Uprising

by Mariani, Scott G.

  A few minutes’ walk from the middle of the village, he came across a small garage. Light was shining from the main building, which was little more than a corrugated iron shack surrounded by a stained concrete forecourt. There were two solitary fuel pumps that looked like relics from the forties. As he walked nearer, he saw a scraggy Alsatian dog that might just as well have been a wolf lying on the ground between heaps of scrap car parts and old tyres. The animal appeared relaxed but its amber eyes were watching his every move. Joel was fifteen yards from the shack when its ears pricked up and it gave a low growl. It was only when he saw the chain that tethered the dog to a railing that he beat down the urge to turn round and walk quickly back the way he’d come.

  He walked up to the shack and peered in through the gap in the doors. A rusty collection of cars and a couple of trucks were lined up against the back wall. Tools were littered all over the place. An engine stood partly dismantled on a workbench.

  ‘Hello? Anyone there?’ At the sound of Joel’s voice, the dog jumped to its feet and rushed at him, barking and snapping and baring its fangs, but was jerked short on the end of the chain. Joel repeated ‘Hello?’ There didn’t seem to be anyone around. Joel wondered where the mechanic was. Probably in the bar he’d just come from.

  He slipped inside and looked at the vehicles. It was a desperate collection. The only one that still had all its wheels was a corroded old Matra-Simca. Joel lifted the bonnet and found himself looking at an empty hole where the engine used to be.

  Outside, the dog was still going crazy on the end of its chain, but the noise didn’t seem to be attracting anyone. This wasn’t helping him. Time was passing too quickly.

  That was when he spotted the tarpaulin-draped shape in the corner and walked over to investigate. Under the dusty cover he found a motorcycle. It was a Russian Dnepr mounted to a sidecar, an old Communist-era replica of a wartime Wehrmacht BMW. It was rugged and battered, with tyres that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a tractor. The machine was a far cry from the slick 200mph superbike he’d left behind him, but something like this would be a lot better suited to the kind of harsh terrain he expected to find where he was going. He gave the handlebar a waggle, heard the hollow slosh of fuel in the tank. The key was in the ignition. On the sidecar’s single seat was a scuffed open-face helmet, with a pair of antiquated leather gauntlets stuffed inside, and glass goggles on an elasticated strap.

  Joel glanced furtively around him. The dog had finally stopped its noise. No footsteps on the forecourt outside. He twisted the key, clambered on board the machine and tried the kickstart. The old flat-twin 650cc engine rumbled into life. Everything seemed to work. It was crude, but it was perfect.

  After five more frustrating minutes, still nobody had turned up. Opening up his wallet, Joel plucked out a thick wad of the banknotes he’d drawn out back in Britain. He counted out four hundred euros, left them in a curling pile on the bonnet of the old Simca, then chucked his rucksack and the case into the sidecar.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  It had been an interminable, numbing wait for something to happen before the sound of footsteps echoed in the passage outside. Suddenly alert, Alex jumped to her feet as a key grated in the lock and her cell door creaked open.

  ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’ she said to the man who walked in the low arched doorway. He looked somewhat dishevelled in a rumpled suit and his face was pale, a nervous twitch making one eyebrow jump. In his arms was an oblong box, which he laid on the floor of the cell. Two guards stood behind him, swords at their sides, eyes fixed on Alex.

  ‘The Master requests the pleasure of your company for dinner in the great hall,’ the familiar-looking man said.

  Alex stared at him. ‘I do know you. You’re Jeremy Lonsdale, the politician.’

  The man flushed, said nothing, and motioned at the box. Alex shrugged and opened it.

  Gabriel Stone was seated luxuriantly in an enormous chair in front of a roaring fire when Alex was ushered into the great hall. The place was something out of a medieval fantasy. Settings for two were laid out intimately close together on the gigantic oak dining table in the middle of the room.

  ‘So here I am in the hall of the mountain king,’ she said as she walked in. ‘And you must be the great Stone. I remember you from your little presentation.’

