Something about the woman struck Jan as…otherworldly—certainly not angelic, not necessarily demonic. But detached, aloof. Aside from acknowledging those seated in the places of honor, she might have been lecturing a group of school children, or giving directions to a lost motorist, so dispassionate were her words.
“Prince Garlotte informed me three weeks ago,” she began, “of the assertions Justicar Xaviar of Clan Gangrel made to this body. Speaking officially, on behalf of Clan Tremere, we can lend no credence to his claims regarding what he characterized as an Antediluvian. I have, however, become aware of information that may be related to the events the justicar described.” She placed a leather attache case on the table and removed a single piece of parchment, which she handed to Jan.
Staring up at him was a large eye, or rather a hastily sketched portrait of a man, unremarkable except for his left eye, which was grossly oversized and bulged from its socket.
“Who is this supposed to be?” Jan asked, then passed the parchment to the two Malkavians to his right.
“That, Mr. Pieterzoon,” Sturbridge answered, “we do not know. The picture was produced under circumstances that are not completely clear at this point, but its creation coincides almost exactly with the…situation described by Justicar Xaviar.”
Despite Sturbridge’s low-key delivery, Jan was amazed by her words. The Tremere—a regent from that most secretive and suspicious of clans—were admitting publicly what they did not know and even going so far as to seek the opinion of the other clans! Some might have taken this as a hopeful sign of cooperation. To Jan, it was a signpost of the dire straits of the Camarilla. If the Tremere warlocks did not see the end looming near, Sturbridge would not he here.
The parchment passed from the Malkavians to Theo and Lladislas, to Gainesmil, to Garlotte. “Is this creature Kindred or kine…or something else?”
“A reasonable question,” said Sturbridge. “Again, we do not know.”
The picture passed from the Prince of Baltimore to Isaac, to Colchester the businessman. “I don’t know who this is, but I could find out,” said the Nosferatu.
Sturbridge nodded. “We had hoped there would be a variety of resources that could be brought to bear upon this question.”
Jan still marveled at her frank admission of ignorance in the matter. The phrase that, in all his years of undeath, he had never heard a Tremere utter rang in his ears: We do not know.
Colchester passed the leaf of parchment to Vitel, who studied it, then handed it to Victoria, seated just on the other side of Sturbridge. Victoria, still unusually withdrawn, straightened slightly in her seat. She stared intently at the picture.
What do the Tremere hope to gain from this? Jan wondered. Did they think they could divert the suspicions of the other clans by appearing inept? No, he decided, that couldn’t be it. The clan had survived this long because of its strength. Other Kindred knew little about the warlocks, and what common knowledge did exist—actual or perceived—was disturbing, not comforting. Jan could not believe that the Tremere would attempt to coddle the other clans and make nice.
“Leopold.”
Victoria’s one word grabbed the attention of all at the table.
“This is Leopold,” she said quietly, not quite believing what she saw, or what she thought she saw, on the parchment.
“You know him,” said Sturbridge.
“Did his eye always look like that?” asked Roughneck, very concerned.
“Who,” Prince Garlotte asked, “is Leopold?”
Victoria stared at the picture without acknowledging the prince. Jan couldn’t believe that this was the same woman who had inspired such…confusion in him, and who had been such a thorn in his side. She seemed to grow smaller and weaker before his eyes.
“Who is Leopold?” Garlotte asked again.
“No one,” Victoria said with a wave of her hand, not yet looking up from the picture. “A sculptor…a Toreador, from Atlanta.”
From Atlanta. To Jan’s thinking, too much was connected to that city to be coincidence: Victoria escaped from there after the first Sabbat attack; a Tremere was possibly assassinated; and now this sketch that might be the creature that destroyed an army of Gangrel….
Jan was struck suddenly by the absurdity of that line of reasoning. “You’re not suggesting that a Toreador destroyed thirty or forty Gangrel?”
Now Victoria did look up. She stared, exasperated, at Jan. “I’m only saying,” she glanced at the parchment again, “that’s Leopold.” She slid the sheet across the table toward Sturbridge.
“You’re sure?” asked the Tremere. “As sure as you can be with a rough sketch?”
Victoria thought for a moment, then began to nod, slowly at first, then more confidently. “It…it feels like Leopold. I can’t explain it exactly. But I’m sure.”
Sturbridge nodded also, as if she understood something that escaped the others.
