“Gia,” he whispers between our kisses. He is drunk upon them. I wonder then if he is questioning me, asking me if I want more.
I can say nothing, so instead, I move myself against him to show exactly what I want.
Claire
Hidden on the southern shores of the island, far from Benjamin’s settlement of piratical men and whorish women, is this Olivier Vauquelin’s brigantine. As they pushed us forward out onto the sands I could see his fleet of ships on the seascape. They dot the skyline, closing in like vultures on a carcass.
My hands are tied again. I feel rage burning me up, a fury like I have never known. Is there no such thing as justice? When I am free I will grab hold of the first rapier I can find, the first matchlock pistol, the first knife…any weapon, and fight my way out. My mother, if she were living to see this, would be outraged with me. Even in my thirties, the time when a woman is supposed to be at her prime, having bore children and enjoyed countless comforts in her Maison, entertaining guests and assembling luxurious celebrations. That world is so far lost from me.
Vauquelin brings us on deck, and we are forced to stay there and wait for him till he decides what to do with us. I do not think he is especially concerned with where we are. Just the fact that we are here surrounded by his men is good enough for him.
The sea air whips my hair about. I feel grimy after so much time in the cave. The world is so bright and clear above, so refreshing. I glance at Alphonse and wonder if he feels this same relief to not be trapped beneath the earth with a thousand devil creatures who could awaken at any moment. Whenever the time arrives that Vauquelin and the Bone Woman are able to give them their life.
A few of the men have had their feels of me, but I think that is all they will do. I give them nothing. No expression, no words. I will not satisfy them with a reaction of any kind. Fuck them and their filthy hands. They’re nothing. I’ve endured worse.
Alphonse curses them viciously when he sees them do this, but I just look at him. I wish he would stay silent. They will not stop for him. No matter how loud he screams or as many profanities as he can bellow.
It is near nightfall when Vauquelin returns to us. He has changed into a black ensemble of embroidered leathers and a neatly tailored waistcoat. A jeweled sabre hangs at his waist, the scabbard ornamented with foreign design. The jewels glitter in the twilight.
“I think it is time that you join me for the evening meal,” he speaks briskly. “Come, don’t be shy. We were allies once, weren’t we Alphonse? A part of the same force? As a credit to your previous loyalties, I will offer you dinner and a spectacle.”
This is the man that Alphonse killed for since he was fourteen. I think of Alphonse as a young boy, pressured into taking the life out of a person. How did he feel then? Did he know what he was doing was wrong, when both the most influential people in his life told him it was honorable, acceptable even? When we’d taken Vauquelin’s journals from the flat in Paris, Alphonse’s bitterness for him had matured. Now, I do not know what he thinks. I look at Alphonse, attempting to catch him without him knowing that I observe him. But he knows that I watch. I’m aware of his lies, I only wonder how deep his greed and jealousy has gone. A man can hide the deepest of swollen desires in the hard recesses of his heart.
The rope that binds our hands are cut, and I rub my wrists in the raw places. We follow him, flanked by his men. As we stumble along the boardwalk, I watch the rolling ocean waves. The spray on the dark rocks further down the beach. The sun sends sparkling twinkles into our eyes. Alphonse looks at his feet, acknowledging no one.
“Mademoiselle Bonteque,” he shoots back at me. “I do apologize for this unnatural way of meeting one another. I had hoped to meet you under finer circumstances, one where we were aligned in wants. It will be a pity to lose such a beautiful woman.”
“I will not be lost, Monsieur,” I snap back.
He nods as if accepting my words, confident that they are not true.
As we enter into his quarters, I am hit by the scents that mingle in the air. The warmth moistens the atmosphere and feels like submerging into a bath. The aroma is savory, of stewed meats and yeast breads. There are fruits displayed along the center of the table, giant maroon grapes and bright oranges. Pomegranates split and sliced. Sweetmeats and sugary treats set out for decoration. I haven’t seen this kind of food in years.
