There was a knock on the door. “Enter.”
The door blew open, and a wave of frigid air accompanied two men. Adele straightened in her seat. Pet mewed in annoyance at the sudden cold and dug deeper into the folds of her coat. Hariri blew on his reddened fingers and stamped his feet to restore some circulation while Shirazi stood motionless. She didn't waste their time.
“Gentlemen, you no doubt are wondering what we are about. As with our last excursion to Grenoble, your utmost discretion is required.”
Shirazi inclined his head, while Hariri replied with gusto, “You have it, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you. First, Mamoru, my former tutor, has sent an assassin to eliminate Greyfriar. He feared Greyfriar's influence over me.”
Hariri snorted. “Paranoid.”
Adele said, “Regardless, we must stop her.”
“A woman assassin?” The pirate's fingers caressed his curled beard. “She must be something.”
“She is highly skilled, and worse, Greyfriar won't see her coming.” Adele didn't elaborate on the reason why.
“I doubt that,” he countered. “Greyfriar is the finest swordsman I've ever seen. He could easily handle any attack. And he's not one to be wooed by some female, not with as fine a catch as yourself in his sights.”
Hariri always amused Adele. And he was partly right. Against a sword or any other physical weapon, she had faith Gareth could handle himself, but not against geomancy.
“What do we know of this assassin?” asked Captain Shirazi.
“She is a Zulu originally from the Cape.”
“Do we know where Greyfriar is or where this assassin intends to strike?”
“Perhaps. Mamoru knew that Greyfriar was bound for Scotland. My sources indicate that the assassin will go there and wait.” The ship dropped, causing Adele to pause until it gathered way again. “Provided we hold together.”
Hariri smiled and shrugged.
Shirazi looked at her doubtfully. “You do realize that Scotland is enemy territory, and very expansive, Your Majesty?”
Adele scowled. “Of course, Captain. You do realize that I've been there?”
Pet chose that moment to complain about having his nap interrupted and stretched to find a more comfortable position.
Shirazi gave an exasperated huff. “Is it wise to have brought your cat along on this mission?”
“I did not bring him. I found him here in my cabin.”
Hariri chuckled and pointed at the animal. “Ah yes. The imperial cat often comes on board while we are in dock. I suspect we are on his daily route. I don't mind. He is a consummate rat catcher. Apparently he must have dillydallied a bit too long. Or realized that you were on board as soon as your luggage arrived.”
“It doesn't matter now. He's here.”
“Is that all, Your Majesty?” asked Shirazi.
“No, it isn't. This mission is twofold. We have a rare opportunity to put into play another plan.” Both men exchanged glances. Adele smiled in advance of her news, and hoped she would still be smiling after she explained the entire mission. “First, it is with great joy that I inform you that my brother, Simon, the prince of Bengal, is alive and well.”
“Praise Allah!” Hariri clapped his hands and did a small dance in a circle. Shirazi's reaction was more subdued, but Adele could see the relief in his eyes as he touched his heart, lips, and forehead in a reverent gesture.
“The report that Prince Gareth of Edinburgh attacked him was manufactured.”
“Why?” Shirazi asked.
“Word reached me that my brother was to be a target for assassination. I wanted him removed from any possible threat.”
“Where did this information come from, Your Majesty?” Shirazi's questions were steady and quick, even a bit annoyed. All this had been done without his knowledge or cooperation. He seemed galled by it.
“From Prince Gareth himself, our inside man in the heart of the vampire empire.” A ripple of shock went through both men. Adele stroked Pet's silky coat in an attempt to still her trembling hand, and she hurriedly continued. “It was crucial for us to lend credibility to him, making him the assassin of Prince Simon, in order to bolster his position inside his own clan. I know this is a great deal of information to take in, frankly strange information. And I realize you feel as if you haven't been kept apprised, Captain.” She looked with understanding toward the two men, particularly the silent Shirazi.
He shifted to appear unconcerned, but confirmed the statement with a grunt.
Adele continued, “Trust is at a premium in Alexandria. There are traitors and plots everywhere. You gentlemen may be shocked to learn that both Lord Kelvin and Lord Aden were pawns of Prince Cesare.”
The two men now looked incredulous, unable to speak.
