The Year’s Best Science Fiction: Sixth Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  Edmund laughed, a little bitterly. “I’ve no doubt they suspect me of intercourse with demons, and avoid my gaze for fear of the spell of the evil eye. But none of that matters to the vampires. To them, I’m only a human, and for all that they value my skills, they’d kill me without a thought if they suspected that I might have dangerous knowledge.”

  Noell was clearly alarmed by this. “Wouldn’t.…” He stopped, but saw Edmund waiting for him to ask, and carried on after only a brief pause. “The Lady Carmilla … wouldn’t she…?”

  “Protect me?” Edmund shook his head. “Not even if I were her favorite still. Vampire loyalty is to vampires.”

  “She was human once.”

  “It counts for nothing. She’s been a vampire for nearly six hundred years, but it wouldn’t be any different if she were no older than I.”

  “But … she did love you?”

  “In her way,” said Edmund sadly. “In her way.” He stood up then, no longer feeling the urgent desire to help his son to understand. There were things the boy could find out only for himself and might never have to. He took up the candle tray and shielded the flame with his hand as he walked to the door. Noell followed him, leaving the empty flask behind.

  * * *

  Edmund left the citadel by the so-called Traitor’s Gate, and crossed the Thames by the Tower Bridge. The houses on the bridge were in darkness now, but there was still a trickle of traffic; even at two in the morning, the business of the great city did not come to a standstill. The night had clouded over, and a light drizzle had begun to fall. Some of the oil lamps that were supposed to keep the thoroughfare lit at all times had gone out, and there was not a lamplighter in sight. Edmund did not mind the shadows, though.

  He was aware before he reached the south bank that two men were dogging his footsteps, and he dawdled in order to give them the impression that he would be easy to track. Once he entered the network of streets surrounding the Leathermarket, though, he gave them the slip. He knew the maze of filthy streets well enough—he had lived here as a child. It was while he was apprenticed to a local clockmaker that he had learned the cleverness with tools that had eventually brought him to the notice of his predecessor, and had sent him on the road to fortune and celebrity. He had a brother and a sister still living and working in the district, though he saw them very rarely. Neither one of them was proud to have a reputed magician for a brother, and they had not forgiven him his association with the Lady Carmilla.

  He picked his way carefully through the garbage in the dark alleys, unperturbed by the sound of scavenging rats. He kept his hands on the pommel of the dagger that was clasped to his belt, but he had no need to draw it. Because the stars were hidden, the night was pitch-dark, and few of the windows were lit from within by candlelight, but he was able to keep track of his progress by reaching out to touch familiar walls every now and again.

  He came eventually to a tiny door set three steps down from a side street, and rapped upon it quickly, three times and then twice. There was a long pause before he felt the door yield beneath his fingers, and he stepped inside hurriedly. Until he relaxed when the door clicked shut again, he did not realize how tense he had been.

  He waited for a candle to be lit.

  The light, when it came, illuminated a thin face, crabbed and wrinkled, the eyes very pale and the wispy white hair gathered imperfectly behind a linen bonnet.

  “The lord be with you,” he whispered.

  “And with you, Edmund Cordery,” she croaked.

  He frowned at the use of his name—it was a deliberate breach of etiquette, a feeble and meaningless gesture of independence. She did not like him, though he had never been less than kind to her. She did not fear him as so many others did, but she considered him tainted. They had been bound together in the business of the Fraternity for nearly twenty years, but she would never completely trust him.

  She lead him into an inner room, and left him there to take care of his business.

  A stranger stepped from the shadows. He was short, stout, and bald, perhaps sixty years old. He made the special sign of the cross, and Edmund responded.

  “I’m Cordery,” he said.

  “Were you followed?” The older man’s tone was deferential and fearful.

  “Not here. They followed me from the Tower, but it was easy to shake them loose.”

  “That’s bad.”

  “Perhaps—but it has to do with another matter, not with our business. There’s no danger to you. Do you have what I asked for?”

  The stout man nodded uncertainly. “My masters are unhappy,” he said. “I have been asked to tell you that they do not want you to take risks. You are too valuable to place yourself in peril.”

  “I am in peril already. Events are overtaking us. In any case, it is neither your concern nor that of your … masters. It is for me to decide.”

  The stout man shook his head, but it was a gesture of resignation rather than a denial. He pulled something from beneath the chair where he had waited in the shadows. It was a large box, clad in leather. A row of small holes was set in the longer side, and there was a sound of scratching from within that testified to the presence of living creatures.

  “You did exactly as I instructed?” asked Edmund.

  The small man nodded, then put his hand on the mechanician’s arm, fearfully. “Don’t open it, sir, I beg you. Not here.”

  “There’s nothing to fear,” Edmund assured him.

  “You haven’t been in Africa, sir, as I have. Believe me, everyone is afraid—and not merely humans. They say that vampires are dying, too.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Edmund distractedly. He shook off the older man’s restraining hand and undid the straps that sealed the box. He lifted the lid, but not far—just enough to let the light in, and to let him see what was inside.

  The box contained two big gray rats. They cowered from the light.

  Edmund shut the lid again and fastened the straps.

