After two days of relentless fighting, the front had shifted back to the same stretch of burnt-out land they had fought over for years. All of those munitions, equipment, and men had been wasted in an attempt to gain a foothold into enemy territory. Now, they were back at square one; Clara could once more feel the ground tremble from bombardments.
After the third day, the fighting ebbed and the opportunity for rest became real. Alas, the girls received orders to muster at their Commanding Officer’s tent. At the sight of them, he adopted a stern look and handed them a letter. While addressed to him, the contents were clearly meant for them.
Fortunately, such letters were a common occurrence, so without a word they were dismissed. In the past, a great deal of time had been wasted in an attempt to extract information from them. Eventually it proved easier to give up, since enemy soldiers were more forthcoming with their secrets.
“That was quick,” Clara said. “When did you send out the report?”
“This morning,” Edith said which effectively set a record.
“So where to?” Clara asked even if she had her suspicions.
“We have been ordered back to the Homefront,” Edith said.
Clara was surprised. Here they were in the middle of a war where tens of thousands of lives were lost in a single campaign. Those figures did not include the carnage resulting from ghouls, vampires and their ilk. So far, nothing they encountered merited this level of attention from the Tower.
Clara often imagined that the Homefront had been ripped from the world, which was technically correct. The inhabitants were shielded from the atrocities that plagued this war. Clara often considered herself lucky to get orders at all.
Edith smiled meekly before she said, “I know exactly how you feel.”
Edith was about to pull away but paused. There was something about the orders that required extra thought, but she did not say.
“You’d better get packing,” Edith said. “The truck will be here at first light.”
“Never a dull day,” Clara said with a grin.
* * * *
For some reason people tend to believe that the Paris gate was located within the catacombs. There was a certain logic to that; many of the gates were located near cemeteries and mausoleums. However, people often overlooked how popular the Parisian catacombs were, even during wartime.
While an unnamed cemetery in some forgotten part of town was an ideal location for most gates, a site swarming with tourists, treasure hunters, and historians did little to conceal traffic. Instead, Clara and Edith stepped through the backdoor of a dilapidated hospital complex and found themselves in the Terminus.
Next week, it would be in a different location. In a city the size of Paris, changing the gateway’s location with some regularity helped reduce accidental discovery.
“Right on time, children,” said Reverend Mother Augustine.
Clara had never been greeted at the Terminus before, so it all came as a bit of a shock. Since Edith shared the same stunned look, that meant it was a new experience for her as well.
“Reverend Mother,” the two said in unison.
“Come with me,” the Reverend Mother said. “We have no time to waste,” she added without formality.
The girls fell in line, walking alongside the doors designed to confuse. They walked down a few sections until the Reverend Mother stopped and opened a door.
“Through here,” Augustine said.
Clara moved through the door and found herself standing in the middle of the Reverend Mother’s chambers. Apparently, there were many ways into the Tower, some that were active only when certain conditions were met.
Once the Reverend Mother entered the premises she said, “Who gave you the name Drusilla?”
“That detail was clearly outlined in my rep—,” Edith attempted to say.
“I don’t care what the report says,” Augustine said. “I am perfectly capable of reading a report Edith.”
Clara found the exchange telling, staff rarely set aside formality for the sake of brevity. Proper marks of respect were to be used on both sides. How else could the staff expect the young ones to follow their lead?
She also noted how a lot of security had been bypassed for no immediate gain. This report must have gotten the senior echelon’s attention, but a key detail was missing. So they had been recalled to tap directly into the source without relying on the war machine’s bureaucracy to relay their queries.
“Yes Reverend Mo—,” Edith attempted to say but was motioned to stop.
Both girls remained silent. Clearly the Reverend Mother had something in mind but had not voiced her requirements. Edith was not about to get cut off again and by convention Clara, was expected to let her senior take the lead. So she remained silent, curious about how far this would go.
“Cat got your tongue?” Augustine asked while staring at Clara.
“Gladys’ partner volunteered the name before sunrise,” Clara said without showing a hint of amusement.
“You have met Gladys before, correct?” the Reverend Mother asked.
“Once before, when she killed Father Michael,” Clara said.
“The same woman you identified in Professor Stephens’ class?” the Reverend Mother asked.
“Of course, and the same woman portrayed in Jack’s sketches,” Clara said. After a pause she added a belated, “Reverend Mother.”
Clara glanced at Edith for a moment and realised her partner was just as confused. This information was not new, nor did it provide them with any motivations for their recall.
“Did she recognise you?” the Reverend Mother asked.