“Make yourselves comfortable. Eat your fill,” he says, standing at the head of the table, his hands splayed out, ushering us in.
Alphonse and I go forth and begin to eat. He gives me a wary expression, but what are we to do? If we are to have our strength, we should eat. A few serving girls stand at command, dressed to reveal their assets generously. One slinks forth to pour the wine, and Vauquelin makes no small show of appraising her body.
“I pity these girls. Imprisoned here for you to do with as you please,” I say, biting into a roll viciously.
“And yet they’ve come of their own volition,” he smirks doggedly. “They’ve chosen well. To serve the winning side, unlike you.”
“To serve with their tits out? To keep your bed warm at night?” I laugh in disgust. “What did he promise you, ma cheres?”
One of the girl’s glances at me furtively. She is plain, with a curved nose and small eyes. Vauquelin seems disturbed by this, and stands, walking with slow swaggering steps towards her. She seems a young one. Near as young as Gia, eighteen or nineteen in years. Sorrow builds in me, but I trap it before it can surface. The old me would have stormed and screamed. Now, I must be as calculated as he. Until in the position to rage, I will not rage.
“The truth,” he sniffs. “That they will be among the first in the rebirth. Allowed the blessing of divinity.”
The girl shows no sign of movement as he caresses her cheek and neck. I imagine his rough fingers, how they would feel, and sickness wells in my gut.
“Of course,” I say. “How very blessed they will be, at your side, never knowing if you’ll kill them one day or abandon them the next. Loyalty goes both ways.”
“Oh, but I am loyal,” he tells me gruffly. “I give pleasure to those who bring pleasure to me.”
“Claire,” Alphonse admonishes me. He wants me to be silent.
“I hate to debate philosophies, but how loyal can one be if you are ruthless and have proven that you will go to any means to reach your end? You placed Alexandre Chardones on a pedestal, gave him feigned glory, and then when he needed you most, Benjamin murdered him. You weren’t there. You do not protect those who are yours. I would say your record is quite dire.”
I lean back against the chair as I say this, gesturing wildly.
Vauquelin sighs, as if battling an internal war, and then his features are fitted to a smile. A forced reflex.
“Alexandre was a loss I was not expecting. I assumed Benjamin weak, yes. I did not know him well. Did not think he would go down this…dark path, per say. I do, however, admire his attempt at taking things into his control. His building of this “empire on the ocean.” I am impressed.” He comes around to seat himself again, waving ravenously for the bronze jug of wine. “He has tracked me for many years, I am sure in pursuit of my demise. But I’ll tell you this. Kraken do not suffer the advances of swordfish. He should be glad to have not crossed blades with me. Brother Death. What a vain prince of a fool.”
“You know, these things I have come to know of people. I can often guess their strategy. Know how their minds work. Thousands of years, remembering, living…watching. It becomes obvious who will do what, who will love who…those little nuances, the caricature of their beings. It becomes dull. But it is an advantage.”
I raise my brows, swirling the ale in my cup softly and snickering at his words. Alphonse shakes his head, vexation pinching his lips. My own opinion of Benjamin has been that he is arrogant, and always has been. Both he and Alphonse inherited this same trait. What an unfortunate thing. I lean forward, grabbing for the pomegranates. He watches me. Even in my dirty, s
cummy state he recognizes me as a woman first. I place a few of the red gems between my lips.
“I do agree. But if I had to say, I’d think you worse than him,” I tell him. “Forcing a boy to do your killing of botched creations. Stealing innocents from the night. There is one thing I am uncertain of. If you were always aligned with the Bone Woman, why did she run from you initially?”
“Yes,” he draws out the s if the word as if he is a snake. “You read my journals, all the letters. The ones that you could, anyway. Some wouldn’t have been simple to translate.”
He slams a hand on the table, raising his shoulders. “She flung herself into the sea, attempting death from a clifftop. She was not happy with the…result of her transformation. I do not blame her. She was not meant to be this. If you remembered your lives before you’d know why.” He takes a wet bite of his meat, the juices slopping along his pristine coat. “Simply put, if you were suddenly not yourself, wanted to die, did not want to face the reality of your situation, what would you do?”