  “It’s not my place, sir,” said the little man hesitantly, “but I’m not sure that you really understand what you have there. I’ve seen the cities of West Africa—I’ve been in Corunna, too, and Marseilles. They remember other plagues in those cities, and all the horror stories are emerging again to haunt them. Sir, if any such thing ever came to London.…”

  Edmund tested the weight of the box to see whether he could carry it comfortably. “It’s not your concern,” he said. “Forget everything that has happened. I will communicate with your masters. It is in my hands now.”

  “Forgive me,” said the other, “but I must say this: there is naught to be gained from destroying vampires, if we destroy ourselves, too. It would be a pity to wipe out half of Europe in the cause of attacking our oppressors.”

  Edmund stared at the stout man coldly. “You talk too much,” he said. “Indeed, you talk a deal too much.”

  “I beg your pardon, sire.”

  Edmund hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to reassure the messenger that his anxiety was understandable, but he had learned long ago that where the business of the Fraternity was concerned, it was best to say as little as possible. There was no way of knowing when this man would speak again of this affair, or to whom, or with what consequence.

  The mechanician took up the box, making sure that he could carry it comfortably. The rats stirred inside, scrabbling with their small clawed feet. With his free hand, Edmund made the sign of the cross again.

  “God go with you,” said the messenger, with urgent sincerity.

  “And with thy spirit,” replied Edmund colorlessly.

  Then he left, without pausing to exchange a ritual farewell with the crone. He had no difficulty in smuggling his burden back into the Tower, by means of a gate where the guard was long practiced in the art of turning a blind eye.

  * * *

  When Monday came, Edmund and Noell made their way to the Lady Carmilla’s chambers. Noell had never been in such an apartment before, and it was a so
urce of wonder to him. Edmund watched the boy’s reactions to the carpets, the wall hangings, the mirrors and ornaments, and could not help but recall the first time he had entered these chambers. Nothing had changed here, and the rooms were full of provocations to stir and sharpen his faded memories.

  Younger vampires tended to change their surroundings often, addicted to novelty, as if they feared the prospect of being changeless themselves. The Lady Carmilla had long since passed beyond this phase of her career. She had grown used to changelessness, had transcended the kind of attitude to the world that permitted boredom and ennui. She had adapted herself to a new aesthetic of existence, whereby her personal space became an extension of her own eternal sameness, and innovation was confined to tightly controlled areas of her life—including the irregular shifting of her erotic affections from one lover to another.

  The sumptuousness of the lady’s table was a further source of astonishment to Noell. Silver plates and forks he had imagined, and crystal goblets, and carved decanters of wine. But the lavishness of provision for just three diners—the casual waste—was something that obviously set him aback. He had always known that he was himself a member of a privileged elite, and that by the standards of the greater world, Master Cordery and his family ate well; the revelation that there was a further order of magnitude to distinguish the private world of the real aristocracy clearly made its impact upon him.

  Edmund had been very careful in preparing his dress, fetching from his closet finery that he had not put on for many years. On official occasions he was always concerned to play the part of mechanician, and dressed in order to sustain that appearance. He never appeared as a courtier, always as a functionary. Now, though, he was reverting to a kind of performance that Noell had never seen him play, and though the boy had no idea of the subtleties of his father’s performance, he clearly understood something of what was going on; he had complained acidly about the dull and plain way in which his father had made him dress.

  Edmund ate and drank sparingly, and was pleased to note that Noell did likewise, obeying his father’s instructions despite the obvious temptations of the lavish provision. For a while the lady was content to exchange routine courtesies, but she came quickly enough—by her standards—to the real business of the evening.

  “My cousin Girard,” she told Edmund, “Is quite enraptured by your clever device. He finds it most interesting.”

  “Then I am pleased to make him a gift of it,” Edmund replied. “And I would be pleased to make another, as a gift for Your Ladyship.”

  “That is not our desire,” she said coolly. “In fact, we have other matters in mind. The archduke and his seneschal have discussed certain tasks that you might profitably carry out. Instructions will be communicated to you in due time, I have no doubt.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” said Edmund.

  “The ladies of the court were pleased with the drawings that I showed to them,” said the Lady Carmilla, turning to look at Noell. “They marveled at the thought that a cupful of Thames water might contain thousands of tiny living creatures. Do you think that our bodies, too, might be the habitation of countless invisible insects?”

  Noell opened his mouth to reply, because the question was addressed to him, but Edmund interrupted smoothly.

  “There are creatures that may live upon our bodies,” he said, “and worms that may live within. We are told that the macrocosm reproduces in essence the microcosm of human beings; perhaps there is a small microcosm within us, where our natures are reproduced again, incalculably small. I have read.…”

  “I have read, Master Cordery,” she cut in, “that the illnesses that afflict humankind might be carried from person to person by means of these tiny creatures.”

  “The idea that diseases were communicated from one person to another by tiny seeds was produced in antiquity,” Edmund replied, “but I do not know how such seeds might be recognized, and I think it very unlikely that the creatures we have seen in river water could possibly be of that character.”

