I find something faintly ridiculous about the scene as a beautiful witch in a pointy hat leads a hobbling ghoul laden with bags and a cat up to the surface like a rich lady of leisure being assisted by a particularly grotesque Parisian porter.
“What’s so funny?” Camelle asks as we hurry for the surface.
“Oh. Nothing important.” Behind us more explosions. “Let us make haste.”
There are newer side tunnels running out and down from our escape route through which ghouls and fleeing vampires add to our party, and Emmet finally reaches us in one of the last groups. He is coated in black soot and there is a crack in one of his fists.
“Afternoon Master Albrecht.”
“Your hand?”
“Grenade.”
“Good to see you Emmet,” Ariadne says. “Thought old Lumpy had lost you for good.”
The tide turns, the supporting group of Camelle’s followers who escort our party shrinks as we near the surface, taking up positions either side of the tunnel in prepared niches. Ghouls set up firing positions, vampires clamber onto higher vantage points and perch on top of skull piles as we ascend.
Their interference with the plans of our enemies must be having some effect as the noise behind us does not grow closer, but neither does it grow more distant. Short bursts of fighting, firing, explosions and sirens.
Screaming and hissing and the sounds of pursuit. Magic, flares, dies. Almost theatrical.
“This seems too easy” I mutter. “We are being driven like pheasants.”
Ariadne looks around. “Why do you say that?”
“Too little variation, our opponents move at a constant speed as if they’re playing with those we leave behind…”
“I’d say don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Anyway can’t you just smash them if they do catch us?”
“You would think they’d know that.” It is a concerning consideration, why do they think they can take me down?
Dim light ahead now, the red of the outside world and we’re down to maybe a half dozen of the older vampires, Camelle himself, and a group of twenty ghouls including my bag carrier. I reach out with my mind to see if I can do something about this massacre or at least get a little insight into the process by which we are being driven.
A little help here could slow them considerably and that would mean more of our group make it out. It might even merit my personal physical attention in a selfless last stand.
“You’re pondering something inappropriate aren’t you Master Albrecht,” Emmet chides.
“Well Mistress Ariadne has got me thinking about the relative power balance and…” I reach back. A tweak here, a push there.
My mind recoils. A blank wall of nothing follows us. I can’t describe it, where there should be power lines and the flow of battle there is just a cold nothingness. A pit that pulls all around it to itself and negates it, it feels akin to the darkness where Adam waited though that was merely an artefact of memory space.
A twinge of agony and I shake my head to clear stars that fill my vision. “Change of plan.”
“What?” Ariadne looks back at me. “Are you talking to someone?”
“Never mind.” I push my mind forwards. When retreat is not an option, you must push on and damn the risks.
Power awaits us. Three lights bright and shining and many many lesser. Each cold, made up of rotating cogs, grinding up those who go before us, the clouds pulling up their essence as they die, as their slayers reload.
The sledgehammer or the wall. What a choice. “Camelle.”
“Yes Albie?”
“Do you have any other way out of this?” The wall of nothing pushes past another blocking point. Time is running out.
“Fraid that’s a no, Master.” He looks at Miri. “You got anything hidden in that hat of yours?”
“I’ll see if I can come up with something.” She pores over the map.
We have reached a robing room, the perfect place for a Vampire to prepare for exiting into a world where the sun burnt and our presence was unwelcome. The last stop before the surface and what awaits us.
“Working…” How much can there be to look at in the map of a single chamber?
“I have…”
A blast.
The noise behind us stops. No more shooting, no more fighting. Silence. Our companions fan out across the room half facing back, half facing forward, all with the tight movements of the trapped animal sensing the approach of the hunter with his gaff.
Bar Ariadne of course. She just looks pissed off. “Well that’s not good.” She remarks, voice light and cheerful. I have to concur with the words if not the sentiments.