“Quite,” Adele agreed with their horrified furrowed brows. “Men at the highest pinnacle of Equatorian society. So I've had to be most careful with information about our own spy at the top of the vampire world.”
“That's understandable,” Hariri remarked for both men, although Shirazi was rigid in disbelief.
“So Greyfriar was sent north to rendezvous with Gareth in Edinburgh, and make certain arrangements. However, I learned of Mamoru's assassin, and therefore we are heading for Edinburgh too.”
Finally, Shirazi asked, “What is this vampire's angle? What does he want?”
“Simply his brother, Cesare, dead. We will assist him in that because it serves our purposes as well. Cesare is the architect of the vampire alliance. His death will weaken the clan armies considerably.”
“And this Gareth is fine with that?”
“Yes.” Adele sat up and leveled a stern look at her guard commander. She was the vampire expert; she could tell these men truths, half-truths, or lies and they would have to believe her. “Vampires are naturally tribal and belligerent. Cesare is the one holding them together. He's something of a visionary. Gareth, however, is a more traditional vampire.” She suppressed a smile. “He doesn't think beyond his own desires. He doesn't care what happens to vampires in France or Germany or America, as long as his brother is dead.”
Shirazi muttered, “Sounds like a fool.”
Adele felt herself redden and tamped down her immediate retort. She cleared her throat. “He has his own motivations. But no matter, he gets what he wants, and so do we.”
“Cunning,” Hariri said with a guffaw.
Shirazi remarked, “Perhaps we should have brought more than just the Harmattan if we are flying into vampire territory. We are putting these soldiers in a very difficult situation.”
“If all goes well, your men won't even see action.”
“So you trust all vampires in Scotland as much as Prince Gareth?”
“Actually, yes. There are only two vampires there. Gareth and his aging chamberlain, who is far too old to threaten us. I have met them both. I trust them as you trust me.”
Shirazi and Hariri exchanged glances again. The pirate looked amused at the scowl on the soldier's stern face.
Adele sat forward. She could only hope she had made the two vampires appear as nonthreatening as possible. “You do trust me, don't you?”
“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Hariri replied effusively. “We've seen the miracles you've wrought. We don't understand them, but we have seen them.”
She turned to the silent captain. “And you?”
“I will obey you until the end. There is no doubt.” He clasped his hands behind his back and regarded her. “However, I wish we had a better sense of the endgame.”
“I know the endgame, Captain.” Adele leaned back and steepled her fingers with a knowing smile. “I intend to place a vampire of my choosing on the throne of Britain.”
chap30
GENERAL ANHALT RETURNED to Alexandria barely two weeks after he had departed to repair the disaster wrought by the loss of St. Etienne. Sleepless days and nights in Marseilles and Valence were spent rattling dispatches to all command units to shore up defenses across the
Rhone Valley. However, to his great relief, the vampire packs only probed southward with some hesitation. There was no full-scale counteroffensive, perhaps due to the warming spring weather, perhaps due to some other unknowable reason deep within the arcane alleys of the vampire command structure.
Now, Anhalt landed back at Pharos One, where a waiting staff officer named Major Naroyan fell into step and briefed him on the newest crisis, news of which had come to him on the continent by cable—Senator Clark was in Alexandria again.
“You made extraordinary time across the Mediterranean, Sirdar,” the major said.
Anhalt accepted a leather pouch of dispatches. “Has Her Majesty seen the senator yet?”
“The empress is not in residence, sir.”
“She's not?” The general looked up in alarm with visions of Mamoru's desperate revenge. He snapped, “Where is she?”
Major Naroyan gave a surprised look. “I assumed you knew, sir. There is a private message in the pouch. A copy was sent to you in Europe over a week ago.”
The general's breath quickened, although he worked to appear calm. He found a heavy sheet of Adele's stationery, sealed. The copy must have passed him in transit. He stopped walking and worked through the wax seal with his thumb, then eagerly read the message:
My Dear Anhalt, I am departing Alexandria. Again, I know. Don't fear. I am well. I have immediate business and, when concluded, I shall return. Your man, Capt. Shirazi, is at my side with my ever-faithful Harmattan. Officially, I am in Persia mourning Simon. Unofficially, trust that I can handle myself. Yours, Adele.
