Her hand went to her sash, which was sadly empty of her mother's dagger.
She needed a weapon.
CHAPTER
UST AFTER DAWN, USS Ranger descended on Marseilles at the head of a flotilla of imperial cruisers. As soon as Ranger moored and was drawn down, Senator Clark and his second in command, Major Stoddard, disembarked to be met by a clutch of Marseilles city fathers. Clark shook hands hastily, concentrating enough to commit everyone's name to his formidable memory. He then directed a hard squint at a ramrod-straight figure in the torn remnants of an Equatorian uniform.
The man introduced himself in a clipped Gurkha accent. "Colonel Anhalt, Senator."
"Anhalt?" Clark towered over the small but sturdy officer who was bandaged and in apparent pain. "Anhalt? You commanded my fiancee's household guard." It was an accusation.
"I did, and do, sir."
"Then how is it you are still alive?"
Anhalt didn't lower his gaze, but the question clearly wounded him. "Would that I weren't."
"No doubt." Clark turned his back on Anhalt and moved on. The city fathers fell in naturally around him. The colonel limped behind.
Major Stoddard saluted the wounded Anhalt. "Colonel. My name is Stoddard. I am the Senator's adjutant." The young American officer was tall, willowy-thin, and dark; he had grown up around New Orleans on the vampire frontier.
Anhalt nodded curtly, still stinging from Clark's rebuke, but returned the salute and then extended his hand with quiet gratitude. "At your service, Major."
Stoddard shook the offered hand, nodded warmly, and then turned his attention back to his commanding officer, already well ahead of them.
"What's the boy's condition?" Clark asked no one in particular.
"He is quite well, sir," Mayor Comblain offered eagerly, struggling to keep pace with the long-legged American. "We have made him comfortable and offered-"
"What were the losses?"
Mayor Comblain opened his mouth to speak, but it was Anhalt who replied. "HMS Ptolemy, Khartoum, and Cape Town were lost. HMS Mandalay and Giza are missing. A recovery team is still at the crash site, but we expect at least fifty percent casualties. Something on the order of eight hundred men: army, navy, and imperial staff. Air Lord Admiral Kurtiz was killed in the fighting."
"How many vampires?"
"We estimate the attacking force at two thousand. It was a-"
"No. I mean how many did you kill?"
Anhalt paused, embarrassed but unbent. "I ... don't know. We've recovered nearly two hundred bodies and destroyed them."
Clark whistled with disdain. "Eight hundred men dead, one battleship and four frigates lost, in exchange for a couple hundred enemy? That's what I call an extravagant battle plan. So you saw Adele taken alive, Colonel?"
Anhalt bristled at the American's familiarity with Her Highness's name. "No, Senator. I did not. But we believe His Highness Prince Simon was the last to see her. He deems she is alive. He was-"
"Then let me talk to the boy. He seems to be the only one who knows anything."
Anhalt wouldn't slow his pace despite the ache from the gash on his leg. The wound reopened, and he noticed a sliver of blood soaking through his uniform on his thigh. The edges of his vision greyed as Clark mounted the broad marble steps to the finest house on the Marseilles waterfront. He desperately hoped he wouldn't pass out from the pain.
The senator threw back the doors-he never merely opened a door if he could throw it back. When he threw back the final mahogany door to the upstairs bedroom, he announced, "Prince Simon! I've come to bring you home."
Prince Simon looked up from a book and furrowed his brow. "Where's Colonel Anhalt?"
Clark maintained his heroic grin. "I'm Senator Clark."
"I know. Where's Colonel Anhalt?"
"I have a gift for you from home." Clark stretched out a hand, and one of his officers gave him a package wrapped in colored paper and tied with string. The American paused with annoyance as Anhalt stepped into view in the doorway. Then he handed the gift to Simon, who waited for the colonel to nod before tearing open the paper. The boy looked at the box beneath without much interest.
"Candy," Clark said. "I'm told they're your favorites."
"Yes." Simon put the box on the floor next to his chair.
The American spun on his heel. "I'd like a word with the lad." He slammed the door shut in Colonel Anhalt's face. Then Clark clasped his hands behind his back. "So we're alone now. How are you, son? You can tell me."
