Master In His Tomb

by Jack Holloway

  She looks at her feet with a smile and then back up.

  “If he was still alive when you arrived, I left some notes with the Colonel. Do you have them, Colonel?”

  The figure to her left nods, the one who offered her comfort when she was laughing. There’s a hint of the man we met at the Memorial, younger, healthier, same uniform minus the patching. He slips the papers into a carrier and departs with that same familiar salute.

  “He’s going to watch for you. He’s a good man and I know you will have treated him right if you met him. For a man who hates the military, you have a lot of respect for them. More than for us anyway, picked for our talents to bring light to the darkness. Who have… failed I suppose. Did you set us up to fail? We lacked so many skills, soldiering the least of them.”

  “Now we’re gone and you have time on your hands. My guess is that you’re going to try and make this all better as it’s the ultimate ‘save’, once you’ve attended to that little itch that’s pulling away at you. I’ll get to that. I promise. The clouds, the wars, the destruction. Bring back the world as you wanted it to be. The ultimate version of an endless riddle for you to solve.”

  “You’ve always got what you wanted Albie, yet somehow there was always a price, wasn’t there? A price that someone else paid on your behalf.”

  There is an explosion somewhere beyond my little world of ghosts and a couple of the spectres fall. Part of the room blots out into static. Some fault in the recording device. Dust falls within the remaining frame which Serah waves away with her good hand.

  “Maybe this is your time, now everything’s gone. All the prices have already been paid. You’re in credit, and this one falls on you, unless you’ve acquired another little group who can pay it for you.”

  “I am going to help you with that. I still believe that that there is likely something left of the world that’s worth saving. At the end I’ll tell you what you need to know before you go, or you can check the library. Let me tell you who did this and where they are likely to be. Let it also be my confession…”

  “Interesting.” Good bit coming up. I hope. Do we all talk too much? Never get to the point.

  “… of our failures. And your failures, Albie. After all, we are what you made us.”

  “You were always your own people Serah. My fate rather points in that direction, I think. And why drag up the past in any event? Failure is a downpayment on future success!”

  “You should be quiet Albie. You’re arguing with a recording.” Harry More says. I haven’t seen him much since I awoke. I suppose this is the time though, my keeper of records would thrive in this environment. Another ghost to add to the spectres crowding around me, some of my creation, others electronic artifacts.

  “Fair counsel, Harold.”

  “Seriously. Stop talking. You’ll miss something important.” He fades away. “Again!”

  “We were dumb, Albie. When you were gone we fell to infighting. The old guard and the new. The old guard who thought we should let the humans burn themselves out, let them fall back into a dark age, a darkness that they craved. They moved quickly. Brought in new blood. Keep to ourselves, feed, spread our wings once the world was nestled in the warm darkness. We beat them, Albie, it took time but we made alliances and we beat them. Even when you weren’t there we took what we knew of your philosophies and we… improved on them.”

  “Imposs…”

  “Shut it, mush.” Harry is a rude ghost as he was an abrupt man.

  “We stepped up. We acted as shepherds, not wolves. We tried to guide humanity from the shadows, putting in place better leaders, pushing reforms. The remnants of the old guard rallied, dug through your old plans and tried to blot out the sun. We beat that too, with the help of someone you knew. My secretary, a man named Adam.”

  “Never liked that man.” I mutter. “He was an insufferable linguistic show off.”

  “Or that is what he called himself, we don’t think he gave us his real name. Names, names names. He hid his true nature in old power, as old as you maybe and he was never one of us.”

  “He guided us when you became a problem. When we realised you were the problem. He told the Council how to handle you, he kept the records that persuaded others to our cause, he put together plans that worked or adapted yours. Organised us and we never noticed. Same with the old guard when it was their turn. He ran rings round them, then us…”

  My blood does not circulate. It still manages to freeze in my veins as I finally catch up with what Serah just said.