He folded the sheet several times and gave a relieved sigh. No matter what dire circumstance Adele was likely thrusting herself into, at least it was of her own doing. She was not the victim of disturbed Mamoru or vile Cesare. And perhaps she was safer out of Alexandria for now.
Anhalt asked, “Where is Senator Clark?”
“I believe he said he would be stretching his legs, sir.”
Toward the western tip of the Ras el-Tin peninsula was the Cape Polo Grounds. Polo was a popular sport across much of Equatoria, and this was only one of many fields in Alexandria where league play thrived. The Cape was a grand field where officers and soldiers often drilled and played. The imperial stables were on the same grounds, and parades of prime horseflesh were always to be seen.
As Anhalt stepped down from the creaking brougham and walked to the edge of the grass, he noted a lone figure galloping on a large white stallion. The man wore a blue tunic and pants with a red stripe. His white wide-brimmed hat shaded his face, but the figure of Senator Clark was instantly recognizable to any who had once gazed upon him. And Anhalt had to admit begrudgingly that the man sat a horse well.
A collection of American Rangers lounged nearby under a tent, drinking bottles of beer from iced buckets. The general scanned the crowd under the shade of the wind-rippled tent, searching for his particular friend, Major Stoddard, but didn't see him. He strode toward the Americans, who came to easy attention with casual salutes. Anhalt recognized a few of the faces from the senator's troopers who came to Equatoria last year for the ill-fated wedding.
One of the familiar faces smiled. “Good afternoon, Colonel Anhalt. Oh, pardon me, General Anhalt. We met briefly when we were here last year.”
“I recall. Good afternoon, Captain Madura. Welcome back to Equatoria.”
The young officer was obviously pleased to be remembered by the Equatorian supreme commander. “Thank you, sir. We're surprised to be back.” There was a round of good-natured laughter.
Anhalt grinned. The senator aside, he had liked the American soldiers. They were unpretentious and pleasant. “Where is Major Stoddard?”
Captain Madura's face fell. “I'm sorry, sir. He is not with us.”
“Is he well? Has something happened to him?”
“Oh, he's alive and well. Transferred out, sir.”
Anhalt was shocked. Stoddard had been Senator Clark's staunchest supporter. The grim disappointment on the soldiers' faces indicated that he should take it up with the senator if he had questions.
He felt thunder vibrating in his feet and up through his legs, and the pounding of horse muscles exploded behind him. He felt dirt clods carom off his back, and there was sudden silence except for the snorting of a horse which he felt on his neck. The general slowly turned to look over his shoulder and put a pleasant finger to the brim of his khaki helmet.
“Senator,” he said calmly. “It's pleasant to see you again.”
Senator Clark stared down from his shuddering, sweating throne of horseflesh. His black beard was shaved now, and he looked younger with his luxurious waxed mustache and white teeth. He smiled mischievously, as if pleased that his sudden arrival had discomforted Anhalt.
“Sirdar!” he announced, swatting the horse's shoulder. “Finally, a familiar face in Alexandria. I was beginning to think all my old friends were dead or gone.”
“Not at all. You have the same number of friends here you always had.”
Clark sneered, “Good one. Listen, where's Adele? I can't get a straight answer. They keep telling me she's in Persia somewhere.”
“She's in Persia somewhere.”
“Well, when's she getting back?”
“I couldn't tell you, Senator.”
Clark said, “I wanted to express my condolences personally to Adele over the death of her brother.”
“I'm sure she'd find that comforting. I must say, I'm surprised you could find the time. Don't you have a war to manage?”
“I do, and it's being managed brilliantly too. I'm so far ahead of schedule, I could afford to fly over here while my supply lines catch up to my combat units.” He laughed and his men joined him. “But don't worry, I'll be in Washington and then New York by the end of summer. The North American clans are living on borrowed time. How's your war going, Sirdar?”
“Not quite so swimmingly, I fear. Issues with weather.”
“Yes. Weather. Shame when a nasty frost ruins a well-planned offensive.” The senator wheeled his stallion. “My mount is cooling down. Do you ride, Sirdar?”
“I do.”
Clark grinned. “I have an idea, then. My boys here were drilling with some equipment your people provided.” He pulled his saber to reveal a blunt edge and rounded tip. “What do you say we show them some close order work?”
