The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith

by Clay; Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith

  "Don't," he said to her.

  Adele spit in his face. He didn't flinch; he was accustomed to derision. He didn't even wipe the spittle from his cheek.

  "Don't," he repeated. "You are their prisoner now."

  "I would rather die!" Adele screamed the words, knowing that her strength was leaving her and soon she wouldn't be able to shout her outrage.

  "They won't let you." The captain stepped aside.

  Two bloodmen manhandled Adele below and locked her in a bare cabin. She fell against the damp wood of the deck. In a matter of minutes, her life had stopped. All alone in the dark, she wept, sure that no one could see her.

  A hissing of chemicals made Greyfriar glance upward. As the rotting airship passed overhead, the swordsman knew he had failed. Flay hissed orders to those nearby who were still capable of responding. They all floated up into the air like a child's balloons suddenly released from the grip of a small hand. More and more of the creatures began to drift up out of the village, leaving the slaughter where it lay. The breeze caught them, and they wafted away as if they were dead leaves.

  Bloody and torn, Greyfriar clutched his longsword. His chest was heaving, his breath ragged. Flay backed away from him, but not out of fear. The vampire stared angrily at the swordsman.

  "Someday I will have you." With that, she too lifted from the ground.

  As he watched Flay vanish into the dark sky, Greyfriar ceased his harsh breathing immediately, as if it were a mere affectation. He was no more winded than the dead around him. He surveyed the area-five vampires wounded so mortally their recuperative powers would not save them. Using his pistols, he dispatched them without remorse. Now the town around him was dead, silent as the new grave it had become.

  He picked up something from the bloodied dirt. Greyfriar replaced Adele's Fahrenheit dagger in its scabbard and slid it into his belt. He would take the time to bury the villagers. He was in no hurry now to pursue the princess. He knew where Flay was taking her.

  CHAPTER

  S RANGER, A twenty-four-gun frigate, was expertly crafted and manned. Cutting through the air like bright American steel, its white sails billowed while the chrome cage containing its sleek gasbags sparkled.

  Some of the old-timers of Alexandria grumbled as they shielded their eyes while watching the American ship approach over the green Mediterranean. Where are their battleships? they muttered. A man comes for an imperial wedding and doesn't arrive on the greatest ship in the American fleet? Hrnph.

  Still, the vast crowd at Pharos Airport and along the quays cheered with convincing vigor as the frigate hove out of the ceremonial escort of Equatorian ships. Unlike the ponderous imperial capital ships that overshadowed it, Ranger was fast and nimble, a swift shark among plodding whales.

  The Equatorian prime minister, Lord Kelvin, stood on a reception platform festooned with bunting and the flags of Equatoria and America, and gave a satisfied smile. But not too much of a smile. Not so much that anyone watching him would know he was smiling. That would be bad form for the prime minister.

  Beside Lord Kelvin stood two grandees of the Empire. One was Admiral Kilwas, First Air Lord, author of the air campaign that broke the rebels of Zanzibar. Beefy and dark, the admiral was resplendent in his uniform and provided a necessary example of imperial solidarity, being from the rich trading coast of Tanganyika. On Kelvin's other side was the commercial behemoth Laurence Randolph, Lord Aden, master of an incalculable fortune made from timber, coal, and oil that fueled the steam and iron of the Empire. He sported well-tailored formal attire, a singular figure, fit and handsome, appearing much younger than his years, with a rakish mustache and bright eyes that showed he knew more than anyone around him.

  The American vessel tacked on final approach to the main air tower. Any slip by the foreigners would become the talk of the city and would injure their reputations in the minds of the Alexandrians. This thought made Lord Kelvin's nearly nonexistent smile vanish. It simply wouldn't do for the new imperial consort to start off on the wrong foot with the people of the capital. The winds at Pharos were notoriously fiendish. Kelvin had begged the Americans to take on a local pilot, but Senator Clark had flatly refused, insisting his "boys could moor Ranger to a chestnut tree in a gale."

