Clan Novel Tremere: Book 12 of The Clan Novel Saga

by Eric Griffin

  Leopold turned to face the familiar voice and saw, in the flesh, one whom he had previously glimpsed in fevered sleep. “You are the one who awoke me in the cave. The keeper of the past. I remember you, although you once tried to eat those memories. It was you who…”

  “Slowly, Leopold. There is so much you must know. But you must learn how to stalk knowledge—with calmness, detachment, patience. If you are ravenous, the prey will sense your hunger and escape you.”

  Leopold smiled. “How will my prey escape me?” In an instant, he had worked the Great Reversal. He was the Dragon’s Graveyard. Nickolai and the city’s millions of inhabitants scurried across his skin—picking their way over the parched and broken landscape of pores and follicles.

  Deep within the bedrock of the city, something vast and unreasoning stirred in answer.

  Nickolai felt the ground tremble. He took Leopold firmly by the shoulders, grounded him, anchored him. Leopold snapped back within his own bones. He suddenly looked very frail and shaken. “It seems the question is rather,” Nickolai replied, “how will you escape it?”

  Tuesday, 7 September 1999, 12:30

  Regent’s Sanctum, Chantry of the Five Boroughs

  New York City, New York

  The bolts of the outer door had barely hissed shut when Sturbridge wheeled upon her guest.

  “Do you want to explain just what the hell that was all about?”

  “I would remind you that you are addressing your direct superior, Miss Sturbridge. I will brook no insubordination. Is this what passes for proper decorum in this colonial backwater? Familiarity? Vulgarities? I will not have it.”

  “I don’t care if you’re the archduke of Austria. While you’re in this house, you are my guest and I will expect you to behave accordingly. Am I making myself quite clear?”

  “Perhaps you do not appreciate the gravity of the situation. I am the Word of Etrius. I have been charged to set this house in order. I will employ whatever means necessary to achieve this end. I will not be thwarted, and I will not scruple to remove any who resist the will of the council in this matter.”

  An overt threat. Sturbridge did not react well to threats. “What you believe your mission here to be, or not to be, is of little concern to me. I have seen your credentials. What you are is an ambassador. And I would remind you, Mr. Ambassador, that historically, diplomats who do not comport themselves with dignity are summarily expelled and returned home in disgrace.”

  “I assure you, Miss Sturbridge, that you have no such authority in this matter.” He smiled past cracked lips and leaned forward confidingly. “What will you do, have your porter show me the door?”

  If he hoped to goad her into a more open display of anger, he was disappointed. “If you like,” she replied with a honeyed edge to her words. “Will a noon wakeup call suit you?”

  “I have taken certain precautions. To spare you the humiliation of having any harm befall me while I am in your care. I would not like for there to be any ambiguity in your mind on this particular point.”

  He picked up a thick volume from atop the nearest teetering stack of books. By the number of yellow sticky notes peeking from its pages, Sturbridge could tell it was one of the works confiscated from Foley’s chambers. As Sturbridge watched, the notes began to brown along their exposed edges. A thin tendril of black smoke curled upwards. Before Sturbridge could react, or even protest, the book burst into flames.

  She heard the telltale sound of the room’s autonomic defenses clicking in.

  “Override!” she barked.

  “Override confirmed,” a disembodied voice responded. “Sturbridge, Aisling, Regent. Response team dispatched. Defensive systems lock: Fire. Defensive systems lock: Arcanum. Defensive systems lock: Intruder.

  “Fire systems warning: override status. You have 180 seconds to manually extinguish fire. Depressurization commencing.

  “Arcanum systems warning: override status. Unauthorized thaumaturgic effect. Overt. Pyromantic. Retaliation: approved and armed. Triggers: delta proximity, delta temperature.

  “Intruder systems warning: override status. Please immediately identify unknown persons to maintain override status.”

  “Etrius, Logos, Ambassador.” Sturbridge glared at her guest. “Address as Mr. Ambassador. Authorizations: guest quarters, owner-level clearance. Common areas, resident-level clearance. All other areas, restricted—access only when accompanied by Sturbridge, Aisling, Regent or Fitzgerald, Eva, Novice. Chantry ingress/egress, prohibited.”