  “I was a problem?” Actually ‘the’ problem. That’s almost a compliment.

  “We should have been more suspicious over what he was. The old Guard were strong. You were… you. But we had other worries. The humans were growing more powerful in our spheres. Dabbling was becoming dangerous. Remember when all we had to deal with was the Sailor King’s daughters?”

  “At the end the witches tried to warn us. They’d been digging. They worked out what he was. They died trying to tell us. But what do witches know? We always know better don’t we?”

  A voice from the corner. “You always did, didn’t you?”

  Stanley is here now, leaning against Johnson. He was a cadaverous man even before he was a cadaver. Yellow teeth, huge flat nose from a punch in his youth, he would never have won a beauty pageant, but he was loyal, and dependable. He favours me with a considering smile.

  “I warned you there was something rotten about that bloke. Never trust a man who craves the title ‘Secretary’.”

  “Don’t give me that Stanley. I always knew there was something off with someone who refused to meet me. Bloody secretary eh? But… big picture. I thought he didn’t matter… bigger issues to deal with. Push forward! Be a light in the dark.”

  “Some suffer so that others can thrive…”

  “Well, yes.”

  Stanley’s outline shimmers. I know it is him mainly from his voice. Slow and calm. “Worthy aims, A price worth paying, but it was always someone else paying it, eh Albie. No wonder you were the problem.”

  I sigh. I’m missing what Serah is saying. Something about the man, Adam, inscrutable and with powers that he should not have. All I can say is pay better attention to your hirelings, dear lady.

  “A bane to the living. When you know him, he sees you and…”

  All the usual nonsense that I would have picked up in a second if I hadn’t had more important things to do.

  And if my friends hadn’t been keeping secrets from me, misdirecting me. Serah should have… She kept him hidden from me as he whispered secrets that turned my friends against me and pushed us into this nightmare. Always the same… others fail. I pick up the pieces.

  Her story continues.

  The perpetrator pursuing my old Plan Five and succeeding using the lessons from the failed 1883 attempt. My friends standing up for what they believed in and trying to save humanity, but I’d always recruited from the arts and sciences so old Nan was correct, they couldn’t win a war against the Russians, I’m surprised they’d even managed to put together a military, even one that broke in their hands as soon as it was used. A war to save humanity that went wrong. A failed attempt to take out the Russian capital which still stands as a city of light in clouds.

  “You know we had a nickname for dear Serah?”

  Stanley’s outline wavers for a moment. “Do tell.”

  “Uniter of Thrones.”

  He whistles, low and slow. “That’s quite the compliment.”

  I laugh. “It wasn’t. We called her that because she managed to unite four Carolingian kinglings against her preferred appointee to the throne. Boso or something like that. Who tries to put a man called Bozo on the throne of anything? Master Ulbrecht had tried something similar with Irene, bigger scale, and that didn’t ended well… looking back on it our plans did tend to fall apart when tested. Most of us have the same mental capacities as we did in life…”

  I pause. Serah still speaks. Regrets about trus
ting me, regrets about trusting the man, Adam. Sorrow at paths taken and others passed by. Sorrow at the loss of good people over the course of years. A wish to have remained a painter and never having met me. Complaints about the way her creativity died when she did.

  Haven’t thought about Ulbrecht for an age. “Ulbrecht died too didn’t he? Fair time back wasn’t it?”

  “You know he did, Albie.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do. He didn’t agree with me on anything. Couldn’t see why we had to be ‘kind to the kine’. Revolting phrase. And he had poor taste too. Man would have loved what they’ve done with the place.”

  “So he had to die?”

  “A sad necessity.” Stanley is giving me a judging look. “A rare lapse.”

  My companion nods. “A lot of people haven’t agreed with you over the ages, and very few of them had much time to do anything about it once you found out. Or so I hear. Lapse after lapse. Could explain why they kept Adam away from you?”

