Connecticut Vampire in Queen Mary's Court

by Hall, Ian

  Then, an idea quickly forming, I shot to my feet.

  In some anguish I spun round, at first slowly, getting my balance, then soon whirling like a dervish. The world about me changed to a kaleidoscope of color as I rotated faster and faster. I felt the ground beneath me break into pieces as my boots kicked the grassy earth.

  I laughed, lifting my face to the high blue sky.

  Then from far away, I heard a sound; a droning, and it gave me heart. I’d heard that humming sound before; both times I’d travelled back, but I’d never really actually noticed it, never taken note. As I gyrated to greater speeds, the noise grew louder and higher in pitch. I threw my arms wide, and tried for a higher rate of spin. The tone changed, like a washing machine spinning clothes. Then I remembered the spin of an ice skater, and I clutched my arms to my chest, instantly spiraling faster. Then my world grew immediately dark.

  Black.

  And I wasn’t spinning anymore.

  “Yes!” I roared out loud, my voice instantly dying in the air.

  I looked around, and the world gradually came into view, the dark shapes coalescing into distinct patterns.

  Trees, a distant grey horizon, and dark clouds close above me, but no light of any kind.

  I grinned like a maniac. “I’m back,” I said. I patted my body. No broken parts, and I seemed to be wearing the same clothes, but my scabbard proved empty, of course; my sword still lay in the stranger’s shoulder in the theatre.

  I realized I was panting, breathing heavily, and stood for a moment, allowing my body to calm down.

  Exhausted, I sat on the grass, then lay back, suddenly very tired.

  I awoke to rain hitting my face, my clothes already pretty wet. With grey clouds above me, I stood up, but could see little through the misty rain.

  I had no idea where or when I’d actually landed.

  There seemed to be no alternative, I chose a direction, and started to run. Not fast, just kind of mild jogging, relishing the rain, and the idea that I’d actually managed to do the time-travelling thing on my own.

  It felt good, but my mind raced. How much time had elapsed since I’d left?

  Three weeks in Connecticut had allowed fifty years to elapse. This time, I hadn’t been in the present day for more than two minutes. So as I ran, I calculated. It proved a difficult piece of arithmetic, but I broke into bite size chunks.

  Three weeks in Connecticut meant fifty years in Tudor England.

  So a week would be sixteen years-ish.

  A day; two and a half years; roughly nine hundred days.

  Half a day; four hundred and fifty days.

  An hour; maybe forty days.

  Two minutes; maybe just about a day.

  With my calculations completed to my satisfaction, as long as I hadn’t materialized in outer Mongolia I’d be home in time for dinner.

  Then, into my mind flashed a picture of Keith Fallon, three arrows sticking bloodily from his chest. I’d been sent back in time because he’d died.

  Crap; at last Keith Fallon, the Baron of Exeter, my vampire nemesis for so many years lay dead.

  Then, suddenly I crossed a road. I stopped in my tracks, and retraced my steps. Not just an ordinary road, but one reasonably well-travelled.

  Left or right?

  I took a coin from my pocket, and tossed it, catching it and placing it on the back of my hand. Heads.

  I turned right, and started jogging again, the muddy ruts satisfyingly comfortable under my feet.

  Fallon, dead.

  But then, the first time I’d been forced back to Connecticut, it had been at Lady Jane’s death, but she’d actually lived, so perhaps Fallon had survived too.

  Damn.

  Then I passed a hamlet on the left, then another, then the beginnings of a town, and people, huddled against the misty rain.

  I slowed to a walk, and found myself strolling into a market, the stalls wet and glistening with droplets of rain. Flags flew from almost every house.

  I purchased a meat pie and delighted the old lady with a silver coin. “It’s been a good day,” I said to her as I walked away.

  “Good day to you, sire” she toothlessly mouthed after me.

  “What is this town?” I asked the first decently dressed man I encountered. “I find myself lost; too much ale last night.”

  He laughed. “Seems like we all drank too much. This is Bury St. Edmunds.” He clapped me on the back.

  “What’s your reason for celebration?” I asked.