  “Confirmed. Visitor record added. Please supply voice ident to complete record and cancel Intruder systems warning.”

  Sturbridge’s voice dropped to a whisper. It was unnervingly calm and measured. “Mr. Ambassador, you have been acquired as a target by three separate autonomic defense systems. Please listen carefully.

  “It is imperative that you refrain from any sudden movements that might be interpreted as hostile. I would also recommend that you immediately extinguish the burning book. The blaze will go out of its own account, of course, in just about two and one half minutes—when the remaining oxygen is forcibly ejected from the room. I assure you that this depressurization produces a singularly unpleasant sensation, even in those such as ourselves who would not dream of wasting air on anything so mundane as breathing.

  “Also, if you could spare a few inspirational words for the voice recognition system—three or four sentences should suffice to register your vocal pattern—the alarm system will stop referring to you as an intruder. There are certain advantages to this arrangement. I highly recommend it.”

  “You must teach your guardian spirits better manners,” he replied. “Such presumption! And I will advise you in turn, Miss Sturbridge, to call off your dogs. As I was explaining before we were so impertinently interrupted, this little demonstration was arranged solely for your edification. If any harm should befall me while I am under your protection…”

  He allowed the arm that clutched the burning book to drop a few degrees toward the floor. The flames nipped eagerly at the billowing sleeve of his robes, caught and chased each other around his forearm. Sturbridge had a momentary glimpse of exposed skin blistering, cracking, blackening. She managed to take a half step toward him before the pain slammed into her. She doubled up, fire racing through her veins like molten metal.

  “Enough!” Trained to their master’s voice, the flames shrank back, withdrew and flickered out.

  “Voice ident confirmed,” the mechano-musical voice was unruffled. “Etrius, Logos, Ambassador. Welcome. Defensive systems alert: Intruder—canceled. Defensive systems alert: Fire—canceled. Defensive systems alert: Arcanum—canceled. Response team en route and attempting contact.”

  “Cancel response team.” Sturbridge’s voice was harsh, hollow. She repeated herself, conscious of the effort to draw enough air to form the words properly.

  The ambassador was still talking, as if unaware of the mechanical interruption. “Fire and sunlight are such clumsy, imprecise tools. It is always difficult to say if they will strike true, or fell some innocent bystander. Like you, perhaps. We are bound together, you and I. You know that now. I have been promised safe conduct to and from this house. You are the surety of that pledge.”

  Sturbridge steadied herself with one hand and straightened. She took a single cautious step forward, testing her balance.

  “I don’t know how the hell you did that, but you can be absolutely sure that it’s not going to happen again. Security systems programming,” she called. “Proximity alert, individual. Subject: Etrius, Logos, Ambassador. Subject suffers extreme vulnerability to light, heat. If subject approaches within twenty feet of open flame or sunlight, immediately incapacitate and extinguish. End.”

  “I am touched by your concern for my safety. Still, this guardian spirit of yours is nothing if not fickle and perverse. I will have its true name within the fortnight; you may rely upon it. Then we shall teach it some manners.”

  When Sturbridge did not rise
to his barb, he continued. “I had been considering commandeering these chambers for the duration of my stay, but the company does not at all agree with me. I think the secundus’s rooms will suit our purpose. The longer they lie untenanted, after all, the more the rumors and superstitions will fester among the novices.

  Of course, Mr. Ambassador. I will have the wards removed and the room made ready for you this evening. In the meanwhile, I imagine you will want to review all of the evidence relating to the secundus’s death as soon as possible. Shall I have it carted down to the edificium for you? I would have it taken to Foley’s quarters, but I’m not certain we would be able to get it all back in again.”

  “You are quite mistaken, I assure you.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said that you are mistaken. I have no desire whatsoever to reopen this case. I have read your preliminary report on this unfortunate chapter in the history of this chantry and it is my considered opinion that the sooner we close that particular book, the better.”