  “I…”

  Stan shrugs, a shadow against the wall. “Your history is just chock full of nastiness my old mate. And I agree with you, your logic was always impeccable. You do your best but those around you flunk out, fail. Disappoint. Usually following something you’ve come up with, implementation poor?Doubt if you’d been around when this stuff happened, you’d have actually been much help. What was that last plan you had? Balloons to the stars? Must have been just about when they were working through the get rid of Albie plan.”

  “I was a visionary. How was I to know…” a moment. “I see.”

  “Now I’m not really here anyway so you should probably catch the last of this message and maybe head to the library as there’s something important there, remember? I’m off, have things to do. The snails don’t look after themselves. Any more than people.”

  He waves. “See you about, Albie.”

  Sarah is still talking. I am alone. And the Masters’ Sanctum is still a bloody soulless disgrace.

  “So, it was a mistake. No one is ever what they seem and for all our wisdom and all our experience we seem to be the worst judges of character. Is that normal? Something to do with immortality? Or is there something missing in our heads. I could never paint as well after I was turned, all those individual trees so you can’t see the majesty of the forest.”

  “It was Adam. He was in Moscow when the clouds descended, a report from the Human agencies say he was on a plane two days before. Flying thing. Big engines. Can’t use them with the clouds. Even his plans misfired in the end. This can’t be what he intended. Maybe killing those witches was his idea of a warning or they knocked away some part of it? He has a cold mind, like a corpse. Makes him untouchable, to know him is to die, so looking for him is death, so as a Vampire…”

  I…”

  34

  Ariadne

  Something is wrong. The recording cuts off and there are alarms going off all around the suddenly empty room.

  I grind out a particularly powerful curse, she never got to the important bit! Who buried me in the cold ground? I demand justice!

  There are screams as Vampires die above us that shake the increasingly shaky walls. I split the alarms into two kinds, we are under attack and there is a breach in the area I am – records.

  The scene is looping, coiling like a snake. Bits replaying. “Fled…”

  “back to Moscow. The clouds. Trial. In the library.”

  Oh yes. The Library. All is not yet lost and I part of the mystery is revealed for my longer term plans. I have a secretary to kill, though his motives in attacking me are unclear as yet.

  Time to move. Adam may have been a surprisingly awful monster whose actions have damned the world, but his record keeping was always first class. Time to find out who put me in that damned box.

  Old guard could mean anyone. We’re all quite old. I make my way across the corridor to the broken in door. The trial records had better not have been destroyed…

  “Oh.”

  I should be more surprised to discover Ariadne using a handheld recording device to take pictures of some of the Family’s more interesting documents, Hemlock is asleep on a pile of membership records for the Family council each of which has a broken seal.

  Once I have gotten over my limited surprise at Ariadne’s presence in what is fundamentally a death zone for anything human or human like and note the flow of power from Hemlock who is clearly combining napping with channelling a protective force generated by Nan and her coven, I digest the fact she is reading my the biographical records relating to my good self.

  It is obvious, now I know what I know, that Adam would have kept records on each of the Masters in order to further his nefarious schemes. I am heartened to note that my record is the largest, there’s old Count Perkinas’ books in the corner, cast aside by the witch to get at mine. A slim volume, barely more than a novella.

  Ariadne is staring up at me with fixed smile on her pretty face. When she speaks, her voice is different. No musical lilt, just flat and heavily weighted on the first syllable of every word, like Mr. Johnson-Pole or Mr. Thomas.

  “Well Master Albie – this has been a right eye-opener. After all those funny old adventures we’ve been through, here I am finding out that you were quite the monster. Kinda hoping that you’re not like that anymore or its curtains for me and… well Hemlock’s not really here anyway. Nan’ll have something to say about it if you do try and snuff him from a distance. I forget the rule, inverse square or similar? You’re not that strong. So that cat’s probably going to be okay.”