“Then we must find out what’s going on with this Leopold,” Garlotte broke in. “If he’s possibly connected to whatever happened to the Gangrel, he may be responsible for Buffalo falling. He may be a tool of the Sabbat.”
“He sure as hell ain’t no Antediluvian,” Theo Bell said, eliciting a few grim chuckles.
“I doubt we’ll find Xaviar,” Garlotte pressed on, “and even if we did, I doubt even more that he’d prove helpful, at this point. If the trail begins in Atlanta, then we need someone there.”
Jan pounced on the opportunity by instinct. The words escaped his mouth almost before he realized he’d spoken: “Victoria, you know the city; you know this Leopold. It would make sense for you to go.” He felt a vague sense of guilt immediately, but the pity he’d felt for the disturbed Toreador had given way instantly to his businessman’s instinct for the kill. This was his chance to get rid of this woman who had challenged him, this woman he couldn’t be near without wanting to possess.
Prince Garlotte, though he’d been harsh to Victoria recently, seemed to have reservations about that idea. “Would perhaps the Nosferatu be better able to—”
“The Nosferatu know Atlanta, true. But Victoria knows Leopold as well,” Jan reiterated. “She has a feeling about this. I trust Ms. Ash’s intuition.”
Victoria didn’t seem aware of the debate over her future. She stared after the sketch that now rested close to Sturbridge. Garlotte was clearly the most conflicted. For a long moment he wavered. Jan worried the prince was about to veto the suggestion.
“My prince,” chimed in Gainesmil, also worried by the developments, “I must suggest—”
“That she shouldn’t go alone?” Garlotte put the words in his lieutenant’s mouth. “Are you volunteering to accompany her, Robert?”
Gainesmil’s mouth hung open for several seconds. “I…uh…I believe…with all due respect, my prince…that perhaps my particular skills are needed here?” He obviously hadn’t intended to phrase his suggestion as a question, but his voice betrayed his near-panic and the final word jumped at least an octave.
Prince Garlotte pondered the question for several moments during which Gainesmil sat perfectly still. “I suppose you are right, Robert.”
Gainesmil tried not to sigh too audibly. He seemed to have salvaged his place at the prince’s side, for the time being. Jan admired the prince’s deft handling of the situation—almost as deft as his own. Garlotte could have agreed to Jan’s suggestion, but the prince had been making an effort to curb Jan’s influence, by measures such as insisting that Gainesmil had a part in strategic planning. Conversely, to protect Victoria after she’d obviously fallen out of favor and spurned Garlotte’s hospitality would have been seen by many as a sign of weakness.
Gainesmil had unwittingly saved the prince. His interference allowed Garlotte to shift the focus of the decision—of course Victoria would go—to his own largesse and mercy in disciplining a wayward subject.
Jan’s plan was adopted. Garlotte brought to heel the prodigal. Gainesmil was not sent on a suicide mission. Positive
results, for all except—
“I will go,” Victoria said, not having herself expressed an opinion on the subject until now. “I’ll go. I’ll find Leopold.”
Jan felt another twinge of guilt. If the conduct tonight of the Tremere had been puzzling, Victoria’s recent behavior was dumbfounding. Since Xaviar’s appearance, she had completely abandoned her various attempts to influence the council. She had retreated from the world around her…like Estelle, Jan realized. Like a victim who denied that with which she could no longer cope. Suddenly, he saw Victoria in a new light—and Jan wanted to care for her, to protect her. He saw her beauty and remembered her earlier strength of will, a fire that might yet be rekindled.
But—at his urging—she was being sent back to the city she had fled, back to the Sabbat.
“Very well,” said Garlotte, maintaining control of the situation. “Find this Leopold. Find out what’s going on with this…this eye.”
Jan sat back quietly in his chair. Victoria was no longer his problem. There was still the Sabbat to contend with. Prince Garlotte was a necessary, if not steadfast, ally. Jan would guide the prince where he could, and circumvent him otherwise. The weight of the world rested on Jan’s shoulders. Still, his mind wandered back to Victoria and to the cruel hand he had dealt her. Of one thing he was certain—Hardestadt would be pleased.
About the Author
Gherbod Fleming has never been employed with or compensated in any way by the Central Intelligence Agency. He is the author of Clan Novel: Gangrel, as well as the Vampire: The Masquerade Trilogy of the Blood Curse—The Devil’s Advocate, The Winnowing, and Dark Prophecy.
Clan Novel Ventrue: Book 5 of The Clan Novel Saga Page 20