  “New Queen, sire, same as you. Unless you were drowning your sorrows, you are for the Princess, aren’t you?”

  Good God. I’d calculated I’d missed just days. But Elizabeth had indeed risen, and would be made Queen. Holy crap!

  I smiled broadly, choosing words with care. “I am indeed for the Princess, I have met her, and she will indeed make a great Queen!” I walked away, then turned. “Which direction to London?”

  He pointed back the way I’d come, so I thanked him, and turned around.

  Cautious not to ask one person too many questions, I walked through the market, then accosted another man. “When will the Queen be crowned?”

  He looked at me like I’d just asked the dumbest question in the world. “Why, today, of course. Why do ya think we’ve got the flags out?”

  I didn’t even thank him.

  Elizabeth would be crowned today, and I wasn’t there to see it.

  Fuck.

  As soon as I got clear of the town, I sped up, and soon found a bigger road, and took it.

  After I’d run for half an hour, I began to recognize landmarks; I had been on this road, just months before, following another Queen to London.

  I almost cried with joy.

  As I reached the outskirts of London and eased my pace, the weather improved, and sun began to shine through scudding clouds.

  The streets began to fill with people, and I shared their joy.

  Today I’d witness the crowning of my Princess.

  As I pushed past the crowds, I began to join their cheers. “Long live the Queen!” I shouted at the top of my voice.

  Then, slowly, I listened, and their words filtered through my euphoria.

  “Long live the Queen! Long live Queen Mary! Queen Mary the first!”

  Holy Crap.

  Chapter 23

  October 1st, 1553… again

  Groundhog Day

  I made my way to Westminster with a heavy heart. I’d actually jumped back into my own timeline; how the heck had that happened?

  The bells from the Cathedral started to peal, and soon the crowd ahead cheered louder. I climbed a pillar in the houses opposite, just as Princess Elizabeth strode from the gates of Saint Paul’s cathedral. Then I saw myself, well the older, well, younger self walking after her. I pushed through the crowds, determined to get to me, and warn myself of the events to come, but I’d only gotten a few yards when my stupid stomach did the sick-upset-puke thing. I ignored it at first, but the nearer I got, the worse it got, until I doubled over with pain, with about a hundred feet between us.

  I stopped, grinning despite watching myself being sick, and having the same symptoms myself at exactly the same time.

  Then the penny dropped, and I turned and walked away. “Bloody idiot. The sickness; I was doing it to myself,” I said out loud as the pains eased with each step I put between us.

  Oh man, I had to get away, find somewhere quiet and think this over. And to find somewhere quiet on this day, I had to get out of London.

  The Lark proved to be just the place.

  I sat in my usual corner, of course, for the first time, technically, well actually the term would be ‘temporally’.

  I tried to remember the times I’d felt sick. First the coronation, of course, then that evening at Ashridge House, and then, at the end, in the theatre with Fallon. I sat, nursing my ale rather than drinking it, trying to remember more, but I couldn’t.

  I paid for a room, and sat upstairs at a desk, writin
g most of the night; dates, places I’d been, basically my whole story here in Queen Mary’s time.

  I made crazy rough notes with the stupid pen and ink system, then slowly coalesced the bullet points into a complete itinerary of my time.

  One, I had to know what I’d done, so I could avoid myself.

  Two, I had to know where I’d been in case I ran into anyone else that knew me.

  Three, I had to plan to help myself, to prove there’d been a reason why I’d landed in my own timeline.

  The date? The first of October, 1553, Queen Mary’s coronation day, and Lady Jane’s three month ultimatum approached, looming over me. But looking at my schedule, I had plenty of time to get to Edinburgh, and delay her return.

  Then I dropped the pen onto the desk, grinned, and paced to the window. There wasn’t much to actually see outside, but in my head the whole picture became clear.

  Obviously, the new me had manipulated the old me; played me like a fish.

  Lady Jane had never returned from Scotland, but she had sent me a letter announcing her imminent arrival in London. “Just at the exact time I’d decided to go look for her,” I said out loud, a revelation developing in my head.