  The pennants on the Pharos One docking tower switched like angry cats' tails. High on the mooring platform, a crew stood stiff-legged in the blustery wind, waiting for Ranger's bowline. They were from the emperor's household, responsible for handling Constantine's flagship on those increasingly rare occasions when His Imperial Majesty went aloft. Although it was a shocking breach of protocol for imperial household staff to serve a mere American senator, Lord Kelvin had sidestepped that embarrassment, and very cleverly he thought, by temporarily demoting the entire crew. Once Ranger was secured, they would all resume their duties in the imperial household.

  Ranger closed fast on mighty Pharos One. The last of the spritsails lulled, and the airship's prow turned to the tower. The bowline flew. The tower crew caught it and made it fast, securing the line to a massive multigeared mechanism. The center dial burned a luminous blue, and then slowly the gears started to crank the bowline to secure the ship to the tower. The crowd seemed satisfied. Admiral Kilwas breathed out through his nose. Lord Kelvin wanted to let out a breath too, but refused to show such bad form. He watched for the venting of chemical buoyants from the American ship, but it didn't appear. The admiral made a dismaying grunt of confusion as multiple cables dropped from the frigate's gunwales to the ground. He even leaned over to another officer and exchanged a few whispers. Kelvin silently urged him back into place.

  Lord Kelvin's hands ached, but he wouldn't flex them for fear of looking less than placid. His red ceremonial sash had worked itself up along his neck and it chafed, but he refused to adjust it. It was bad form to look uncomfortable. He would deal with the rash on his neck later.

  Imperial dignitaries on the reviewing stand could see the port side of Ranger and were shocked enough to murmur when the ship's gun ports opened and cannons were run out. The crowd below was beginning to seethe. They were surprised by the guns too. And then even more surprised to see men lined up along the ship's rails with the sunlight glinting off their distant accoutrements.

  Lord Kelvin was horrified when Admiral Kilwas requested his brass spyglass and placed it to his eye like this was some common boat race on the Nile. The admiral exclaimed, quietly thank God, in his native Swahili, causing Kelvin to snort through his nose in reprimand. The prime minister could make out the men at Ranger's rail taking hold of the cables that dangled down in the wind.

  Suddenly a broadside roared from the frigate, first starboard, then port. The cannons' discharge was odd. Some guns belched red smoke, some blue, and some white. The heavy multicolored smoke obscured the ship like garish cotton.

  Then men dropped out of clouds trailing wisps of red, white, and blue smoke. Some in the crowd screamed at the sight of men apparently falling to their deaths. The Americans plummeted wildly on the cables, fifty of them in blue uniforms, with white cowboy hats flying madly behind them on long latigos, and one trailing a fluttering American flag. The commandos landed expertly at the base of the Pharos tower.

  Admiral Kilwas leaned forward into the spyglass and laughed. Out loud. Lord Kelvin almost flinched.

  The crowd experienced a brief moment of confusion trying to understand how they should react before a flood of adulation swept over them. They had been taken unawares, and although they could have shown their embarrassment with scorn, instead they threw up their arms and roared with pleasure.

  The American soldiers formed rank with their flag-bearer in the lead and began a loose-limbed march along the causeway toward the main quay with the sparkling Mediterranean behind them. Fahrenheit sabers dangled from their hips on one side, and sidearms were holstered on the other. Their dark blue pants ended in high white gaiters and black boots. They wore no jackets, but their heavy blue tunics had epaulettes and a double breast of shiny b
rass buttons. Jaunty yellow kerchiefs fluttered in the wind. Broad-brimmed white hats shaded their eyes, and their white smiles gleamed.

  Lord Kelvin glanced at his leather-bound copy of the official agenda on the podium in front of him. The band was off cue. He turned to page two and eyed his prepared remarks of greeting. Then, with a surge of panic, he realized that the Americans, descending via ropes like common orangutans, would have left their imperial protocol officer behind. Would they remember where to stand? Would they remember what to say?

  A disaster, Kelvin thought. This has become a terrible disaster. Oh God, now Senator Clark is waving to the crowd!

  Senator Clark, who strode just ahead of the flag-bearer, threw his meaty hand about as if he were signaling a barmaid for a refill. His frank grin shone out from behind his full black beard and mustache. All of the rustic commandos had similarly massive displays of facial hair.