  “But there have been new developments since that report was written. Another death for starters, and…”

  “Another assassination?! This is intolerable. It is gross negligence. What is being done to protect the chantry from outside threats? And I don’t mean this farcical Intruder Defensive System nonsense I’ve been subjected to here tonight. I believe I have seen enough of that. Why aren’t your guardian spirits securing the perimeter instead of accosting the guests of the chantry?”

  “Mr. Ambassador,” Sturbridge’s patience was beginning to wear. “There is strong evidence to suggest that Foley’s assassin did not breach chantry security unaided.”

  “What precisely is it that you are trying to say, Miss Sturbridge? If you are merely trying to deflect attention from your own failings…”

  “Our investigation turned up certain papers on Aaron’s body—the novice that was killed just inside the Exeunt Tertius on the night of Foley’s death. Papers that were removed from the scene of the crime. Surely you cannot fail to grasp the significance of…”

  “Aaron was a hero.” He spoke slowly and precisely. “He died protecting this chantry—a duty which I remind you, Miss Sturbridge, properly falls to you. I will not stand here and listen to you speak ill of the dead.”

  “But surely you realize,” she began, but broke off midsentence. Realization had been slow in coming, but had gathered force with the waiting. It broke over her like a wave. Aaron, a hero, despite all evidence to the contrary? Why was the representative from Vienna so firm on this point, unless…

  “Oh, I see.”

  “What is it that you see, Miss Sturbridge?”

  “It was not his treachery after all, was it? It was his loyalty. His loyalty to the clan, to Vienna. Yes, I had things quite backwards. Thank you for pointing out my error. This puts things in a very different light.”

  “Let the dead rest, Miss Sturbridge. You would do well to look to the safety of your novices.”

  “Yes, I see that now. Thank you.”

  Thursday, 23 September 1999, 10:49 PM

  The Mausoleum,

  Chantry of the Five Boroughs

  New York City, New York

  “She knows too much already, my Lady. And what she does not know, she suspects.” The ambassador’s hand was knotted in the front of his robes, keeping the hem from dragging through the powdered bone that covered the floor.

  “Nonsense. You have nothing to fear from the regent.” Eva considered a moment. “No, that’s not precisely true. I should say that you have nothing more to fear from her. If you give her the opportunity, she will destroy you, of course.”

  “She is insufferable. She resists my very presence here and undermines me at every turn.”

  “Well, of course she does. She has enjoyed a very free hand to this point and now it is time to shorten the tether. This relative autonomy has been a necessary evil. The councilor is well aware of the price of maintaining a front-line chantry. It is a cost we have been willing to pay in order to hold the Sabbat at bay. But now…”

  “Yes, now there are other considerations.” They rounded a bend in the narrow passage. A gust of moist air from some hidden niche carried the scent of moldering bones. His face wrinkled in distaste. “Already the carrion birds begin to gather.”

  “A pretty image, that. I can picture them now. A flight of tattered justicars and archons descending upon the city in their flapping black leather trench coats. But we must have a care not to frighten off our Camarilla brethren for the present. The political climate remains volatile.”

  He snorted. “I find it all more than slightly ironic. It seems a very short time ago indeed that our Camarilla allies were pouting, stomping their feet, and making all manner of dissatisfied noises—disgruntled over the lack of Tremere involvement in this conflict. Now, when they have at last uncovered evidence of our vigilance…”

  “Tread gently. If you are referring to the rumors coming out of the nation’s capital, we can give them no official credence. Still, your point is well taken. The Pyramid has already played a far greater role in reversing the Sabbat gains than any of our friends can yet imagine. Even our most vocal detractors must surely realize at this point that the chantry houses in New York and Washington are the last remaining bastions of defense for our beleaguered allies. Yes, one must be very careful what one wishes for.”

  “I wish for an end to this damnable waiting. I don’t like this little pantomime, never liked it. I’m the one hung out over the edge of the precipice here. If this thing starts to unravel now…”

  “Nothing’s going to unravel. You’re not here to take a fall. You’re here to…” She hesitated only an instant. In that moment’s hesitation, however, he clearly heard the reading of his own death sentence. “To keep Sturbridge off balance.”

