Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis

by Anne Rice

  "You are very kind, indeed," said Dertu, grasping the man's hand, "and you must tell our gracious host we had the most splendid time, that we found his castle simply amazing, and not a single aspect of it was lost on our appreciation, to be sure. Come, Derek. Let's go."

  The wind was whipping wildly around the great castle, as they made their way down the steep steps to the path. The path circled the caretaker's cottage and fields, and went down to the harbor. All around them the trees of the island were gray and twisted from the fierce wind, and the earth was wet from the recent rains.

  "I'm free," Derek whispered to himself. But he couldn't feel the joy. He stopped, turning, and leaning into the wind, he looked up at the bleak hulk of the gray stone castle one last time. It filled him with fear as did the great churning gray sea all around him.

  "I might have been imprisoned there forever," Derek whispered, and he could not feel it that he had escaped and he was free and that Dertu was with him.

  "Come on, Father," said Dertu.

  There were actually four different boats in the small port, three of which were cabin cruisers, and all being rocked violently against their moorings. The largest of the boats looked sinister to Derek, but the giant cabin cruiser, the Benedicta, looked substantial and heavy, and safe perhaps for the freezing sea.

  Dertu marched down the pier to the boathouse, emerging a moment later with the keys held high in his hand.

  He led the way onto the boat, and then helped Derek, relieving him of his suitcase and carrying both suitcases to the large salon. The salon resembled the images Derek had seen on the computer. Built-in furniture, striped couches, gleaming wood floor. The galley was as large as the salon, and there stood the giant refrigerator with its precious wine and food.

  Dertu inspected everything, then took a bottle of brandy out of the bar, uncorked it, and offered it to his father.

  "Not too much, just enough to make you warm."

  "We cannot drink," said Derek.

  "Yes, I know all about that and that you did and you have. All of you. You loved wine and beer and spirits when you came here to Earth. Now just a swallow. Go ahead."

  Derek's hands were shaking. The boy had to steady the bottle for him.

  "When we're at sea, when we're safe, I will become the man you want me to be, I promise you," Derek said.

  "Just leave it all to me," said Dertu.

  The brandy was liquid fire. But he loved it, loved the warmth in his throat and his chest. His eyes began to water. He took another swallow, some of the brandy spilling down his face.

  Dertu climbed a short flight of narrow wooden steps and entered the upper control room, or bridge, or cockpit, or whatever they called it.

  Derek followed, attempting to show support, but the whole venture terrified him. Dertu was excited. He sat down in one of two large white leather chairs and examined the wheel, the dials and gadgets and levers.

  "And what if we drown at sea," Derek said. It was as if the words came out on their own. "Defeated again, both of us this time, and it's years before we come to the surface?" He took another gulp of the brandy. He felt elated suddenly. It was so good that the fear was almost entirely and instantly gone.

  "Father, stop worrying," said Dertu. "I can get this ship to Northern Ireland. That's where our problems begin, because without picture identification we can't travel in this world."

  "I thought you said Oban," said Derek.

  "To throw the old man off, of course."

  Derek thought again of how time consuming and difficult it had been for him to create his earlier identities, the identities that had taken him through three-quarters of the twentieth century. He thought of friends he'd made in the modern world, friends who'd never known a particle of truth about him, if they had missed him or ever searched for him. There had been a woman....He hadn't thought of these things in years. He was weeping again. Oh, this was so awful, this crying. Other memories came back to him of those earlier times when he'd opened his eyes on a more primitive world. He took another deep drink of the brandy. Kapetria would be angry if she knew he'd been drinking this brandy.

  "Well, maybe we can reach the others from Derry," said Dertu. He appeared to be calculating. "We'll manage. It's getting to the mainland from here that is our first problem."

  They heard the call of the old man.

  He and his white-haired wife had come on board and were loading bags full of fresh food into the refrigerator. The wife set a brand-new packaged laptop computer on the built-in table. And several new cell phones still in their wrapping.

  Dertu hit the man with questions.