  ‘In the flesh.’ He rose from his chair and gave a stiff, formal bow. ‘The pleasure is all mine, Agent Bishop. And you must call me Gabriel.’

  ‘What’s the idea of sending this for me to wear?’ she asked, tossing him the long, white dress that had been in the box.

  ‘I thought you would look fetching in it,’ he said with a twinkle.

  ‘It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘A little dated, perhaps. It once belonged to Marie Antoinette. But very elegant, wouldn’t you say? Then again, I imagine when one is compelled to live cheek by jowl with the seething mass of humanity, one must get used to abiding by their strange fashions.’ Stone laid the dress on the back of his chair, walked up to the table and picked up a crystal decanter. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Some hospitality,’ she said. ‘At last.’

  ‘You must forgive my having kept you waiting so long.’

  ‘Only a whole night and most of the next day.’

  ‘My most humble apologies. I had some things to arrange for later tonight.’ He smiled. ‘All will become clear. I trust the accommodation was to your taste?’

  ‘Delightful.’

  Stone gave a charming smile and poured out two goblets of fresh, sparkling blood from the decanter.

  ‘Please, have a seat.’ He handed her her drink. ‘Not what you would call ethically procured, I’m afraid. What’s that expression the humans use now? Fairtrade?’ He chuckled. ‘We don’t deal in that up here.’

  Alex toyed with the stem of her goblet, then pushed it away from her.

  ‘Whatever have they done to you?’ he said with a shake of the head. Reaching in the pocket of his silk jacket, he took out the half-empty tube of Solazal tablets that she recognised as the one the guards had taken from her in Brussels. ‘Look at this,’ he sighed, dropping the tube disdainfully down on the table. ‘Vampires on drugs. Really.’

  ‘I didn’t say I liked taking the stuff. It’s how I was able to do my job, that’s all.’

  ‘Ah yes – your job. The muscle behind the evil minds of your ruling self-appointed elite. Enforcing the arbitrary rules of tyrants, worming the Federation’s insidious influence ever deeper into the daily lives of your fellow vampires. The incident with the actor is a prime example of just how petty and paranoid these despots are.’

  Alex raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Baxter Burnett? Wow. Xavier Garrett really has been keeping you informed, hasn’t he?’

  ‘As if the youthful appearance of a Hollywood star could bring down the whole edifice of your Federation. Absurd.’ Stone gave a contemptuous wave. ‘Merely an exercise in control for its own sake, as anyone can see. And you. Are you not ashamed of what you’ve become? Passing yourself off as a human being? Mimicking the lifestyle of an inferior species? How far can a vampire fall, Agent Bishop?’

  ‘Some humans are better than others,’ she said.

  ‘You’re thinking of Solomon,’ he replied, watching her face very closely. ‘There is some special liaison between you, I see. More than a mere collaboration.’

  She shrugged. ‘We used him, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re too used to dealing with rank and file vampires. I have the power to see deeper, and I can tell from the look in your eyes that your feelings are strong for this human.’ He paused. ‘Alex Bishop. Short for Alexandra, I presume? You won’t mind if I call you Alexandra?’

  She looked down at her hands. It had been a long time since anyone had called her that.

  ‘You’re thinking about the past,’ he said. ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘A little over a century,’ she said after a beat. ‘A hundred and thirteen years, if you have to know
.’

  ‘A mere fledgling. Little more than an infant. Yet you were one of us long before the dark days of the Federation. You must surely remember the way it was before this grubby little hive of bandits introduced their era of tyranny.’ Stone leaned back in his chair, sipped his goblet. The flickering fire cast a glow over his handsome features, and there was a light in his eye as he talked. ‘To cheat the sun, embrace the night. Living dangerously, living free. To hunt, to feed like a real vampire, honouring our sacred heritage and a culture that had reached its pinnacle when human beings were still dragging their knuckles in the dust and grunting like apes. How far have they really come, I wonder?’ Stone smiled. ‘They call us Undead – but it’s the finest, most worthy existence there can be. And this—’ His eyes suddenly burned with rage as he snatched up the tube of Solazal, waved it in the air and then tossed it into the fire. ‘This is how your slavemasters repay countless millennia of hallowed tradition.’