“They’re waiting up there aren’t they?” Camelle spits on the ground and draws a sword. It looks like a prop from the stocks of some players’ company. “Yeah. It’s garbage. Sentimental attachment. Forward or back? Master’s choice.”
“I think…” The Union most likely is not interested in these poor flotsam of my former life. I have a third option to offer.
“I think that you should remain right here. Miri can,”
The ghoul taps her map. “The stand up wardrobe’s a ringer. Another smaller tunnel down there. No Golems, rest of us could get away if they just give us a moment.”
“Then I will advance to see what can be done about those who await us and draw away our pursuers.”
“You sure about that?” Ariadne asks. “Union hasn’t seemed to be in a talking mood. You saw what I saw, they’re shooting first and asking questions later.”
“Then shoot they shall and we shall see what advancements they have made in their weaponry since I last encountered them.” I shrug. “You know this makes sense. A parley could be the answer, to date they have appeared sensible gentlemen.”
“K Lumpy.” She pats my arm self consciously. “Ah, you take care up there.”
Camelle is about to speak but I hold up my hand. “Don’t worry. This isn’t going to be a massacre if I can help it.”
Miri starts to speak. “It’s fine young lady. This is going to work. You know your job.”
She shakes her head and picks out a hand torch, shining it on the paper mapping out their escape.
“Wait here,” I whisper to Ariadne before I leave. She nods.
I compose myself and walk the short distance up to the trapdoor leading into the dim red light of a Paris afternoon.
The door creaks open. Why does no one oil the damned things? We are not supposed to be a cliche.
Waiting for me is what I expect. I take in my situation. A veritable jamboree of Union soldiers heavy with armour and covered in sigils of protection. Soldiers with grabbers and jab-lights clustered around where I stand, weapons raised. Behind them there are Crawlers with turrets manned, heavy weapons tracking my movements with mechanical whirs.
Small groups of injured ghouls are cuffed in circles, and burn marks show where my vampiric brethren have been ended.
Above us in the taller ruins are crew served weapons and snipers.
And most importantly there are three men in Union dress uniforms standing at ease in front of a broken building across a cleared area from the grate. They are watching me and they are ready for a fight.
However, one has his hand up, a parley?
“Don’t fire. It’s the package.” A familiar voice. That is good.
“Hello Mr. Pole.” I greet my first met friend of this new world with a jaunty grin. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Pole acknowledges my greeting, face as closed as ever, eyes gimlet sharp. “Contrary to appearances it’s good to see you again Master Albie. It would have been a shame if we’d got the wrong exit.”
“Like a rats’ warren,” one of his companion comments.
“You have a better understanding of the layout of the catacombs than its residents, it would appear.”
“Well. That might be true. Bit of experience.”
“I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble?” Although the snatch team
s are keeping their distance and the Agents seem relaxed, there are light beams, red and focussed, tracing lines over my body. Some kind of aiming mechanisms like the helmet mechanisms of the soldiers from earlier.
“If it makes you feel any better, between the forces we’ve had to gather to flush you out, and the forces we have up here to slow you down if you decided to do anything stupid, we’ve gone to a great deal of trouble.”
One of the other men chuckles. Loud and brash, head flapping up and down like a bed warmer at work. “Hah yes, we’ve had to abandon half of bloody South America to get together this little shindig. All for a man who dresses like a grubby Victorian poet.”
“And two of our GEVs were totalled on the way” adds the third. He has the look of the classic witch hunter. It must be an affectation as no one dresses like that of choice.
“GEVs?”
“Doesn’t matter” says Pole, glaring at the witch hunter. “And none of your business.”
The flappy headed man laughs at this. In fact he laughs a lot at almost everything. Life must be wonderful being that jolly. “Caspian Sea, eh Poley? Caspian Sea.”
Odd bunch the Union. I’d like to get to know them better but business calls.
“So how is thing going to go Mister Albrecht?” asks the one who laughs too much.