  Lord Kelvin's stomach twisted. Grooming and dress instructions had been included in the protocol memorandum. Imperial style for facial hair was mustache and perhaps muttonchops, if necessary. Full beards were no longer appropriate, since the emperor had shaved his two years ago. Surely the protocol officer had instructed Senator Clark of this fact. Yet here he was looking like a wild man. And instead of full dress uniforms, the Americans were apparently clothed as some sort of cabaret performers.

  The senator leapt onto the stage, drew off his massive white gloves, and stuck out his hand toward Lord Kelvin. His booming voice rang out. "You must be Lord Kelvin. I'm Senator Clark. It's my pleasure, sir."

  His Lordship stared at the calloused fingers, weighing rudeness against trying to salvage something of the protocol. The American grinned and leaned forward expectantly. Kelvin couldn't be publicly discourteous. Therefore he forced himself to forget decades of training and abandon the months of careful planning that had gone into preparing for this very moment. This was the meeting of two great nations, two great peoples. And it came down to this, a proffered mitt and a prosaic exchange of bucolic pleasantries. Lord Kelvin slowly extended a hand. Clark crushed it in a vise of friendship.

  The crowd roared.

  Clark turned back to the mob and lifted his fist into the air, still clasping the hand of Lord Kelvin, who was horrified at being made part of such a barbarous display. But the disintegration of the magnificent ceremony wasn't quite over. Clark released Kelvin's hand, for which His Lordship was grateful, but then the boisterous American actually draped his muscular arm around Kelvin's morning-coated shoulders.

  Clark waved his gigantic white hat over his head and guffawed like a drunk at a burlesque.

  Clark poured dark liquor for Lord Kelvin, Admiral Kilwas, Lord Aden, and himself. He lifted his glass. "Gentlemen, I give you the alliance of the American Republic and the Equatorian Empire."

  The four glasses clinked, and the men drank after the admiral added a "Hear! Hear!" Clark wiped a practiced finger under his luxurious mustache and slammed the shot glass onto the polished teak table. Lord Kelvin took the barest sip and quietly set his glass down.

  "Bourbon," Clark announced. "It used to be the American drink. We still get it out of the old South. But there's a lot more rum in America now. Rum's fine. But it's not bourbon by a long shot." He poured again.

  Admiral Kilwas raised his glass. "Death to the vampires."

  "Damned straight!" Clark barked, and drank it back.

  Lord Aden gave a quick charming smile at the American and sipped.

  Lord Kelvin wet his thin, colorless lips again and replaced the full glass on the table. In this private room, the prime minister didn't restrict his movement as he did in public, so he felt free to run a hand over his slick black hair. As he opened his mouth to speak, the American was pouring yet again. Kelvin soon saw glasses poised at his eye level.

  His Lordship lifted his drink, cleared his throat, and managed a reedy, "To His Imperial Majesty, Constantine the Second. And to Her Imperial Highness the princess Adele and the coming union." He put the glass to his lips.

  Clark smiled appreciatively and quaffed again, as if it were no more than water. Even Admiral Kilwas could only slowly down this third blast of bourbon.

  The senator gave Lord Aden a lopsided grin and said, "Lord Aden, pleasure to see you again, sir. Did you enjoy your trip to America last year?"

  "I did indeed. The capital in Panama City is lovely. I was most impressed by the generosity of the people across the Republic."

  "What about our chemical energy program? Impressive, no?"

  "Yes. Quite."

  "As our alliance progresses, we'll get you Equatorian boys off your filthy steam power. We'll boost your chemical industries tenfold."

  "Hm. No doubt chemical power will make a useful addition to our existing systems."

  "Oh, trust me, you'll forget all about wood and coal and oil once you see what our chemical engineers can do. You saw USS Hamilton when you were in Panama, didn't you? Our first fully powered air battleship. Aluminum bursts. Magnificent stuff."

  Lord Aden took another sip from his glass and smiled. "Yes. Interesting prototype. It shows promise for the future. But I note you arrived in a sailing airship."