  “It is a disquieting thought,” she insisted, “that our bodies might be inhabited by creatures of which we can know nothing, and that every breath we take might be carrying into us seeds of all kinds of change, too small to be seen or tasted. It makes me feel uneasy.”

  “But there is no need,” Edmund protested. “Seeds of corruptibility take root in human flesh, but yours is inviolate.”

  “You know that is not so, Master Cordery,” she said levelly. “You have seen me ill yourself.”

  “That was a pox that killed many humans, my lady—yet it gave to you no more than a mild fever.”

  “We have reports from the imperium of Byzantium, and from the Moorish enclave, too, that there is plague in Africa, and that it has now reached the southern regions of the imperium of Gaul. It is said that this plague makes little distinction between human and vampire.”

  “Rumors, my lady,” said Edmund soothingly. “You know how news becomes blacker as it travels.”

  The Lady Carmilla turned again to Noell, and this time addressed him by name so that there could be no opportunity for Edmund to usurp the privilege of answering her. “Are you afraid of me, Noell?” she asked.

  The boy was startled, and stumbled slightly over his reply, which was in the negative.

  “You must not lie to me,” she told him. “You are afraid of me, because I am a vampire. Master Cordery is a skeptic, and must have told you that vampires have less magic than is commonly credited to us, but he must also have told you that I can do you harm if I will. Would you like to be a vampire yourself, Noell?”

  Noell was still confused by the correction, and hesitated over his reply, but he eventually said: “Yes, I would.”

  “Of course you would,” she purred. “All humans would be vampires if they could, no matter how they might pretend when they bend the knee in church. And men can become vampires; immortality is within our gift. Because of this, we have always enjoyed the loyalty and devotion of the greater number of our human subjects. We have always rewarded that devotion in some measure. Few have joined our ranks, but the many have enjoyed centuries of order and stability. The vampires rescued Europe from a Dark Age, and as long as vampires rule, barbarism will always be held in check. Our rule has not always been kind, because we cannot tolerate defiance, but the alternative would have been far worse. Even so, there are men who would destroy us—did you know that?”

  Noell did not know how to reply to this, so he simply stared, waiting for her to continue. She seemed a little impatient with his gracelessness, and Edmund deliberately let the awkward pause go on. He saw a certain advantage in allowing Noell to make a poor impression.

  “There is an organization of rebels,” the Lady Carmilla went on. “A secret society, ambitious to discover the secret way by which vampires are made. They put about the idea that they would make all men immortal, but this is a lie, and foolish. The members of this brotherhood seek power for themselves.”

  The vampire lady paused to direct the clearing of one set of dishes and the bringing of another. She asked for a new wine, too. Her gaze wandered back and forth between the gauche youth and his self-assured father.

  “The loyalty of your family is, of course, beyond question,” she eventually continued. “No one understands the workings of society like a mechanician, who knows well enough how forces must be balanced and how the different parts of a machine must interlock and support one another. Master Cordery knows well how the cleverness of rulers resembles the cleverness of clockmakers, do you not?”

  “Indeed, I do, my lady,” replied Edmund.

  “There might be a way,” she said, in a strangely distant tone, “that a good mechanician might earn a conversion to vampirism.”

  Edmund was wise enough not to interpret this as an offer or a promise. He accepted a measure of the new wine and said: “My lady, there are matters that it would be as well for us to discuss in private. May I send my son to his room?”

 
The Lady Carmilla’s eyes narrowed just a little, but there was hardly any expression in her finely etched features. Edmund held his breath, knowing that he had forced a decision upon her that she had not intended to make so soon.

  “The poor boy has not quite finished his meal,” she said.

  “I think he has had enough, my lady,” Edmund countered. Noell did not disagree, and, after a brief hesitation, the lady bowed to signal her permission. Edmund asked Noell to leave, and, when he was gone, the Lady Carmilla rose from her seat and went from the dining room into an inner chamber. Edmund followed her.

  “You were presumptuous, Master Cordery,” she told him.

  “I was carried away, my lady. There are too many memories here.”

  “The boy is mine,” she said, “if I so choose. You do know that, do you not?”

  Edmund bowed.

  “I did not ask you here tonight to make you witness the seduction of your son. Nor do you think that I did. This matter that you would discuss with me—does it concern science or treason?”

  “Science, my lady. As you have said yourself, my loyalty is not in question.”

  Carmilla laid herself upon a sofa and indicated that Edmund should take a chair nearby. This was the antechamber to her bedroom, and the air was sweet with the odor of cosmetics.

  “Speak,” she bade him.

  “I believe that the archduke is afraid of what my little device might reveal,” he said. “He fears that it will expose to the eye such seeds as carry vampirism from one person to another, just as it might expose the seeds that carry disease. I think that the man who devised the instrument may have been put to death already, but I think you know well enough that a discovery once made is likely to be made again and again. You are uncertain as to what course of action would best serve your ends, because you cannot tell whence the greater threat to your rule might come. There is the Fraternity, which is dedicated to your destruction; there is plague in Africa, from which even vampires may die; and there is the new sight, which renders visible what previously lurked unseen. Do you want my advice, Lady Carmilla?”