I have assessed the odds, and they are not in my favour. “I have a suggestion that I think might be mutually beneficial if you would hear me out?”
“Go ahead.” Pole’s taking lead. He is a good leader. He has gravitas. A Roman general of the end days guarding the walls long after the pay trains have stopped arriving.
I gesture behind me, slow and steady. “There are some people behind me who I would rather you did not kill. If you were to do that I fear that the end result would be less mutually beneficial than the alternative. I’d also appreciate it if you could release the ghouls you have captured as it is not their fault that they are in the middle of this.”
“Does he always talk like this?” The Witch Hunter’s voice is flat. Hostile. His get-up is a hint at his inner workings. I do not like him much.
“Yes. Clarify. ‘Less mutually beneficial.” Pole is being dense.
“I would be forced to take decisive action against you and your fine fellows. And ladies.” There are women among the Union’s military I note. With those eco-skeletons they have pure brute strength is likely less of a concern in these enlightened days.
Pole nods. “Suspect you’d make a good go of that. It wouldn’t last though. We have the upper hand. Simple numbers and some tricks we have you don’t know. I’d lose some. You’d lose all and while we speak one of those…”
“I don’t think he’d like it if you called him a trick,” mutters the Witch Hunter.
“Special measures… he’s right behind you. So if you have any friends you would like us to consider for…”
“Ongoing existence privileges!” exclaims Flappy head, chuckling to himself as ever.
Pole is grinding his teeth. “Continued existence then they should come out now. And I can confirm my instructions remain the same as they were when we first met. We’re here to talk to you. Not kill you. Even after all of this.”
“Do you give me your word that my friends will be unharmed?”
“Yes.” Pole confirms. I sense no falsehood. After everything I’ve experienced to date maybe I am finally understanding what that is.
“That was… easier than expected.” I slowly turn to the catacombs and shout down. The red beams of light follow me as do the turrets on the crawlers. “You can all come out now…”
Out comes Emmet, out comes Ariadne rubbing her fingers together, and out comes the cat. Missing are Camelle and his coterie.
I raise an eyebrow.
“We hung back like you said, Miri noticed, she’s sharp. Sends her apologies, but she says that it’s better if they get away rather than try and make friends with… oh good mother moon, is that three fecking agents? Is that fecking Poley? Hi Poley! Sorry about the wasps. Bees. Whatever.”
Pole clearly remembers Ariadne and there is the faintest hint of a vengeful smile playing over the very tips of his lips as if he is trying his very best to suppress the associated feelings but even his iron will is not quite that strong.
“I thought you were giving up the swearing?”
“I never said that,” says Ariadne looking at the panoply of Union power in front of us. “Pole, flap-top and… And fancy dress! He supposed to be a witch hunter?”
“That I am.”
She turns to him with a growl. “You have good hearing and poor taste.”
He smiles a grin like a cat that’s seen an injured bird. “My taste is impeccable, but it so happens this is fancy dress. I was going to a fancy-dress party when I was called upon to be here.”
“Enough” says Pole. “Is that all of you? Wasn’t there a vampire and some more ghouls?”
“There were…”
There’s a crackle of gunfire in the distance that echoes around the broken streets of Paris, and Mr. Pole reaches up to his ear. “Okay? How many? Let them run. Long as it’s Rhine-ward. We’ve got what we came for.”
My teeth have started to itch and there is a spike of pain in my left eye. “Owwww…”
“Oh yeah. Our Albert. He’s nearly reached us. All hands brace,” says the Flip headed agent. “You too my surprising new friends. It can be a bit of an experience meeting Albert for the first time.”
“For a number of reasons,” sighs Pole.
I look at Ariadne, but there’s an odd buzzing in my ears that’s joined the spikes of pain. Her dark eyes go wide and then roll back in her head. She staggers, and I barely catch her. Emmet is oddly still and Hemlock is suddenly just a scared cat, fluffed up and hissing, looking for an escape route.