  "Oh, no, no tracking system on this boat," said the old man. "No Wi-Fi. The master would never stand for that. He is leery of all GPS trackers. Very old-fashioned ideas on all that. Not even the big boat has any sort of tracking device built into it. As you said, the master is an eccentric man."

  Derek helped the woman with the groceries. The sight of the roast fowl in the plastic wrap was so delicious to his starved belly that it put him in pain. And the bananas and the fresh fruit, how did they manage all of this out here? He couldn't wait for them to be gone so that he could devour something, anything, and feel his old companion starvation go away.

  How sweet and considerate they were, both of them, Derek thought, and how angry the great Rhoshamandes would be with them this evening when he discovered how they'd been duped. Derek felt fear for both of them. But then the monster had his reputation to keep, did he not?

  Dertu embraced them both and proffered his thanks.

  Impulsively Derek put his arms around the old man. "You tell our gracious host we had to leave," he said mimicking Dertu's manner, "and we thank him for all your kindnesses, and that you never complained of a thing, that you and your wife were so good to us." He realized this might not have the effect he wanted. But what other message could he send to that ruthless monster? Pray the fiend had no time to abuse his caretakers.

  The old couple hurried ashore and started to untie the ropes to free the boat.

  The great engines of the boat were thrumming; Dertu was on the bridge speaking through some sort of microphone, perhaps to a coastal agent. Derek couldn't hear him.

  It was happening. They were escaping. They would move away from the island of the prison.

  Derek found blankets under the leather couches of the salon, and carried them up to the bridge.

  "The weather isn't as bad as it looks," said Dertu. "We've plotted a course to Harris, though that's not where we're going. But there is something I want to do first. I want to follow my instinct." He looked searchingly at Derek.

  "You're asking me?" Derek shrugged. "Do it, whatever it is, your instincts are far better than mine."

  Dertu quickly disembarked. He said a few words to the old couple, and then as they waited, he ran towards the boathouse, the wind blasting his long golden and black hair.

  Derek stood there shivering, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, wondering, was it possible the boy knew everything, everything of his long life, of the times he'd awakened on a primitive world and gone back up in the ice caves of the mountains to freeze again, of those sad times amongst the primitive humans of the continent the world knew now as South America?

  Was it all on the surface for the boy or did he have to reach to retrieve this information? Whatever was the case, they were together, he and Dertu, and Dertu seemed a brand-new and improved version of Derek himself, unhampered by fear or sorrow, and able to do things Derek had simply never learned to do. Was that the intention of the method of propagation? Would all of his progeny, assuming he could develop more, would all of them be better than him?

  Hurry, Dertu. Hurry. These monsters have humans working for them in this world, solicitors, lawyers, whatever. Hurry.

  At last he saw his son running down the pier towards him. He cut a splendid figure in the finest of garments. "And were I to sever a leg, would such a being spring from that limb," Derek wondered. "And what if I
were to sever the very same left arm?"

  There was so much to discover together.

  Dertu shook hands with the old man, hopped aboard, and the last rope was loosed. He rushed up into the cockpit and flopped down in his leather chair at the wheel. At once the boat moved forward, pulling away from the pier. The old couple was waving them off.

  "But what did you do back there?" asked Derek.

  Dertu's eyes were on the wheel and great front window now bespattered with spray from the sea.

  "I called Benji Mahmoud's program from the phone in the boathouse. I went right on the air. I spoke as softly as they speak. I said, 'Derek is alive, and wants Kapetria and Welf and Garekyn to know that he is alive. And Derek is not alone. Blood drinkers have cruelly held Derek prisoner. A blood drinker of Budapest named Roland has done this for ten years and deserves our vengeance. And Rhoshamandes, his confederate, has visited unspeakable cruelty on Derek. They have concealed all this from the great Prince and the great Court. Derek and I would never harm any blood drinker intentionally; do not hunt us down. Let us come together, we beg you. We have never meant any harm to human beings or to you.' "

  "You didn't!" Derek was in shock. "You should never have done this!"