“Find a way to die,” I say, jaw tight.
His mention of our past lives jars me, but I don’t think it would make a difference. Though the hook is sweet with honey, I will not bite it.
“Exactly. Only, if it were you I would not care. Sidra, she is the key. I continued the experiments, yes, but only because I like to play god. Yes, I can admit it to myself. The taste I got of it that first time has clung to me like a cloak in a storm, and it will ever hold fast.”
The gentle rocking of the ship under the cushion of rolling waves is nostalgic for me and brings me back to so many nights and days at sea. I feel sleepy, though I don’t want to feel it. Even his bitter words do not hit me as hard as they should. I shiver, flashing my arms across my body. I should feel more afraid than I am, but I am convinced that even if I die I will be a ghost, haunting them forever. I will not let this go. Not now, not that everything has become so spiritually engrained in me.
“You’ve played god long enough,” Alphonse’s voice is fiery at my back, condemning Vauquelin.
“There is never a time limit on these things. When one knows the truth…” he whispers this, as if it is a grave knowledge to bear.
“How many lives, Monsieur? How many have you lived and died, woke up remembering, all to fail every time?” I simper.
He chuckles hard and long as if there are stones in his throat.
“It is a fair question. But sadly, I do not have that answer. I only remember as far back as Gallia. A few thousand years. Still, I plan to stay in this form. I am quite content to be in this body as long as I can have my immortality and bring truth back into the world.”
“And what is this great truth you speak of?” I laugh.
“Soon enough,” he smirks, holding up a finger. “I think that it is time for our show.”
Vauquelin claps his hands together, a graceful motion.
His men move in unison, knocking on the door, and then opening it wide. There is movement beyond, a distant thundering of footsteps. The night sky glowers down through the open door. The noise becomes louder, clearer. Something like hooves stamping the wood comes to mind. I freeze, my body tensing. Glancing over my shoulder, I wait for whatever comes. Will it be our death? Is he now to kill us? Leave the stain of our blood at his table?
Alphonse’s face is ashen; sickly pale.
Then, it is unimaginable. It is a giant humanoid bird, black and metallic blue feathers rippling across his body, tapering off to reveal a man’s chest and arms. His legs are fully covered in fluffy, water-resistant feathers. Sprouting from his back are two behemoth wings, though they have been strapped down in awkward positions. I would guess them broken. This tall, alien creature is prodded through the doorway. His arms are strapped back behind him, his muscles bulging against the straps. His mouth is gagged. He has black curly hair framing his face. In my opinion, he looks Greek. The olive skin tone and dark hair lend me this image. The rest of him curls my gut up as I flinch at the reality that this should not be. He should not exist. I have not even heard myths of him, or what he is.
“Why?” I rage, battling against the urge to numb beneath the surreal-ness. “Why show us?”
The creature glares at Vauquelin, fury alight. The men hold him in place with ropes so that they are taut, disabling his ability to move.
“This is Kriath, a Ganayun,” he introduces us. “The most recent addition to my collection. I found him wandering the wilds of La Russie. It was such luck to come upon him.”
“Collection?” Alphonse repeats, glancing anxiously at the creature. “For what purpose?”
“I think you can put the pieces together, Alphonse. You’re an intellectual, aren’t you? Claire? Any guesses?”
I will not say it. I cannot. The words bubble up in my throat, but I swear I will vomit if I speak them. Alphonse says nothing, only looks down onto his plate.
“I have an offer for you, Alphonse,” he produces the words as he folds his hands before him. “You were once loyal to the cabal. I am willing to recruit. If…” he smirks as a wraith might, “You procure the much-desired Gianna Roswell for me. Gia, as you all call her.”
