with linen and bedpans in an almost comic manner. “Yeah, we’ve got a shit ton of enemies. The little Russias further east, the Baronies and their ragtag militias, guess the Americans but no one sees them now. Africa’s out of bounds. but the Union is the first and most dangerous. It hunts us, and one day soon, we’ll go hunting it.”

  I grimace. “I don’t know enough about this time to judge but surely there are enough problems in this world for us to need to work together to solve them?”

  Camelle shakes his head. “Hey! Don’t judge. We do work together. But with us, not them. All that intersectionality...”

  “Eh?”

  “What? Oh sorry. I did a couple of courses before the war and some of it stuck, who’d have thought. We don’t work with anyone we can’t trust.” He raises his hand and then subtly points at Ariadne’s back, which along with its owner is examining the bedding in the guest quarters as its applied to mattress and pillows at vampire speeds. “Like ah…”

  I tut.

  And Camelle sighs. “And hey, I know I can’t tell you anything, Mister man from another time. You get to be top dog and while you’re here we have to play along, but a word to the wise. People nowadays are a lot sneakier than they were in your days. Everyone’s scrabbling to keep above the water, and we do what we have to. Water’s rising. Union does what it has to and er… everyone does it. So, don’t trust anyone. Not that you’d have problems keeping above ground given who you are, but I promise you, you’re gonna be disappointed. Don’t get too attached and don’t do anything stupid.”

  “You stop flapping your fangs you dumb vamp” comes clear as a bell from the lodgings. “We beat up a house to get here. We want to do ‘stupid’ then old Lumpster there will do ‘stupid’ and double.”

  “Okay.” A subtle cast
of confusion fights with laughter across his close-set eyes. “I’m not touching that.”

  I chuckle. “And I think you’ve made you feelings clear enough young man. We have got off on the wrong foot. I won’t be staying long and I think that you have done a bang up job as far as it goes. Your assessment is correct. We really did think you’d just run around and blow things up if we left. This is almost like home.”

  “Thanks. You keep saying you’ll be gone soon. Not to sound too ungrateful…”

  “A little information. Then I fix this.”

  “This?”

  “This.” I gesture upwards.

  A wary glance. “Some things don’t need fixing Sir. And some things can’t be fixed. But hey, that’s your choice. You get to do what you want. Shall we?”

  He ushers me into my room, it is a comfortable enough resting place with all the comforts of home including thick lush carpeting made of some unnatural fibre. I take off my boots for what must be the first time since my involuntary showers with the Union and wriggle my toes into the soft strands.

  “Delightful.”

  “I’d er, watch out for the tacks if you’re going to do a lot of that. We had a couple of the ghouls fit this for a special guest a year ago and I don’t think they really knew how to fit carpets. Even got some air conditioning fitted.” He sighs. “Waste of fucking time that was.”

  “Air.. what?”

  “Controls the air temperature. Yeah. I know. There’s also a fire. You get some weird shit if you kidnap the architect rather than paying him.”

  I inhale the cold clean air coming from a vent halfway up the wall and look over at the roaring fire, the fumes pulled away through some mechanical marvel up and out into the snowy darkness far above. Camelle waits with a couple of non-descript youngsters with ridiculously long fingernails.

  I can hear my companions settling into the room next to me. The clumping of the Golem, the yowling of the cat exploring a new area, and of course Ariadne wondering loudly how you can get some hot water in this “stinking vamp filled crypt.” My people will deal with the details.

  It is good to be home.

  “Anything else you’ll be needing Master Albrecht? I have some stuff I need to be doing. Union’s sniffing about more than they should. Need to rap them on the nose.” He mimes swiping a dog over the nose with a newspaper. At least that’s what I think he’s miming.

  “Could you send me some reading materials please? I have a little research to do.” I pick the yellowing paper I received from the Colonel out of my purse. “And do you happen to know a Colonel who lives up in the Memorial at all?”

  There is a moment’s silence. “Ah, him. Yeah, we know him. He’s a bad-tempered old coot but one we’ve never had a good reason to deal with. Pain in the proverbial ass actually. He messed up a couple of things we were running back when the Union was up on the hills in their fortified villages. I’ve kinda forgiven him that, given the Union went away all by itself. Used to work with him a bit you know? Back in the war. So he’s like family at second hand. A crazy cat lady aunt or an uncle, you don’t go near unless you really want to hear about model trains. He still sticking together models from the gift shop?”

  “Don’t hurt him.”

  “Honestly wouldn’t waste our time, he must be on his last legs anyway.” Camille waits. He may have places to be, but I am his Master.

  “One last thing. I’d like to have dinner with my friends tonight. I’d also like to meet the oldest of your Family.”

  Camelle grits out a smile. “That’s two things, A. Ah well Karen’s off in Rome shouting at Dumbassius the Thirty Third right now so won’t be around unless you’re staying a week at least – not that you’re not welcome or anything, but I… will have to check who’s the oldest. May even be me. Since Camargue stepped on that anti-vamp mine…”

  He sends one of his long nailed lackies off to find out. “I’m gonna regret asking but… anything else.”