"Fine."
"Any pain?"
"No. I'm fine."
The Senator watched the sullen boy. "So I'll bet you were scared out there."
Simon glared.
"No shame in that," Clark said hurriedly. "Vampires can be frightening."
The boy stayed quiet.
Clark went to one knee next to the boy's overstuffed chair in an awkward pantomime of concern. "Don't worry, Simon. I'm going to see you safely home."
"My name is Prince Simon. Or Your Highness."
Clark rose and stepped back, resisting a powerful urge to cuff the young lad. He was about to inform Simon that in America children don't speak so to their elders when Simon continued, "My sister is still alive. And Colonel Anhalt will save her."
"Colonel Anhalt will return to Alexandria." Clark leaned back with a sneer. "I will mount a force to save your sister."
"Colonel Anhalt rescued me," Simon responded defensively.
"You think much of him."
"Yes." Simon lifted his head with pride and confidence that exceeded his age. The boy turned up the hem of his corduroy jacket to reveal the dagger hilt at his belt. "He gave me this."
Clark smiled in a patronizing way. "How nice. He could've used you in the battle. Maybe he could've killed a few more vampires then."
"You weren't there!" Simon retorted.
The American snapped back, "You might wish I had been! I've killed more vampires than you can count, my lad! I know a success from a failure. And this was a failure. Now, pack! You're going back to Alexandria on Ranger before the sun sets. And after I deliver you to your father's waiting arms, I will rescue my future wife, and get this war back on schedule."
Clark threw back the bedroom door and said to Anhalt, as if the colonel were a footman, "Get him ready. I'll be back in four hours. I will take your prince to Alexandria. I want your people to see the love I have for the royal family, and they need to see it as fast as possible. Your humiliation has distressed your capital. They need confidence restored." With that, the American cruised down the corridor with his entourage in his wake, leaving Anhalt grimacing in the corridor.
Major Stoddard paused in front of Anhalt, about to say something to ease the man's humiliation, but chose instead to exchange merely a sorrowful glance with the Gurkha officer before following after Clark.
A slender man walked down a gangplank over the greasy black water of the Nile. Smoke from the steamer swirled around him. It was a warm night in Giza, and the dockhands were busy even this late. Passengers departing the steamer paused to harangue the army of porters for being slow with their luggage. Travelers were met by friends or loved ones with embraces and handshakes. And a few wandered lonely to one of the many pubs or coffeehouses nearby. Herds of longshoremen moved under bright chemical lights, shifting containers of grain and fruit onto boats for the short jaunt to the coast or onto rail cars bound for Port Said. Steel and machine parts forged in the belching factories of Alexandria waited to head inland via river or rail to the booming cities of Luxor, Aswan, and Khartoum.
The man who left the steamer did not wait for luggage nor meet friends nor go for a drink. His plain black suit topped by a modest homburg attracted no attention. He was Japanese, but it was not incredible to see Far Easterners in any imperial city. His walking stick tapped the wooden planks as he slipped through the crowd.
Outside the port gates, he searched for a horse-drawn cab, but without luck. He settled for a steam hansom and settled i
nto a leather seat that smelled of sweat and oranges. The man removed his hat and ran a gloved hand over his close-cropped black hair. He watched the town roll past, but the cab's rocking motion, the sauna of steam and mist, as well as the clacking of the cab's steel wheels along the macadam street was hardly relaxing. Technology for its own sake. It made no improvement on the horse and, in fact, was a distinct regression in the man's opinion.
After only a few minutes, he banged the roof with his stick and paid the soot-faced cabbie. A dry desert breeze accompanied him along the sidewalk as a few after-dinner strollers greeted him with friendly nods, taps on hat brims, or fingers to lips and heart. He returned their kindnesses but kept his head down. His stoic blankness did not betray the thrill he felt every time he glimpsed the Great Pyramid of Khufu through the gaps between the fashionable brick townhouses.
The man took a fifteen-minute ramble to ensure he hadn't been followed; then he climbed three steps to a portico and pulled the bell. The door was opened promptly by an Egyptian butler who took the visitor's hat and stick.