  Dertu was smiling as he guided the boat towards the open sea. The waves seemed large enough to swamp the boat but they did not. The sea spray thickened on the glass.

  "Dertu, are you mad?"

  "Father, it was the perfect thing to do," said Dertu. "I didn't tell them we were at sea. I didn't tell them where we were going. They will trace the call to the landline on this island but only hours from now when it is no longer daylight here, and when we are far away."

  The heavy cruiser picked up speed pushing against the huge waves. Sky and sea were steel gray.

  "They'll come after us!" said Derek. "There are blood drinkers awake now somewhere in the world. Dertu, these creatures can fly."

  "Well, they can't fly here now, can they?" said Dertu. "It will be daylight for eight more hours. And all those blood drinkers now know that the despised Rhoshamandes has kept secrets from the Prince and the Court. The Court will know in a matter of hours what Rhoshamandes has done."

  This was true.

  "But where are we going?" asked Derek. "Where can we hide?"

  "Not a worry," said the boy. "We'll be with Kapetria sooner than you think. Go down, get something to eat for yourself. Light the fireplace in the salon. You're starved and unable to think."

  In a daze Derek stumbled down the steps and moved through the salon to the galley. Out of the refrigerator he took a bottle of orange juice and, cringing at the cold against his gloved hand, he drank half of it. Heaven. Nectar of the gods. So delicious. There were other bottles of vitamin water, vegetable juice, and milk and more orange juice, and there were all those paper plates of food covered in plastic, the chicken, roast beef, ham.

  He stood there shivering. Then he forced himself back up the steps into the cockpit and gave the bottle of orange juice to Dertu.

  "If Kapetria is listening to that broadcast," said Dertu, "and they think that she is, we will connect with her this very night, in Derry in Northern Ireland. That is my plan."

  "But how can that be?" asked Derek.

  Dertu swallowed the remaining orange juice down. "I confess, Father," said the boy, "I consumed a good deal of food earlier, in the castle's kitchens. I was ravenous. I devoured food like a wild animal. You are the one who must eat now. I should have brought food to you. I am not a good son."

  "Oh, nonsense," Derek whispered. "You were a newborn being. You must have been famished. I'm a dreadful father. And how can we connect with Kapetria tonight?"

  "I left a further message on the phone line, Father. And pray that no one removes it or shuts off the line. I do not think that they will."

  "Another message saying what?"

  Dertu was obviously excited by what he'd done. He piloted the boat without looking at his father, but he couldn't keep from smiling.

  "Speaking in the ancient tongue of Atalantaya," he said, "I told Kapetria to alphabetize the language according to English transliteration and litter the internet, if she had to, with websites or postings as to how we might find her. I told her to offer email addresses for us in the ancient tongue. And in the ancient tongue, I told her of our true destination. I told her the name of the land and the city. Oh, if only I'd used my time at the computer better. If only I'd thought of all this sooner. I could have given her the very name of a hotel. No matter. They'll never crack the ancient language, the blood drinkers, no matter how supernaturally clever they are. It is too foreign and they have no key."

  Derek was astonished. "I would never have thought to do all this."

  "Well, I didn't think fast enough to plan it out well myself," said Dertu.

  "And what if Benji Mahmoud kills the broadcast, deletes the message, prevents it from being archived?"

  "Father, the message must stay up only long enough for Kapetria and Garekyn to hear it, don't you see? And when we reach land, I'll search for Kapetria's messages. I have phones already with which to do that immediately."

  "They want to kill us, the vampires," said Derek.

  "Somewhere in the world Kapetria is listening to that message in the ancient tongue," said Dertu. "She will come to Derry to find us, if she possibly can. I remember her as vividly as you ever do, Father. Kapetria is wise. It was Kapetria who conceived of the new purpose. She will come. And the blood drinkers can't gather their resources fast enough to prevent it, because they don't have the information I gave Kapetria in the ancient tongue."

  Derek was speechless. He stood there holding on to the empty orange juice bottle and then he licked the neck of it with his tongue. A wunderkind, this boy, he thought. No one could ever have kept him for ten years in a Budapest basement.