  Clark laughed. "Yes indeed. I love Ranger. She's the most beautiful thing aloft. But powered flight is the wave of the future."

  "We must show you our steam airships." Admiral Kilwas nodded. "HMS Culloden is moored in Alexandria, I believe. We can certainly arrange a tour."

  The senator nodded. "Steam. Limited. We're not sitting on endless coal in the tropics."

  "We've done well," Lord Aden said quickly. "Your chemical technologies are fascinating, I grant you. But underpowered compared to steam. And underdeveloped, as of yet. I think our present hopes are best laid with fuels that work now."

  Clark laughed a bit harshly. "Spoken like a man who makes his fortune in old energy." He reached into an army pack beside his chair, pulling out a small cypress box that he threw open on the table. Cuban cigars. He took one, applied a long wooden match to the tip, and sat back, crossing his legs. "Your Lordships. Admiral. Shall we get down to brass tacks?"

  "Indeed yes," Lord Kelvin replied, quite relieved. Dignified discussion was much preferred over unpredictable and rampant vulgarity.

  Clark blew a long stream of smoke. "I'd like to see the emperor."

  "Of course." Kelvin consulted the vellum pages of the agenda. "You are scheduled to attend the public audience with His Imperial Majesty the day after tomorrow. With your men." His Lordship glanced up to assure himself that Clark understood how accommodating he was being. "And you have a private conference with His Imperial Majesty and the Privy Council two days after that. If you consult the schedule we provided to you, you will see all that." Kelvin kindly opened the leather-bound copy of the agenda to the page detailing Clark's first audience with His Majesty and slid the book along the table toward the American's dirty boots.

  The senator eyed the book, then hummed with dissatisfaction and flicked ash onto the intricate parquet mahogany floor. "Mmhmm. Also, your protocol man was a little hazy on when I would see Adele."

  Kelvin aimed his impassive hatchet face at Clark. "The wedding with Her Imperial Highness the princess Adele is scheduled for one month and two days from this day."

  Clark grinned. "I know that, Prime Minister. But I'd kinda like to see her before the actual wedding day. I'd like to arrange a dinner of some sort. That seems only right."

  "It does?" Though empowered by the familiar walls of the council chamber, Kelvin still felt a bit put off by Clark's use of Prime Minister rather than the more proper Your Lordship. He was therefore disinclined to be less obtuse than he might normally appear.

  The American laughed and stared lovingly at his cigar. "It's customary where I come from to at least see the bride before the wedding."

  "Most interesting," Lord Kelvin murmured. "However, Her Imperial Highness the princess is away at the present."

  "What?" Clark's chair thumped to the floor as he sat up and sta
red hard at the eel-like prime minister. "She's not even here when I arrive?"

  Kelvin sensed Admiral Kilwas tensing from Clark's outburst. But His Lordship merely flipped a page and said in an even voice, "She is touring the frontier, Senator. She may be your Intended, but she has constant duties of state. She wished to be here, but of course, the state must always come first. You will find Her Imperial Highness the princess Adele embraces that fact completely. As, I'm sure, do you."

  Lord Aden spoke again with businesslike precision. "It seemed prudent to shore up imperial goodwill on the frontier, with the coming hostilities nearly upon us. Many of the free cities to the north have never seen a member of the royal family. The court wished to judge their receptiveness, in case annexation becomes a necessary option."

  "Yeah." Clark clamped down on his cigar. "But surely a tour of the frontier could have been scheduled for some other time. My arrival here was arranged months ago."

  Lord Kelvin smiled without mirth. "There was no slight intended, I assure you, Senator. Her Imperial Highness's tour was scheduled months ago. Before arrangements for your nuptials were concluded."

  The massive door opened, and an orderly made straight for Lord Kelvin, handed him an envelope, and then stood back against the wall to wait for a reply. Kelvin was perplexed that a message would come by special courier and not through the multiple ranks of pneumatic tubes that served as the communications array for the palace. Hundreds of such pipes ran through the vast building, and their clunking could be heard echoing day and night. Kelvin opened the envelope purposefully and pulled out a sheet of heavy paper, scanning it. His brow clouded and he read it again.