The Japanese man crossed the cool foyer with its lovely inlaid cypress floor and entered the dim library. He didn't pause to peruse the many volumes rising twenty feet to the ceiling. Instead he went quickly to a large golden sarcophagus against the wall and opened it. He gave an empty smile at Sir Godfrey's little conceit. A secret passage hidden in the mummy case. Such typical playfulness.
Inside the sarcophagus he entered another world, descending one hundred narrow steps into a very long, hot gallery carved during the Old Kingdom. The passage was so narrow both of his shoulders nearly brushed stone. Hissing gas lamps bracketed high on the walls provided faint ghostly light.
After ten minutes, a small rectangle of pale light appeared far above. He took a shallow breath and climbed worn stone steps. He tried to keep his footfalls quiet, but when he finally reached the doorway three figures were already watching for him. Two women and one man. Black, and brown, and white. No matter their gender or color, their faces were stern and agitated.
"Good evening." He bowed.
The stone-walled chamber was only twenty by twenty, but the ceiling was lost high in the darkness. The walls were painted with scenes of death magic from the Old Kingdom. A red basalt sarcophagus dominated the floor. It was plain, lidless, and empty. The room deep inside the Great Pyramid was clearly known to ancient tomb robbers, but it had never been rediscovered by archaeologists in modern times.
"Well, Mamoru, is Princess Adele dead?" Nzingu Mamenna was the first to speak. She was a sorceress from Zululand. She wore a fashionable dress with graceful embroidery and beadwork done with her own hand. Only a close examination would reveal that the beads were polished bits of bone.
"Well, Nzingu, let's let Mamoru catch his breath, shan't we?" Sir Godfrey Randolph stepped forward with a pacifying chuckle bubbling out from behind his magnificent white mustache. "Here, have a glass of wine, old boy. It's most excellent, I must say. I've had four myself." The old gentleman with a beet red face stood in a sweat-stained white linen suit. Sir Godfrey had a tendency to mutter and dither like the absentminded scientific amateur his social circle in Giza took him to be. He was a retired surgeon, long past practicing, and now most famous as the eccentric older brother to the empire's richest man, Lord Aden. But above the bushy mustache, his eyes were piercing and hard. His knowledge of ancient occult texts was unequaled.
Mamoru sipped the offered wine and exchanged a quick glance with Sanah the Persian. Only Sanah's dark worried eyes were visible over the edge of her black veil. She had gathered knowledge and practice from her Persian homeland as well as from Afghanistan and India. She collected arcane religious rituals like butterflies. Her delicate hands, which were her only visible flesh, were covered with intricate henna tattooing and festooned with large silver jewelry. She spoke only rarely, but wrote aching poetry that made men cry.
Mamoru announced, "Obviously you have all heard that Princess Adele's convoy was attacked in southern France during her tour."
"Tour!" Nzingu the Zulu spat. She never cared to bandy words, which was why she had fled to Equatoria when the last independent Zulu king decided to embark on a modernization program including dispatching witchfinders to root out sorcerers. "It was ridiculous to send her! How could they do such a thing? So the princess is dead. What do we do now?"
"No." Mamoru shook his head. "I believe she is still alive. If they had wanted to kill her, she would've been killed after they forced her airship down. They are not shy about killing."
Mamoru knew Sanah the Persian was waiting to meet his eyes with sympathy, but he refused to look up. His fists clenched and unclenched as he struggled to manage his breathing and maintain his calm demeanor. His distress would be clear to the Persian because she knew him well enough to know the tragedy of his own wife and daughter at the hands of vampires. Neither Nzingu nor Sir Godfrey would notice that Mamoru appeared other than the serene and disassociated magi he always was. They could not know the psychic toll this tragedy was taking on him beyond the obvious loss of his young protege.
Mamoru said, "Apparently Princess Adele fell into the hands of the Greyfriar."
Sir Godfrey hooted. "Well! That's a bit of luck."
"But," Mamoru continued, "I fear this is no longer the case. Information is sparse, but it seems that the Greyfriar was unable to complete his rescue. And the princess was indeed taken near Riez, resulting in the complete devastation of that town."