  "Go on down," said Dertu. "Light the fire. Eat and sleep."

  "And if you give one of your arms for an offspring, Dertu," Derek asked, "will that offspring be more clever than you are, as you are so much more clever than me?"

  "I don't know, Father. But I bet we will soon be able to find out. In the meantime, please stop being afraid. Please trust in me."

  Derek went down into the salon. He was stunned. He stood stranded for a long moment, and then remembered what he meant to do. The sea had quieted somewhat, and the boat was obviously traveling very fast.

  The fireplace was electric with porcelain logs and it was simple to turn on, and it provided prettier more natural-looking flames than he had ever thought possible. He sat still, on the striped couch, looking at the flames as the cabin slowly filled with warmth, blessed warmth.

  It seemed he had never felt anything as wondrous as this warmth. He had never walked the warm jungles of the savage lands long aeons ago with Welf, and Kapetria and Garekyn, as Kapetria spoke of the danger of capture, and that they must all remember they had been made to survive.

  And then die in Atalantaya, Derek had thought, when it goes up in flames and smoke. But he had not said it aloud. He knew that he was not to complain. He was born for one thing and one thing only. And he had not yet seen the glories of Atalantaya. None of them had. They had known only the chambers of the Parents with the motion-picture walls and their great garden enclosures.

  Now on the gently rolling little ship, he lay down on the striped couch and covered himself with one of the blankets. It was soft as his overcoat. A lovely warmth filled the room, lovely as the light from the fireplace. In a half sleep he was walking through the jungles again, with those he loved. Maybe we will not have to rush there, he thought, and that was before the natives had found them and been so kind to them, and they had sat down to their first feast. He remembered the drums and the dancing, and the eerie music of the wooden flutes, and the headman saying to Kapetria, "Our Lord, Amel, will welcome you to Atalantaya. You are the very kind he welcomes. We'll send word to the port in the morning. He will welcome you with open arms."

  He closed his eyes. He
was dozing. He saw Amel, Amel of the pale skin and red hair, Amel with his godlike green eyes. Amel said, "They are liars and they are evil. They are the origin of all evil!" Kapetria was trying to reason with him. "Even if what you say is true..."

  He opened his eyes with a start. Rain thundered down on the boat all around him. The panes of the windows ran with water. The cabin was wondrously warm and filled with the sweet flickering light of the fire. He was not in that horrid room in Budapest, and he would never be there again. He was free.

  Music came from the cockpit. Dertu had found some way to play music. A magnificent tenor voice was singing in Italian. Amor ti vieta di non amar. It was so beautiful, this music, so poignant. Derek's heart broke, and as always his eyes filled with tears.

  The boat rocked him like a child in a cradle. Or so he imagined, because he had never been a child. Just like a child in a cradle, riding the whale path! Derek drifted. Was Kapetria on her way this very minute to meet them in Derry?

  13

  Lestat

  THE ENTIRE WORLD of the Undead was in the Chateau or so it seemed, all the public rooms filled with blood drinkers talking in whispers to one another and turning to bow to me or salute me in some subtle way as Louis and I appeared. Every beeswax candle in the old castle was lighted; every electric sconce or chandelier was aglow. I could hear the orchestra playing in the ballroom.

  Rose and Viktor had returned and came at once to greet me as I entered the main hall. I was relieved to see they were here. Avicus also came to embrace me, and so did Zenobia, his eternal companion. They were sorry for the blunder of the young ones in California.

  "They've convened a Council of the Elders only," said Thorne, pressing me to move through the crowd. "They don't want the younger ones at the table. And they are waiting for you."

  "Yes," I said. "I know."

  But in every doorway stood some curious friend or stranger glancing to me expectantly as I made the march through one vast salon after another to the north tower and its great curving stairs. Ah, the splendor of it in this decidedly feudal moment when all the lesser lords of the world had come to seek shelter under the roof of the great lord who would defend them all against the invaders as long as these great walls would hold.