  ‘I’m no slave of theirs,’ Alex said.

  ‘I can see that. Yet it astounds me that someone of your obviously high intelligence could have fallen for their shameless propaganda. Even today’s human dictatorships, for all their transparent crudeness, are more sophisticated. They at least make the effort to dress up their so-called democracies as something fair and egalitarian. Your rulers, by contrast, don’t even try to conceal their corruption.’

  ‘I see you’ve been studying human dictatorships up close,’ Alex replied. ‘Wasn’t that the politician Jeremy Lonsdale who brought that rag to my cell earlier?’

  Stone laughed. ‘Currently pursuing a new career direction. His predecessor sadly passed away at the hands of your friend Solomon. You’re observant, Alexandra. A quality I admire in you, as well as your loyalty. I, too, serve a master.’ Her expression of surprise made him smile. ‘You didn’t know that, of course.’

  ‘I thought you were the leader of this revolt against the Federation.’

  ‘Merely its general. I take my commands from beings superior even to myself.’

  Alex frowned in puzzlement. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The original forebears of our race. The purest blood, the most ancient and hallowed line. The Übervampyr.’

  Alex was stunned. It took a few moments before the steady look in Stone’s eye convinced her that he was serious.

  ‘The Über race is ancient history. Part of legend. Isn’t it?’

  ‘Rather like the cross of Ardaich. It would be unwise to confuse legend with myth.’

  ‘They exist? Still, to this day?’

  ‘Yes, they are here still,’ Stone replied. ‘Compared to them, I – we – are nothing. And I am proud to serve them and help bring about their long-dormant plans for this planet.’

  ‘Destroying the Federation was just the beginning,’ Alex said, understanding.

  ‘The very first step, of a very great many. But the first step is often the most important. With vampires freed from the shackles of oppression, they will begin to rediscover the taste of freedom. Just a tiny taste, in comparison to the exquisite liberty we will all enjoy once the Masters’ plans are brought to fruition.’

  ‘What are you talking about? A vampire takeover? Of the whole planet?’ Alex almost laughed.

  Stone nodded earnestly. ‘Invasion, enslavement, complete control. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Killing humans indiscriminately?’

  ‘No worse than what they do to one another. In any case, their numbers are grossly excessive. Look what this parasitic race has done to its home planet in the mere blink of an eye since it achieved so-called civilisation. Tell me, Alexandra, what other of God’s creatures so wilfully and wantonly ravages its own habitat to the extent that, left unchecked, it must ultimately destroy itself?’

  ‘You talk of God?’

  ‘I am, after all, a vampire of philosophic joys.’

  ‘And an ecologist, too.’

  He chuckled warmly. ‘I only want the best, Alexandra. And humans are simply not worthy to remain the stewards of this planet. They have lost their paradise. Yes, there will be some culling. Kill some, turn some, in the time-honoured way. The rest, we will farm, like the beasts of burden they are.’ He smiled. ‘You look shocked. Why be so coy? You’re a vampire. Take pride in yourself. Embrace it to the full.’

  Alex shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘You haven’t touched your drink.’

  ‘I’m all right, thanks.’

  ‘Drink it. You know you want to.’

  She reached out for the goblet. Drew her hand back hesitantly.

  ‘You see? You can’t fight what you are.’

  ‘Where are they? The Übervampyr?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s one detail I cannot reveal to you. Unless of course,’ Stone twiddled the stem of his goblet ‘– and this was very much my purpose in wanting to spend this evening in your beautiful company – I’m able to persuade you to come and work for me.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

  ‘Not in the least. I will soon be disposing of your Federation colleagues. They are worthless to me. You, on the other hand, have amply displayed a range of talents that are far too valuable simply to snuff out.’