  I had stopped myself going to Scotland, because I’d known about the theatre rendezvous with Fallon/Exeter.

  I went back to my notes.

  Steve had been given a letter in Ashridge House, when I’d gotten sick there. “I must have been nearby.” I ran my finger down the scrawled lines. “Carefully watching myself.”

  But we’d gotten the letter just at the exact time we needed it.

  12th Feb. Lady Jane Grey beheaded. New task from Fakenham.

  Sick that night at Ashridge House. Steve got note from Z.

  Then I remembered; we’d got the note from a woman, a busty gypsy woman. Initially I’d thought it had been Lady Jane Winterbrooke, but after Steve’s description, it had probably been Abigail.

  Then, again, the penny dropped. “That’s why Lady Jane didn’t come down to London, getting herself into all kinds of shit with Fallon.” I felt I’d had a ‘Homer’ moment. “Because I’d already gone to Edinburgh and stopped her return.”

  And I had sent myself the notes. I’d even given myself clues in the writing to who had written them. What an idiot.

  I started a new list.

  Go to Edinburgh, placate Lady Jane.

  Find Abigail.

  Send myself those warning notes.

  Then I wondered why I hadn’t warned myself about Fallon’s plot to send me back?

  The answer seemed pretty plain.

  I’d used myself as the perfect bait to catch and kill Keith Fallon.

  “Clever.”

  Then I realized I’d been talking to myself all the time.

  So with the knowledge that I’d successfully gotten through this plot already, I rewrote the notes again, making slight adjustments, changing dates, thoughts, ideas, anything to help remind me of the part I now had to play.

  In the morning I found a sword maker, and bought a new one, with matching dagger. Ebony hilts, Spanish Toledo steel blades.

  The same night I studied my notes again, committing my blueprint of survival into my head.

  Then, very early the next morning, I set off for Edinburgh. Steady pace, remembering the map of England I’d studied with Steve back in Connecticut. Halfway there, I veered right until I hit the coast, then basically followed the coastline northwards.

  That evening, I stood at the east gate of Edinburgh, the sun setting over Edinburgh Castle high on its lonely rock, and I weaved through the streets to her room.

  Of course, it proved to be empty, but exhausted, I lay down on the bed and fell instantly asleep.

  I awoke the next morning with the clamor shouts from the window, sitting slightly ajar. I looked out of the window down to the market below, but my love had not been to her room, and she had left no note as to her whereabouts.

  I left the room, and in the corridor I heard animated voices from downstairs. “I must have you.” A man, his Scottish accent thick, yet somewhat cultured. “And you will.” Lady Jane’s voice! “In time.”

  I stood on the landing in full view, barring their way. On seeing me, it took Lady Jane several seconds for recognition to dawn. “Richard!” She flew into my arms, her mouth the most ravenous beast in the country, her hands clawing at the back of my neck, pulling me into her grip. I tasted fresh blood on her lips, and fully accepted it into me, sucking it from between her teeth.

  I accepted the amorous assault for many minutes, then slowly began to untangle myself from her. Looking over her shoulder, her ‘friend’ still stood, slightly embarrassed, yet having the gall to wait on the outcome.

  Then she looked back. “David, go home.”

  The expression of a thwarted promised paradise is never handsome, and David provided a prime example. Exhibiting every possible facet of body language of the lover scorned, he gave Jane a lingered parting glance, turned, and left. But, taking his extended bottom lip with him, he did leave.

  I retracing my steps back to her room, and as she disrobed, told her the story so far. Well, hopefully so far. The list had improved my grasp on the events of my timeline, but stories got jumbled a bit.

  When she got to the last layer, I had already beat her to the naked stage, and we met in the middle of the room, standing apart, like magnets trying in vain not to join together.

  Her mouth, once engaged, I remembered with much fondness. Her lips were light and caressed mine like the lightest butterfly, yet her tongue probed my mouth like the most cunning serpent, winding round mine and taking me to heights of passion I’d quite forgotten.