The very idea of the supreme commanders of their respective armies slapping at one another with stiff rods of steel for no reason other than pride or arrogance or boorishness irritated Anhalt. He was about to dismiss it, until Clark said, “We have time, after all. Knowing Adele, she won't have the fortitude to get back to her duty for several years.”
General Anhalt stretched out his hand for a saber belt and called, “Fetch a mount! Bring Jambiya.”
Word of the match spread quickly as soldiers and stable hands began sprinting around the facility. Adults and children alike appeared. Blacksmiths backed their fires and came out of the barns, donning hats against the sun as they streamed toward the field. Boys with buckets raced from their work. On the far side of the field, the terrace of the Polo Club started to fill with men in uniform and suits, women in gowns and veils, and serving staff in aprons. In all corners of the polo grounds, wagering began.
As Clark loped lazily to keep his mount limber, Anhalt watched groomsmen jog toward him with a familiar horse, a grey Arabian gelding named Jambiya. The horse was at least two hands shorter than Clark's stallion, but he was thick chested and sturdy. Anhalt knew him well, and greeted him with gentle words and a firm stroke along the slim jaw.
Anhalt called out, “Senator! Will you wear a helmet?”
Clark waved his white hat. “Feel free, if you need it!”
The sirdar inspected the cinches and bit, and swung into the saddle. He then doffed his khaki helmet and handed it to Major Naroyan. “I'll be back shortly.”
The major saluted as his commander wheeled the horse with his knees and loped to the field. Naroyan walked
to a group of Equatorian soldiers wagering with the American Rangers, waving money at one another.
“Players on the field,” Naroyan said officiously. “I must call time, gentlemen. What do we have?”
“They gave us three to one,” an Equatorian captain said, handing over a large handful of American and Equatorian cash, in addition to slips of paper, no doubt IOUs from cash-poor Rangers. Naroyan expertly counted the take and nodded respectfully at the small fortune.
“Well done, lads,” he said to the Americans. “It shows commendable respect for your man.”
Captain Madura stroked his thin mustache with a smile. “We had to give odds to get you boys to even bet. Has General Anhalt ever been on a horse?”
Naroyan thrust the money into Anhalt's helmet. “A bit, yes. He was captain of the All-Imperial Polo squad for six years.”
The Americans exchanged glances of concern, but Madura laughed. “Polo? How grand.”
Naroyan said deadpan, “They invented the game in India, where the general is from. Those fellows take it quite seriously. Two hundred people are killed there every year playing polo.”
“You're pulling our legs.”
The major raised an eyebrow. “The sirdar went into the army because they outlawed him in South India league play. For maiming too many other chaps.”
They all turned to see General Anhalt at one endline swiping his sword through the air. He sat straight like a centaur. His mount pranced eagerly. Three hundred yards away from him, Senator Clark wiped his forearm sleeve across his brow.
Anhalt could see that Clark was slightly stooped with fatigue and his mount was glistening. The senator rode well, but he was no horseman or he would've called for a new mount. However, maybe that would've seemed like weakness to him. While the general knew he had speed and maneuverability, Clark was all about strength. A big man on a big horse. A solid shot from the American's saber, blunt or no, could unhorse or even kill. This entire exercise was complete nonsense, boyish idiocy. It was something Adele would do.
Anhalt smiled and kicked his horse into a gallop.
Senator Clark whooped and surged forward, sword held aloft in classic position. The riders charged over the green field. Anhalt leaned in, saber poised. The thudding of the hooves vibrated his body. His focus narrowed. He felt the flanks of his mount with his knees. He felt the worn sword pommel in his hand. He saw the charging shape and glinting sword above it. The two horses drew closer, throwing a barrage of divots behind. Clark was ramrod straight in the saddle. Anhalt subtly slowed his horse, knowing that the senator's arm was a spring ready to fire. When the mounts were nose by nose, the American let fly. Anhalt fell back against Jambiya's rump and the saber flashed over him. He sprang up and swung back toward his opponent who, amazingly, had already turned at the waist to parry the blow.
Clay Griffith & Susan Griffith - [Vampire Empire 03] - The Kingmakers (mobi).mobi Page 31