  ‘That’s just about the nicest threat I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘I hope you consider it carefully. It would be highly regrettable, criminal even, to have to send you to the same fate as awaits your loathsome former colleagues. I would be quite devastated.’

  ‘Do I detect a whiff of moral scruple, Gabriel?’

  He moved a little closer to her. ‘I’m not the monster you take me for. In fact, I would surprise you, should you get to know me better. I think you and I would rub along very well.’ He paused. ‘What do you say, Alexandra? You and I, together. You at my side, helping me bring about the grandest plan in the long history of the vampire culture?’

  ‘What about Lillith? I have a feeling she wouldn’t be too pleased.’

  ‘Oh, Lillith.’ Stone waved his hand. ‘Never mind her.’ His eyes lit up. ‘Does that mean you’ll accept my proposal?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  Stone nodded thoughtfully, then rose from his chair. ‘I must leave you now. There are some matters I must see to before tonight’s proceedings can be completed. Please don’t think about trying to escape. You have exactly two hours to decide.’

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  As he rode, Joel refused to regret having turned down the offer of a hot plate of food and a bed for the night back at the village – though that wasn’t easy as the bumping, rutted road towards Vâlcanul worsened with every mile. He was grateful for a third wheel on the rugged terrain, but the thick leather gauntlets weren’t doing much to keep out the cold wind and his fingers were becoming numb on the bars. The old man had been right about the snow, too. The horizontal sleet that stung Joel’s face as he rode was turning to thickening flurries of white. He had to keep wiping the flakes from the glass of his goggles, and the rocky road was slowly disappearing in the feeble glow of the Dnepr’s headlamp as it merged with the snowy verge.

  After another arduous hour, and just as his hands and feet were beginning to feel like lifeless lumps of meat, Joel caught a glimpse of stone buildings a few hundred yards ahead.

  Vâlcanul. From the directions he’d managed to prise out of the teacher woman, he knew this had to be the place.

  Not a single light was shining. Not a soul around, no vehicles anywhere to be seen apart from his own. The village was even smaller than the one he’d come from, and it seemed to be completely deserted. From the rotted doors and glassless windows, the collapsed roofs, the weeds growing through the paving stones, it was as if nobody had lived here for a hundred years.

  Joel braked the bike to a slithering halt in the middle of the snowy street and dead silence filled his ears when he turned off the engine and climbed down from the saddle. The clouds had parted. Pale moonlight shone down through the wisping snowflakes. Joel removed his goggles, unstrapped his he
lmet and gazed around him at the scene of desolation.

  Could this be the right place? It was hard to imagine Gabriel Stone abandoning his manor house in England for a remote ruined mountain village. Joel reached into the sidecar, opened the case and took out the cross, remembering the way it had seemed to thrum with its own life when he’d been near Kate Hawthorne. He gripped it tightly in his fist. It felt cold and inanimate.

  There was nothing here.

  Joel couldn’t do anything to repress the weight of bitterness that settled over him. He’d come all this way for nothing. And now he was going to have to stay the night in this dismal place. But where? Most of the houses were nothing more than roofless shells.

  Then he noticed the old church. It overlooked the houses from the end of the street, standing at the top of a gently sloping rise. Sections of roof were still in decent order, enough to provide a bit of shelter. Joel left the bike where it stood – he didn’t think anyone was going to steal it.

  There wasn’t much left inside the church except for its bare stone walls. Joel found a spot away from the icy wind that whistled through the broken stained glass windows, laid down the case and grimly started rooting around in his rucksack for his little Primus stove, a box of matches and a can of soup. As he struck a match with trembling fingers, he glanced out of the smashed window. From this slightly higher ground, he had a better view of the craggy mountain peaks rising out of the pine forests, like rows of jagged white teeth stretching from horizon to horizon under the pale moon.

  Then he stopped, did a double take and stared. The match burned back and singed his fingers; he dropped it without taking his eyes off what he’d just seen.

  Perched on the summit of a nearby mountain, bathed in a shaft of moonlight, was a castle.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight