George seemed slightly chastened at his rival’s words, but quickly recovered. “I’m sure you’re right Rupes. I’m not naive enough to think I don’t have my enemies. However, there’s one thing I know for certain. Get every other Cavalier against me if you will. In this matter, it won’t sway Augustine and Adelaide. He’s as set on finding an appropriate match for his step-daughter as he’s ever been on any issue.”
George paused to allow this to sink it. Rupert’s confident expression faltered. “And of course, for all your faults, I know you’re not a traitor and you don’t defy authority. I’d almost say it’s your defining feature.”
He gave Harriet one last long look as he strode away to talk to some other guests.
“Are you alright?” Tom asked, tightening his hold on her, whilst Rupert looked on with a wry smile.
“I’m fine. I knew something like that was probably going to happen and it’s better to have got it over with. What about you? Are you worried by his threats?”
“I wouldn’t say worried, no. I’m taking them entirely seriously, but that’s a different issue. I can take care of myself.”
Harriet kissed his cheek, not wanting to provoke anyone further with a more full-on display. “In that case, give me five minutes to talk to him. There’s something I have to ask.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Tom replied. “You’ve said your piece, now the best thing you can do is avoid him as much as possible.”
Rupert nodded. “Much as I love provoking George, I agree with Tom here. The two of you are taking a risk however you look at it. Fine, if that’s what you want to do, but don’t make things more difficult than they have to be.”
Caroline had appeared back at her side. “I’ve told you before, if you won’t go to the police, you really should at least avoid George. After all, you’ve got Tom now.”
Despite Caroline’s firm words, she could see that her friend was struggling to take her eyes off him.
Harriet knew she was being ridiculous, but before she went home for Christmas, she just had to ask George something. Ignoring everyone’s advice, she walked over to where he was standing. He was talking to Harry and another candidate called Richard.
“George, can I just ask you one more thing?”
“You two leave us, now!” he commanded the two human boys, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that Harry was the host. In spite of their usual arrogance, they both scuttled off without complaint.
“Unless you’re here to tell me that you’ve changed your mind, told Tom to never speak to you again and are going to make me an offering of your blood, I suggest you stay away for tonight,” he said smoothly.
“This has nothing to do with any of that. Something happened today that I need to ask you about. Did you once have a brother called James?”
George had an odd expression on his face, most of his earlier anger seeming to have dissipated in a moment. “How do you know that?” he asked curiously.
“There’s more. I know he was killed at Edgehill and that you were there fighting beside him. I know you’ve resented some of the decisions the commanders made ever since. What I don’t know is where this knowledge is coming from.”
“From my blood, obviously,” he said blankly. “Supposedly, people can imbibe a vampire’s human memories with their blood, although I’ve never actually seen it happen before.”
“I see,” Harriet replied weakly.
“Did you see James?” George asked suddenly, with more genuine emotion in his voice than she’d heard before.
Harriet tried to explain that she hadn’t seen anything, had only had words put in her mouth and emotions in her mind, but then she caught his eyes and suddenly she really saw. She was riding a large grey horse, looking out from George’s eyes four hundred years ago. James was beside her on his own similar but even huger stead. He had long curly blond hair and his face was very similar to George’s, but softer and gentler. His eyes were blue and he was smiling as they rode, seemingly fearless, viewing the upcoming battle as a game. Harriet couldn’t stand to see the sweet, beautiful boy killed with her own eyes. She clenched her fists and focussed on the present. Immediately she was back in Harry’s room, though in the back of her mind she could still hear battle drums.
George grabbed her to stop her from falling backwards.
“Yes, I saw him,” she said quietly. “He looked a lot like you, only...”
“Nicer?” George finished for her. “Don’t worry; you wouldn’t have been the first to say it. I struggle to keep his face in mind most of the time, but I remember that much. There’s a Van Dyke portrait in the National Gallery of the two of us just before the war began if you want to test how effective your powers are.”
“George, are you alright?” she asked quietly. Harriet felt dizzy and discomfited from the vision, but George looked much worse, clearly struggling to maintain his customary composure.
“I’ve seen so many people die since I was changed,” he said. “I’ve killed plenty of them personally and others have just grown old and died in that tiresome way that humans do. I’ve even known people since who were killed in other wars. But I’ve never forgotten the time I saw my brother die. I’ve never felt that sort of horror ever again.”
Harriet didn’t know what to say. She’d never expected to need to comfort the self-assured vampire.
“If there’s one blessing, it’s that I didn’t really have time to mourn. A few days later I was turned, and if it doesn’t exactly make one forget, it certainly blurs emotions for a time.”
“Who turned you?” Harriet asked, hoping that this wasn’t too intrusive a question.
“You really don’t know your history, do you?” George said, some of his mocking tone returning. “I was turned by Richard, like almost all of us from that era.”
“Okay fine, I know nothing. Who is Richard?”
“He was turned early in the Wars of the Roses. It’s not clear by whom. As we tend to do, he sought high positions at court, and at various times over a two hundred year period, he was successful. His greatest time however was when James I was on the throne. The king was obsessed by the supernatural – just think of the witch-hunts. Just as importantly, he loved handsome, charming young men. Richard provided him with both beauty and magic and he became a great favourite.
“Like many of his father’s men, Richard was kept around when Charles I took the throne. Dear old Charlie found him rather unnerving and would have sent him away if he’d dared. Once the Rebellion broke out though, he was pleased to have a loyal subject who couldn’t die and could kill men with his bare hands.
“By all accounts the rebel army was soon full of tales of a fanged monster who came in the night. I guess that for most of them it just confirmed their worst fears of what Charles’ godless allies were like.”
“Well, I’m certainly looking forward to putting some of this in my next essay,” Harriet said jokingly. She was utterly fascinated.
“Eventually some of the King’s commanders decided that if one unstoppable killing machine was good, a whole army of them would be better. The King commanded Richard to select some of the best men and have them turned. The numbers were limited – after all, an entire army that couldn’t fight in the sun would have been useless, and they were careful to take only one son from each family, not wanting to deprive great houses of their loyal heirs. The following night, they summoned fifteen of us to the King’s tent.
Harriet was listening with her eyes wide and her mouth open. “And then what happened?”
“Then of course, Richard turned us. Not all at once, there wasn’t enough blood in him for that. We were kept away from the others, and for fifteen nights, one of us would be killed and rise again. Richard had called his master Augustine for help and permission. He supervised, took sips of each person’s blood, but didn’t give any of his own. By the end, Richard was frail and exhausted, but the Royalist army had fifteen immortal young lords who were desperate to test out their new strength. We
each had to drain a Roundhead prisoner to complete the transformation. They got me the man who’d killed James. I don’t think anyone has ever enjoyed their first meal more.”
Harriet shivered at his joyful tone. “But the Cavaliers lost the war. How, with all of you on side?”
“Oh, spoil my mood with your historical accuracy why don’t you?” George said angrily. “The earlier parliamentarian commanders refused to accept what was going on. They dismissed their men’s tales as superstitious nonsense. But then Cromwell came along. If there’s one thing puritan pricks believe in, other than having a miserable time, it’s demons. He sent a group of New Model Army soldiers to deal with the problem once and for all. Spies were sent to find out about us, medieval texts were consulted, plans were made.
“They set out one sunny morning with their bibles, praying all the time. We were holed up in an old manor house, preparing for a siege. They found our stronghold and started a fire. Some of us burnt to death inside, others escaped only to be just as burnt by the sun. The screams roused some nearby soldiers on our side, who worked to put out the fire, cover the survivors in thick blankets to shield them from the sun and beat back the attackers.
“Of the newly made vampires, five were already dead, ten just alive. We survivors were weakened, but the commanders gave us the captured enemies to drink from and encouraged us to drain them to the death. To speed up the healing process, some of the soldiers on our side offered small amounts of their blood, and we charmed the inevitable whores who were following the armies into feeding us too. Five of the initial survivors died of their injuries over the next few days, but five of us entirely recovered.
“After the initial shock had worn off, someone thought to ask the obvious question – where was Richard? We found out soon enough. He’d been captured and tortured, starved of blood, exposed to flashes of sunlight, staked everywhere but the heart. Cromwell wanted him to render the traitors the same service that he’d performed for the King’s men. He wanted his own vampire army.
“Richard resisted for many weeks. Eventually though, they broke him, and he made five vampires for Cromwell. It didn’t go quite as well as those bastards had hoped however. A weakened, tortured vampire cannot hope to create strong and beautiful offspring. Besides, the men he were forced to turn were dull, ugly brutes whom no self-respecting vampire would consider turning in the usual run of things.
“When they awoke, they were hideous. Grey skinned, deformed, devoid of all charm and lacking any ability to play human. Nonetheless, as was proven when a watching commander tried to run one through with his sword, they couldn’t be killed in conventional ways and they had superhuman strength. Old Ironside was by all accounts extremely pleased. A fighting machine, and one without beauty and vanity and joy – he couldn’t have asked for more.”
George broke off from his memories. “Tell me,” he asked Harriet, watching her closely, “have you ever noticed how there are basically two sorts of vampires depending on which books you read and which films you watch?”
“You mean that there are the Anne Rice style glamorous brooding ones and then there are the old fashioned scary Nosferatu monsters?” Harriet asked nervously.
“Exactly,” George said with a hint of a smile. “It’s us and them.”
“So I’ve only come across the good sort of vampire so far?”
“Well, it doesn’t really have anything much to do with good and evil. Though yes, you’ve only met the glamorous ones - broadly speaking the Cavaliers and their descendants and supporters rather than the Roundheads and theirs. Oxford was always the royalist stronghold and all the vampires in this city are Cavaliers. It’s this side that your stepfather leads. The Roundheads and their hideous offspring aren’t seen around much nowadays. They’re mainly holed up in Scotland and bits of the north, and have their own leaders and hierarchies, but apart from the odd Scottish Prime Minister, not such an effective system of getting their people into positions of power.”
George had been lost in his memories, but suddenly he stood up straighter and looked at Harriet with a hard expression. “So now you know. I can’t believe I even told you all of that after the way you’ve acted. I’m going to walk away now, and I suggest you don’t speak to me again until you’re ready to give in to me. Oh and I wouldn’t bother asking Tom about any of this. Maybe you can take the twentieth century history option next term and drink his blood for the memories, although you could probably get the same effect by talking to your Grandmother.” He downed the wine he’d been holding and walked away once more.
“Are you alright?” Tom asked, coming over. “That seemed heated. I was desperate to intervene but didn’t think you’d thank me for it.”
“I’m fine. He was just reminiscing about the Civil War.”
“You really must have got under his skin. I’ve known George a long time and I’ve never known him to talk about his human or early vampire life.”
“Well, it’s since he let me taste his blood. It sounds weird, but I have some of his memories of that time.”
“So he wasn’t just being inflammatory when he talked about your blood bond? Why did you do it Harriet? He isn’t wrong you know. In our culture, when a vampire offers his blood to a human and they accept, it really does signify a commitment that shouldn’t be broken.”
“You’re not going to leave me over this are you,” Harriet asked in alarm.
“Of course not,” Tom said soothingly. “I won’t ever do that. It’s just another problem that we could do without, on top of the issue with your mother.”
They were interrupted by a scream. Along with the rest of the guests, they rushed to the staircase to see what was going on. At the bottom of the staircase, by the entrance door, Charles, one of last year’s new Cavaliers, was slumped on the ground, seemingly dead. He was eerily pale even by vampire standards and the bloody mark on his neck was quite visible.
“He’s been drained,” one Cavalier shouted to the rest of the group, his voice verging on the hysterical.
“Harry, take your guests back to your room and lock the door. Fix everyone a lovely glass of wine and don’t let anyone out until I say so,” George said commandingly.
Harry nodded, looking sick.
“Everyone just keep calm and don’t think about this,” Rupert said soothingly. The human guests’ eyes immediately went blank and they followed Harry docilely back up the stairs, leaving Harriet stood with the Cavaliers.
“No one is to leave until everyone’s been questioned,” George and Rupert said in unison, glaring at each other.
“The wound. Does it look as though it was inflicted by a human or one of us?” asked Crispin, the surly vampire Harriet had met at the dinner.
“It looks vampiric to me,” said George thoughtfully, “though any hunter worth his salt would try and make it look that way.”
“Is he completely drained?” another member inquired.
“He’s got a wound like that and it isn’t bleeding. That suggests to me that there’s no blood left,” replied Rupert.
“So we’re after someone who’s sufficiently desperate for power that they’d try to gain it in the most despicable way and who doesn’t give a damn about the rules and culture of our race,” George mused theatrically. “Tom, I’m looking at you.”
“So you think that going out with someone you have a thing for is equal to draining one of our own do you?” Tom asked.
“I think it’s the logical next step for someone who ignores a blood bond and denies a direct order from our first lady,” George said, glaring at him.
Harriet hardly dared to speak in such a fraught environment, but forced herself to jump to Tom’s defence. “Tom’s been upstairs all night,” she said loyally. “Come on George, you know this, you were speaking to him most of the time.”
“I was talking to you for the rest of the time,” George said to Harriet. “I’d say we were sufficiently deep in memories not to have been keeping tabs on your precious boyfriend.”
>
“He was with me whilst you were reliving old battles,” said Rupert. “This is ridiculous. It could have been anyone.”
“We ought to let Augustine know,” Hugh said. He was visibly upset. “This needs to be handled in an official way.”
Everyone nodded. Once that was agreed, they decided to take the body out to Christ Church meadow and burn it.
“So vampires don’t just disappear in a cloud of dust when they die?” Harriet asked Tom.
“The older ones do. They should have died and had their bodies rot away centuries before, and once they die the spell is broken and time rushes back into them. But Charles was only turned last year. Vampire or human he should still be alive.” Tom looked positively sad.
Harriet had barely spoken to the dead vampire. She wondered whether Tom was genuinely mourning him because he has been a nice guy, or whether he was just upset by the whole thing.
“So one vampire never usually drinks another’s blood, is that right?”
“Absolutely. Our laws strictly forbid it, and besides, most of us find the thought of it hideous anyway, almost like cannibalism. There have been cases of Cavaliers draining Roundheads and vice versa and there was apparently plenty of it in the dark ages when the newer vampires tried to get rid of the older ones, but within the same grouping it’s never done, even to your worst enemies.”
“So why would someone do it? Especially to Charles, he seems fairly insignificant. Surely he doesn’t have enemies.”
“Oh, for power, plain and simple. When a vampire drains another, he takes all of their power on top of his own, and can get some of their maker’s. Of course, the stronger the vampire you drink from the better, but it would be practically impossible to keep someone like George or Rupert down long enough to finish them.”
“Let’s go home,” Harriet said, after a few moments silence. “You were right; we never should have come tonight.”
“Oh, it’d have been worse if I hadn’t been there. Much easier to point the finger of blame. Get Ben and Caroline. We shouldn’t leave them hypnotised in a room with twenty furious vampires who are looking for a scapegoat.”
Oxford Blood Page 13