  I turn the papers up and down. It suddenly occurs to me what at least one of the abstract squiggles most likely is. “Do you happen to have a map of the catacombs?”

  His close-set eyes pinch together, eyebrows bristling. “Course I do. Get pretty lost around here pretty quick if I didn’t. That piece of paper looks kinda interesting actually. Is that a… I wouldn’t mind finding out where that map leads if you’re okay with that?”

  I smile. “Of course, anything for family.” I pause. “Only after I’ve seen it though.”

  “Okay. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “And that will be all Camelle. If you could see to my friend’s needs that would be perfect.”

  “Sure. Chow is coming up soon, given that your witch is hungry. And we don’t have any children.”

  “They don’t do that anymore.”

  “Sure they don’t, urban legend. Hope she’ll go for a steak and whatever veg we’ve got growing.” He sighs. “Probably mushrooms. I’ll get them to give you a shout when its ready. Go through opposite door from this one and you’ll be in the dining room.” He winces and looks down. “Serious about the carpeting though. I’m gonna have to have a word with them about this. And get a new fucking architect.”

  Dinner, lodgings and a helping hand. The young have more manners now than in the past. Must be some of that discipline that he was talking about.

  “Thank you, young man.”

  28

  Clues, Obscured.

  Nan is enjoying her day. On days like this all seems right with the world, the scones she baked earlier have earned her many plaudits from the settlement’s children following young Edgar’s birthday party and the clean up from the ice cream over-indulgence event took Elspeth less than an hour.

  Old Hemlock seems to be happy enough with his current state, sitting on top of the stove, absorbing its residual heat through his well furred body.

  Ariane, not Ariadne, they are so easy to get confused. has popped in for a night’s rest and is staying upstairs. This will give Nan a chance to ask her nicely exactly what it is she is looking for and to remind her wayward ward about the dangers of the wood’s edges. She’s already got the wild hunt watching out for her but those half horsey fey have been distracted of late.

  “Nan?”

  Aunty Clem is looming at the door of her home like the spirit of Christmas future. Or a particularly French cloud. Nan’s an old school witch. Nothing of country nor creed. Clem spent a little too long at the Lycée before finding her calling.

  “Hello dear.” Nan ponders whether she’s going to have to put down her collected works of Dickens and do something. She would much rather not. “What mischief have you been up to?”

  She’s up to the good bit in Martin Chuzzlewit with Old Martins sneakings, and if she puts down her stolen monocle there’s a reasonable chance that she may forget where she sets the naturally furtive item down. That would mean breaking out the glasses.

  She sighs. Today had been looking like it was going to be such a nice day.

  Clem produces Grams’ crossword cluebook.

  “Oh dear.” Nan picks out a hand coloured book mark she received from a grateful party earlier in the day and with the tall witch now inside the parlour realises that today was going to be a perfectly awful day. “I should have burnt that irritating tome when I had the chance shouldn’t I?”

  “No.” Says Clem. “Sorry.”

  “No rest for the wicked I suppose.” Nan picks herself up out of her chair and hobbles over to where Clem is laying the book and what looks suspiciously like a notepad filled with clue answers on to the cooking table.

  “There’s secrets hidden here, Nan. I need your help to bring them all together.”

  “I thought there might be Clemmy.” She brushes a little flour off her apron. “I had planned on pretending they weren’t there though. Ignorance is bliss and all that.”

  “Never a truer word, Nan…”

  29

  Après le dîner

  After a fine dinner with
a variety of dishes I had not expected to taste again, in the company of my battle-borne and trusted friends and the leaders of this lovely little community, I settle down with a map of the catacombs that a young ghoul by the name of Jeremiah brings me, along with some coffee. It is the same swill as the Colonel provided so I drink it for the ritual of pouring the artificial cream, the sweetener in silver spoons, the swish of the stirrer and the clink of china.

  How the mighty have fallen.

  The chemicals in the coffee do have some effect on my metabolism and help to focus my memory which is a useful side effect when you’re as old as I am and have work to do.

  “Need anything more, Master?”

  “I’m fine, thank you Jeremiah.”

  It is the work of moments to fit the sketch map on the papers into the broader map of the catacombs. The new tunnels are unmarked and fit into a disused area unvisited by my hosts for many a year, whose nearest occupied outpost appears to be the new libraries.

  From the looks of it there was a direct hit nearby of one of the Russian weapons and that seems to have contaminated the area with a noxious arcane byproduct terminally unhealthy to the unprepared. Although I suspect that I would be fine, it is questionable whether either the cat or the witch could survive close proximity to this rain of Strong-tium. I know it is unhealthy for less hardy vampires than myself by the abandoned nature of the area though I cannot discount traps laid by the other masters after I was entombed.

  There are also wards, particularly around what I recognise as the council records section. Specific to myself. A side effect of a short period where I decided that if they controlled the agendas I would rewrite the records.

  That’s why I have the estimable Emmet.

  I will investigate in the morning. Such as it is. Given the nocturnal nature of my hosts it will also give me a good reason to refuse Camelle permission to join me in my initial explorations which he brought up again at dinner.