Clara thought back over the events of that night. Had this been more than a mere coincidence? Up to now, she had dismissed the idea as being paranoid.
“I don’t believe so, Reverend Mother,” Clara said.
“Why not?” the Reverend Mother asked.
“Edith was attacked first,” Clara said bluntly.
This implied that Gladys had gone after the biggest threat first. If that thing had recognised Clara, then her rage would have been appropriately focused.
“True,” the Reverend Mother said while pacing. “How did you know where to fire your weapon?”
“She attacked Father Michael in the same manner, Reverend Mother,” Clara said while avoiding to mention that this had been a wild guess.
The Reverend Mother smirked. She had no difficulty in seeing through what was left unsaid. It would be hard to get anything past her, so perhaps it was the time to change the beat.
“Reverend Mother Augustine,” Clara said in an unwavering voice. “This was all covered in our report. Surely that is not the reason we were brought here?”
The elder hunter’s immutable face formed a smile. So this had been some sort of trial to see who could break through their conditioning and operate independently? Clara wondered if these tests would ever end.
Had the Reverend Mother suspected Edith of embellishing her report? Could that have been the reason for their being summoned? Edith was known as a straight shooter, so the Reverend Mother must have wanted to make sure that Clara’s portion was truthful.
“Drusilla,” the Reverend Mother said. “She was one of the first hunters in our ranks.”
Both of the girls cocked their heads to the side and looked confused. Clara would not have guessed the origin of that name, so their mole had been one of their own. The big question on her mind was how long ago that had been?
The Reverend Mother carried on for nearly an hour about Drusilla’s history. A woman who had been recruited shortly after Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity, quite literally she was one of the founding members of the Tower, a member integral to how the order functioned today.
She had moved up through the ranks quickly, very much like Clara had done. However, there was always an appetite for power that no amount of training or self-actualisation could purge. These days, students were discharged if that flaw came to light, b
ut back then it grew unchecked.
The day Drusilla was passed over for selection as Reverend Mother was the beginning of dark times for the Tower. It was as though a shadow loomed over staff and students; dozens of hunters, including some of their most experienced, disappeared without a trace. Faculty members were found mutilated and tortured just outside the gates.
Until that point, attacks against the Tower had been few and far between. There had been no coordinated campaign against them, nor any strategy behind their attacks. After Drusilla had been turned down, they began fighting a unified front fielded by a whole new class of monster.
No one ever suspected Drusilla. Even when the attacks grew more vicious, she remained to shore up their defences. At least that had been the image she portrayed on the Homefront.
In truth, she had been rallying the enemy, focusing their attacks to weaken her opponents. When the political tables did not shift, she vanished without a trace.
The memory of these attacks faded from the Towers collective memory. Soon a new generation of hunters ventured out into the wild, better equipped and informed about what to expect.
A century later, rumours began to circulate on a dangerous vampire lurking about. Every encounter spoke of a woman of unimaginable beauty. The Tower ordered out waves of hunters to confirm these rumours and neutralise the threat. Most found nothing or were never heard from again.
A hunter eventually escaped the clutches of what she described as a cruel woman. While she barely escaped with her life, the contents of her report shook the very foundations of the order. That revelation led to many of the security precautions put in place today.
“Her name was stricken from all official records, as were the names of any who subsequently betrayed us,” the Reverend Mother said.
Clara’s eyes brightened when another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Obviously, some records remained, since the Reverend Mother knew exactly who Drusilla was. So why were the names stricken from the record? Augustine seemed to sense the question lingering in the air.
“When their names come up, it confirms the intelligence as authentic. Drusilla, however, has been clever enough to change her name frequently,” Augustine said. “Because it’s far easier to hide amongst your prey when your name is nondescript.”
“Yes, Reverend Mother,” the girls said in unison.
So these names became a red flag to alert hunters that a threat was moving against them. That meant that Drusilla’s name must have sent off one hell of an alarm to get this level of attention.
“We’ve always suspected that Drusilla was responsible for Father Michael’s death,” the Reverend Mother said. “You confirmed it today when you mentioned her name.”
“The man who gave up the name told us she was the mole, Reverend Mother,” Clara said.
“That’s probably the truth as he knew it,” Augustine replied. “Do you believe she would have trusted this man with actual information,” she challenged.
“No, Reverend Mother,” both girls said in reply.
So this was nothing more than an attempt at taunting them. Although the word haunted seemed to be more appropriate.
“Why did she vow revenge Reverend Mother?” Clara asked.
“What do you mean, child,” the Reverend Mother asked in return.