A cold emptiness stretches out from the catacombs behind us as a slight figure walks out. He’s holding a pistol of some kind which he is pointing at the ground, arm held out to his side. An eclectic collection of overcoats and rags shroud him, cut vaguely to the same pattern as the uniform of Mr. Pole and the flap headed man.
He makes the very earth around him somehow crumpled and badly tailored.
Just a scruffy old man, but I can feel the emptiness pulling away at the powers around me, my wards are twitching away from my skin. There is even a pull on the clouds above, a reverse of that which claimed my watchman and what has swallowed my fallen colleagues.
The three Union men grit their teeth.
“No magic.” Pole says, heavy stress.
I take the hint. If I concentrate on keeping within myself and not exerting any of my arcana, the drain becomes bearable. I hate to think what would happen if I tried to attack this walking horror of scruffiness with an active power. It would be like throwing an anchor into an abyss.
I lay Ariadne down against Emmet’s leg with great care. Her eyes are wide and her teeth grind. “Keep yourself together little one. Don’t try anything. This will end soon. Keep your attention on Hemlock. He may bolt and cats are a comfort in trying times…”
The new arrival gives a cheery wave at the Union soldiers completely oblivious to his effect on us. The soldiers cheer. “Afternoon gents. Take it this has been the usual complete success?”
Pole grimaces. “Could you…”
Albert nods. “Course.” And the unpleasant feeling of being pulled down into a drain ends, abrupt like a light going on. “How’s that.”
Flip head spits. “Much better. Thank you. You should keep ready though, the Master here’s a bit antsy.”
“Ooo. Can’t ‘ave that.” Albert walks up to Emmet and helps Ariadne to her feet “Sorry about the voodoo. Usually easier to show than tell, if you get me meaning. If you know what I can do we tend to get along better than if I have to explain it, little witch.”
Then he looks at me, and I take in this creature from the stygian depths. His stubble is silver, and he smells vaguely of tobacco and mint leaves. His scruffiness is infectiou
s. His clothes would have been rejected by a rag and bone man in my day.
It hits me, why I find him so disagreeable. It’s ridiculous. He reminds me a little of a gardener I once had, a Frenchman, who I had to let go for stealing the roses and selling them at the local market. That might sound petty but I had been selectively breeding those roses for nearly a thousand years and he didn’t even get a good price.
“You’d be the big guy huh? You look that way, all… pointy and edged.”
He sizes me up then holds out a grubby hand. I hope it’s soil under the nails. "Good to meet you chum. Nice duds. There’s some discussions to be had, some mutual interests to chat through. I hear you’re big on those?”
“I am. And if we do have any mutual interests, I will be happy to discuss them, so long as my friends remain unharmed.” In the distance I can feel Camelle and his coven making their escape. I smile. “All of them, then I think a discussion is very much in order.”
“Good, good Chum.” Albert waves at the other Union men including Mr. Pole. “Okay lads let’s get back to the new HQ for some tea and soup. Think you know it Chum? It’s that monument just north.”
“East” deadpans Pole.
“North East of the city.” Albert flicks a piece of lint off his shoulder. It’s wasted effort.
“We haven’t quite reached that point, have we gentlemen?” I pointedly glance over at the bound ghouls.
“Let them go.”
And with that our new partnership begins.
36
The Political Aspect
I watch from the back of one of the Crawlers as Union soldiers emerge from the catacombs, weighed down with box after box of the Family’s records. Albert is sitting with me on a fold out chair, watching the clouds swirl, taking large hungry bites out of something called a sausage roll.
“They look a bit unsettled to you, Albie my old mucker?”
“I couldn’t really say. I suspect you have a great deal more experience with them than I, Albert.”
He nods sagely. “That’s true. You’ve not been out for long have you? Poor old Poley spending years chasing after someone who was just sitting there waiting to be found. He’s taken some hits in his time.”
Master In His Tomb Page 30