"Greyfriar!" Nzingu snorted. "Is that what this cabal has come to? Depending on masked lunatics?"
Mamoru went on without reply to Nzingu. "I believe it likely that Princess Adele is in the hands of the British clan-"
"Good God!" Sir Godfrey blurted out against his will. "Cesare!"
The reaction of the women was stunned silence. Even magicians did not know how to respond to the unthinkable.
Mamoru continued with calmness admirable given his distress. "I am currently attempting to find her and determine her condition. Forces are in motion. There is hope. There is always hope. Prince Simon is well and should be home soon."
"Hope." Nzingu shook her head derisively. "All our work and planning in jeopardy. Simon is nothing to us. There is no substitute for the princess. And if she is in Cesare's claws, she is dead. The London clan has always been the worst. Many of the other clans already kowtow to Cesare. And he wants to rule all his kind. Even if the princess is still alive, what are her chances of escaping on her own?"
"Unlikely, I fear." Mamoru swirled the wine in his glass, watching the red liquid in the flickering gaslight. "The distances involved-"
The Zulu sorceress pressed him. "But what of her vaunted skills? Your training?"
The Japanese man looked at her from under downturned brows, his lip curling into a sneer for the first time. "Princess Adele's training has not progressed as you might have wished, it is true. But you must recall that the court's official policy is that anything spiritual is a useless relic of a dark past. We have our own witchfinders here, Nzingu. Transforming the imperial heir into a magician is a very complicated undertaking, and not one that can be rushed."
Sir Godfrey said, "My dear lad, we all understand the difficulties from the technocrats in the imperial court."
"Indeed?" Mamoru replied with cold formality. "None of you have endured as much time in the court as I. In my four years here, I have been watched very closely. I was questioned and disciplined by the court five times, including two interviews and stern rebukes from Lord Kelvin, who was most displeased that I was not reinforcing the official doctrine that religion is worthless superstition, and that the power of science and technology is humanity's sole solution. Only the emperor's personal intervention allowed me to weather the attacks from the court, and that only because the Most Serene Emperor in Singapore is our great patron.
"Only in the last six months have I managed to bring Her Highness to magical practice of any sort. I intended to accelerate her practicum after the marriag
e to Senator Clark. The court's attention would have been consumed with the war, and the senator would become like the steel-minded male heir that Lord Kelvin always desperately wanted rather than a weak girl like Adele. The princess is the most extraordinary adept our world has ever seen, and properly trained in matters of magic and faith, she will wield prayer like lightning. She will rid the world of vampires. But, alas, I do not think she is yet skilled enough to engage or elude the creatures. I must confess, I had not yet trained her to master such specific skills. I beg your forgiveness for my failure."
Mamoru bowed deeply and already regretted explaining so much. It made it seem as if he needed to justify his actions.
Sir Godfrey smiled and refilled Mamoru's glass. "All unnecessary, I assure you, dear boy. If there is any blame to ascribe, it belongs to the bloody fools at court who sent the princess north. Certainly, no one questions your abilities, my dear Mamoru."
Nzingu remained conspicuously silent. She turned quickly, and the bone beadwork on her gown rattled.
With proper detachment, Mamoru said to the Zulu witch, "Although I have no right, I would ask that you not despair just yet."
Sir Godfrey rubbed his hands together. "Quite. So clearly you have someone in Britain to search for the princess?"
"Selkirk," Mamoru replied. "An excellent geomancer."
Sir Godfrey pursed his lips, trying to conjure a face to the name. Failing, he shrugged with acceptance of Mamoru's characterization. Nzingu was lost in her own thoughts of ruin. Only Sanah now locked eyes with Mamoru. Clearly she recognized the name Selkirk, and just as clearly she was not pleased.
Mamoru ran his hand along the edge of the basalt coffin, feeling the texts carved into the stone. "I have every confidence that we will have our princess back. Our resources are vast. And despite our animosity toward the Empire, Equatoria's reach is long and can be exploited for our own purposes. I feel certain that once this difficulty is past, our plans will go forward. As they must."
The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith Page 9