  I threw her towards the bed and followed her, thrusting my face into her juicy sex, pushing my tongue between her folds, rubbing my nose on her clitoris, reaching upwards for those gorgeous cones of flesh and her pert, hardened nipples.

  “Oh, Richard!” she screamed, pulling my head harder against her pubic bone, grinding herself against my face. I swear she came in seconds. I reveled in her euphoria, and drank the juices of her orgasm.

  Then I lifted my dew-covered face, crawled up her naked body and sank myself into her moist sheath.

  “Home!” I screamed as I plunged my dick deeper and deeper inside her. I cared not for her pleasure, but she seemed to enjoy it regardless.

  As I achieved release, I lunged on her neck, and drank the blood of the one true love I had ever had. As I sucked the life-force from her, and sent it burning down my throat, I thanked Fallon for giving me an eternity with this woman, thanked him for dying so nicely, and leaving me such a warm, fuckable legacy.

  Then, with Fallon in mind, I remembered his end. Three arrows. Three arrows arriving almost simultaneously from three different places. The bloody points had blasted out of his chest, but not shot from the same bow.

  I lay down on her chest, felt her lick my neck, sealing her own chewing marks, and gazed into her eyes. “How good are you with a bow?”

  It’s common knowledge within the vampire community when we ‘turn’ someone, they take on some of our own traits, something of our own character is sucked out of us when the ‘victim’ sucks our blood for the first time.

  We also have some control over our victims, as exhibited by Fallon’s ability to plant my Lady Jane into Jane Grey’s place.

  As I lay beside my lover, I ruminated as to exactly how much I could tell her, how much information she could take.

  I was indeed a vampire, yes, she either knew this on some level, or could be taught the situation.

  I traveled in time, yes, but how much did she actually need to know? If I disappeared again, if she didn’t know the actual truth, how would she know to wait for me? If Lady Jane actually found herself present at my killing of Fallon, and the subsequent sending back to the future of me, then how would I explain it?

  How would I explain another me?

  Back to the future. I chuckled inside, Marty McFly rushing into my head like the s
peeding train he rode.

  I awoke to find myself lying beside Jane, her bottom spooned into my crotch. It didn’t take much encouragement to push my fingers between her legs, finding her still moist and waiting. Our second lovemaking proved much less frantic than the first, and took far more time.

  Afterwards I washed myself from the small bowl of water on the dresser and wondered how many men she’d had in this room?

  I had no recriminations. We were vampires, when alone, we needed blood; without it we weakened, so there seemed little point in condemnation or placing blame. We accepted what we were, and went on. If Fallon hadn’t turned her when he did, I’d not have had her now.

  A simple truth.

  I heard Jane moving on the bed behind me. “So, Richard. Do you come from the future too?”

  I whirled on her, but she lay smiling at my discomfort. “How long have you known?”

  “Baron Exeter told me much of what happened, I mean, life didn’t get any less complicated after you’d left. I saw you just disappear as he stabbed me. Then he bit me, and somehow I became a vampire, whatever that is.”

  “And without his ‘gift’, you’d have been dead, or at the very least an old woman by now.”

  “Yes, true.” She nodded, squirming round to face me, her breasts jiggling as she did so. “Exeter told me he came from the future, and you’d gone back to your own time. I tried to wait for you, Richard, but he had ahold of me. I couldn’t help myself.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I had to let him. I couldn’t say no.”

  I crossed to her and ran my fingers through her hair. “It’s okay, Jane, it wasn’t you; it would have been his hold over you. When we vampires ‘turn’ someone, we have a control over them. You didn’t accept Fallon to your bed; he took you against your basic will.”

  She sobbed against me.

  “But it’s over now, he’s dead, and he’ll not hurt…”

  She forced me away. “Dead?”

  Oh crap. That let the cat out of the bag.

  So I lay back on the bed and told her absolutely everything. Boy, I had to tell it twice, sometimes three times before she believed it.

  I mean, I hardly believed it myself.

  Then she giggled. Possibly the last reaction I’d expected. “If it wasn’t for the fact you got sick when you get near yourself, I could have both of you at the one time!”