  He walked in silence for a time. “Even you don’t believe that. Look, it’s too dangerous keeping her in power here. She’s already got hold of the frayed end of Aaron’s secret. It won’t be long before she worries it loose. We need to take her out of the picture…

  Out of the question.”

  He raised his voice, talking over the top of the interruption, “…to take her out of the picture, if only for a little while. We could send her to Baltimore again.”

  “I can’t encourage more interaction with Pieterzoon’s ad hoc Camarilla council down there in Baltimore. It’s too unpredictable, dangerous. We’ve already sown the necessary seeds among them. We’ve established Sturbridge as their ‘in’—their link to the city, their chink in the pyramid. When they come to New York, they’ll pay their lip service to Prince Michaela, but they’ll come to Sturbridge for help. This chantry will provide them the intelligence, the expertise and the firepower they need to carry the city’s liberation.”

  “You make it sound as if it’s all a foregone conclusion. I envy your confidence.”

  “What you call confidence, I call control. Victory here will boil down to a simple matter of who can control the field of possible outcomes. By culling out the undesirable results now and nurturing the more rewarding ones, it will all seem like a foregone conclusion—after the dust settles.”

  He shook his head. “There are still too many uncertainties, too many permutations. I don’t know how you can pretend to pierce the tangle enough even to discern a desirable outcome. You and I, we are far too embroiled in the painting to make out any of its details.”

  “The situation is complex, yes. In a sense, we will be fighting the battle on two fronts. It is not enough to win the overt battle against the Sabbat. We must also gain the upper hand in the covert struggle for prominence with our Camarilla brethren. We are fortunate (some might say vigilant) in that the Tremere are already far out ahead of the competition. We are on the ground. Our units are in position. We have been specially trained and equipped to fight this particular foe in this particular place in this particular way. All we have to do for the present is to be patient and to continue to remove the wildca
rds from the equation.”

  “Faster than our allies can introduce them, you mean. You know how I feel about this waiting game. There is so much we could be doing to prepare—and even more we might do with Sturbridge out from underfoot.”

  “You are still thinking in terms of logistics. Forces to marshal, supplies to lay in, rituals to enact. You are stockpiling certainties. I am disposing of uncertainties. I know this to be the only method to produce reliable successes in distilling our desired outcomes from the muddied waters of mere possibility. That is why your carrion birds do not concern me. Justicars and archons are monolithic, ponderous, predictable. One cannot commit a battleship with subtlety, nor withdraw it again gracefully once committed. They can be accounted for in the equation, factored out.

  “No, it is the Foleys that worry me. Does that startle you? It is the Aarons and the Jacquelines that lie in wait for me when I close my eyes. The children. Their intrigues are more humble and therefore many times more damning. There is no telling how just one of their petty jealousies, their casual cruelties, might nudge the whole calculation in some previously unexplored and disastrous direction.”

  “So we eliminate them?”

  “Certainly not. We eliminate the uncertainties. The uncertainties. The children, we draw them out, we force them to declare themselves and sometimes, to slip. When they have revealed their fomenting ambitions, their fears, their desires, then we have them.”

  “You turn their passions against them. You must admit, my lady, that it amounts to much the same thing. Foley is dead. Aaron, dead. Jacqueline…”

  Her gaze grew hard. “Some passions we allow to run their course. The predictable ones. The ones that advance the inevitability of the final calculation. Are you suggesting that we are somehow responsible for Foley’s death? I would be a bit more hesitant to put forth such a ridiculous and perhaps even subversive opinion if I were in your position.”

  “Ridiculous? Are you saying that we are blameless of Foley’s death? If true, this would be welcome news indeed. It is one of the things that weighs most heavily upon me. I hope you might further put me at ease on a few other small points. Perhaps you can tell me how Aaron, a cloistered novice, managed even to make contact with that most ancient and dread brotherhood of assassins. Or how he came by the savvy to convince them not to kill a hated warlock on sight? Or how he came by the not inconsiderable financial resources that would be required to contract a murder in what may very well be the single most dangerous building in the Northeast to carry off such a transaction? Do you know what I think?”