Alphonse looks at me. The exchange is strange, filled with intensity. I am unsure what he is thinking. I only know that my immediate response is no. That my heart swells with pain and skips beats. I ache for him to fight that part of him that feeds his greed. Now that I view him in a different light, the lie, whatever it was, whatever the truth of it, there is a chasm of doubt. I subtly shake my head. But, in the darkening of his eyes, I can tell that he is plotting, strategizing. Always strategizing.
I feel that he looks at me as if to say, “I am with you.” But there is no way for me to be sure.
His eyes dart to Vauquelin, and he leans forth, hand on his knee.
“What would I get in return?” he asks.
“Alphonse!” I storm, anguish flooding my head.
He does not look at me. He keeps his face perfectly aligned with Vauquelin’s, ignoring me.
Vauquelin’s curling grin splits his face, revealing greasy stained teeth.
“You repulsive imbecile of a man!” I scream, standing up to face them all, hands bunched into tight fists. “Traitorous bastard! I knew you were only for yourself! To hell with you, I’ll do it all myself!”
I grab hold of a knife, the one that is settled on the table and lunge towards Vauquelin. I attempt to slit his geriatric throat. The blade is hard in my fingers, and I make vertical springing cutmarks along his throat. His men rush to defense, grabbing hold of my arms, restraining me. I buck against them, shrieking in anger. Perhaps I am maniacal. I would not care. I kick out and try to grapple them with my nails, scratching and clawing them all.
Alphonse does not move a muscle.
Vauquelin’s neck is bloody, and he holds it as if his skin has not been sliced wide. He presses a few fingers into his flesh, pats it lightly, and then I see that it is regenerating, sinews and skin tying back together. He’s sacrificed to her recently.
“Fuck your black magic. You filthy degenerates!” I seethe as his men hold me away from him.
Vauquelin rises from his chair calmly, and waves Alphonse to accompany him. Neither pays me their glances. Alphonse’s eyes do not dare greet mine. Heat emanates from me, and I swear I will destroy them both. As Vauquelin passes, he leans his face near to mine. He whispers:
“Just as you always have been, darling. You will always be.”
__________________
They tie me to a bedpost. I am not sure whose bed, but I have my guesses. The night is long past, and rumbles from above tell me that there is a storm brewing. Lovely. I wait and listen for the downpour, the steady patter against the sealed wood. The knobby curves of the wood dig into my arms. I let myself shut my eyes but cannot relax enough to sleep. Every noise jerks me into an electrified state.
“Aren’t you going to kill me?” I scream at the bolted door.
No one comes. They’re better off ig
noring me than facing my wrath. I wonder when Vauquelin will do it. When he will take my life. Who will he have do it? How will he do it? My stomach tenses at the thought of a thin blade piercing me, straight through the belly.
I shouldn’t have released Alphonse from Benjamin’s prison. If we would have stayed, I may have had a chance to save Gia from everything that lies in wait for her. Such an innocent girl…born into one of the most sought women in history, I would think. She is the succubus that created the Bone Woman, Sidra, whatever they call the demon who takes and gives life. Though, I do wonder where the ‘giving life’ aspect of her has come from.
There is a scuffling beyond the door, and a clinking as the bolts are flicked aside. A dark figure enters, fumbling with the clinking metal clasps of his sword belt.
“Yes,” I say disapprovingly. “You are a man aren’t you?”
“Shut up.” I hear the voice, so gruff and cruel. A thousand shards of glass could live inside one mans degrading phrase.
“Coming to me in the middle of the night,” I smile in my malice. “Only the guilty come in the shadows. Is this what you want?” I jerk my chest out. “Go ahead do it. I’ll not care. I’ve been used enough for one lifetime it won’t make a difference if you do. You’ll not take my rage. Nor my vengeance.”
I hear little droplets of rain coming, little faint pitter-patters of delicate noise. I cannot see much, only his figure.
“It’s me.”
Suddenly, his voice hits me with the force of a vortex, clashing with my wild sense of reality.
“Alphonse?” I sniff. “What?”
The Bones of Broken Songs: A Historical Mystery Romance (Mortalsong Trilogy Book 2) Page 14