  Hemlock’s yellow eyes are open now, and fixed on me. They’re not really his, I can sense the malice of the witches glaring out of him. He meows smugly.

  “I see you’ve lost the music hall version of an Irish accent, dear girl.”

  She shrugs, her hat pushed back at a jaunty angle. “You picked up on that? Fun while it lasted. Not really Irish of course, born over in good old Barking before the Catastrophe and sort of signed up for the ride. Now I’m from everywhere just like everyone else in the coven. So just Wendy from the Woods if you get that reference. Ireland’s long time gone and I don’t look that old do I?”

  I ponder that for a moment “I really don’t think you’re that bothered about your looks dear girl. It’s another silly misdirection you think I don’t notice. As with all your kind you can change your appearance at a whim. And witches live for as long as they are minded to do so.”

  “Age shows eventually,” she flashes a brilliant smile. “I won’t tell you my real age – it’s a bit embarrassing but I’m a bit of a prodigy dontcha know. Rather talk about all the nasty things these books say you did in your overlong past. Nan’s been wanting to see if we could work with you,”

  “I thought that was exactly what we were doing, Ariadne.”

  “Nah, you’ve been on a jolly of your own, and you know it.” She nods to Emmet. “Don’t need a Golem to save the world.”

  “Obstacles arise.” Golems have many uses.

  “…So she asked if I could troll along to see what’s what, and I mean you’ve not been too bad. You’re bloody ignorant about lots of stuff and you’re more than a bit full of yourself. Seemed like we might be able to get to the main course, but the proof’s in the pudding right here. The people who really knew you say you’re a solid gold sort of bad guy. Not the sort to save the world. You’re shady, a bad guy.”

  I miss the singsong reference at the end.

  “None too trustworthy.” The alarms are howling. “A scoundrel. Not the good kind.”

  “Your coven is concerning itself with whether I am trustworthy when the world is covered in red ice? And to think you were my favourite power. I am more than trustworthy. I have worked my entire life for the betterment of the human condition. A light in the dark, driving back the shadows…” I am. I know that. Sacrifice is…

  The tomes in front of her are huge, distracting. Hundreds of pages of papyrus, pictures of cuneiform texts appended to modern paper
s, hieroglyphs wriggling into an alphabet of some kind, then demotic, Greek, Aramaic, some runic texts in a variety of Futharks.

  Just like Adam to have collated everything. Dab hand with paste and brush it appears.

  My past is catching up with me and I am unsure what lurks there. Stanley is watching me from the shadows. So is Johnson, and Helene. Harry and Albert, the full selection. Is that Tomas back there?

  I look over at them. There are others behind them. Daphnae? Was that my wife, and children, shadowy, forgotten, still loved? More than I thought.

  “But. I suppose there were times that I was not entirely myself, and when I was young it was more difficult. There was so much hunger. I woke up one day and I was a monster but then woke up and I knew I was a monster but that I now wasn’t… hard to explain. Change builds wisdom and I have a great deal of wisdom.”

  She flicks through some of the early pages. “No, no. Monster’s a good word. I mean just listen to this…”

  I grimace. “You do realise that if I am a monster then you’re probably just annoying me right now Ariadne?”

  She gives another tight smile. “If you’ve got to go, then go out with a flourish Master Lump, and can’t say I haven’t been annoying you plenty.”

  “When the end is all there is…”

  She sighs. “Exactly. Oo this is a good bit. Well after you’d say you stopped being a monster, I’ve got Hemmie helping so I think I have this right. Says here you killed a fellow master for supporting the wrong candidate for a… bishopric? Hey Hemlock! Am I reading this right?”

  Stanley shakes his head. I don’t remember that. Bishoprics could be important at several points in history and power is something to be carefully assigned. You can’t have the wrong person in post. They can do a lot of damage. You could end up with an Ambrose and a shift…

  Or was it that the person who had opposed me was more powerful and needed to be removed? There was a reason I did that.