“What were the chances of two hunters being called upon to witness the meeting between the Georgians and Drusilla’s party,” Clara queried. “They were expecting us to be there to conclude a transaction Reverend Mother.”
The Reverend Mother looked as though she was deep in thought. Clara began to wonder if Drusilla’s name been used to throw them off the trail.
“This means that we have a mole within our order,” Clara said out of turn. “One who can issue orders without raising suspicion?”
“Orders?” Augustine said. “What orders?” she demanded.
“We received orders through our CO to investigate sightings in that area. Intelligence strongly indicated that a meeting would—,” Edith said.
“Did you see these orders, child?” the Reverend Mother asked.
“—No. These were passed on orally, Reverend Mother,” Edith said without hesitation.
That was a departure from the standard operating procedures, hunters were normally given their orders directly. Their COs would have to break the seal to know the particulars.
“We should warn whoever remains—,” Clara managed to say.
“See to that, child,” the Reverend Mother said to Clara while she kept her eyes fixed on Edith. “Edith, you will stay behind to discuss matters further.”
Clara looked over the situation and knew this was the end of an era. Until now, they had been inseparable, a formidable force to be reckoned with.
This time, Clara had proven her worth as a full-fledged hunter. It had been her quick thinking that revealed Drusilla’s ongoing interests in the Tower.
She left the office quietly without looking back, but prayed that Edith would be fine. She was a good soldier and one hell of a partner so that had to stand for something.
Once Clara reached the main floor, a young acolyte handed her a sealed envelope.
“For your eyes only, Miss Grey. You are to open this letter when your mission is complete,” the acolyte said before he scurried away.
Clara stood there in awe, an impressive feat considering how little time had passed. Or had the Reverend Mother known how this debriefing would turn out?
“She is never one to be underestimated,” Clara said.
* * * *
Clara stood on a ridge overlooking the battle that raged on a few miles ahead. Flashes of light erupted on both sides as gunfire and artillery flared up.
Occasionally, a blast would occur near one of the trenches and for a moment there was silence. It was just enough time for the men to shake the cobwebs loose before they sent their own volley in anger.
Tonight, the casualties would be lining up at the field hospital. There would be soldiers with lost limbs and gouges in their flesh caused by shrapnel or bullets. That’s if they were lucky; either side was not above using mustard gas or chlorine on unsuspecting troops, and those afflicted never fully recovered.
In the distance, Clara heard the sound of a car approaching. She turned and saw the hard wheeled affair labouring along the hellish terrain. Eventually, it stopped near the base of the gentle slope that led up to this ridge.
Two soldiers exited the cab and headed towards the back to fetch something. Clara turned to look over the battlefield. Even with this reduced light, she made out a few observation-balloons looming in the sky.
“Men were slowly refining their ability to kill,” Clara thought. “How long until humanity found a way to end all life on the globe in one strike?” she wondered.
Even over the sound of intense fighting, Clara heard someone struggling against his captors. The fact that he still had some fight left in him meant that her orders had been followed.
“Miss Grey,” one of the soldiers said.
Clara turned to face the soldiers and recognised them as graduates from an earlier class. The first, named Sophie, was a tall and elegant woman. So much so that all of that padding did little to conceal those feminine features. More effort would be needed in the future to avoid drawing suspicion.
The second, named Bell, was shorter in stature and had a uniform which fit her perfectly. She would prove invaluable in navigating No-Man’s-Land as a junior officer.
“Any trouble?” Clara asked.
“None, Miss Grey,” Sophie replied.
Sophie appeared to be shielding her side from the Colonel. He probably managed to land a lucky blow to her ribs; Clara was surprised the man was still standing.
“Excellent,” Clara said. “Colonel Blythe,” she said in a feminine and sultry voice.
The Colonel looked up and went white as a sheet. It was as though he had seen a ghost and Clara’s smile did little to reassure him.
“You and I need to talk,
” Clara said with her hands behind her back.
Clara began to pace back and forth while looking over her shoulder to make sure there were no surprises on the Western front. Colonel Blythe followed her every step, leery of what would happen.
“I hope they did not treat you too badly?” Clara asked.
The Colonel never said a word. In fact, if looks could kill, she would have been another victim of this damned offensive.
“Cat got your tongue?” Clara asked. This time, when he failed to respond, Clara added, “Sophie, if you please.”
It was very important to deliver their lessons early, so the tall one landed a blow to the man’s sternum. The Colonel collapsed into the mud gasping for air. Class was now in session.
The Van Helsing Paradox Page 13
