by Amy Cross
“Nonsense,” she replied, heading back over to the counter. “I just think we should help one another out whenever possible. We're friends, after all. We've known each other since we were children, remember?” She paused. “Maybe... Maybe you could invite Benjamin to the cantina with us.”
“I was thinking it could just be the two of us,” he replied.
“But she was Benjamin's teacher too. He's probably -”
“I'll ask him,” he added, interrupting her with a lie, “but I doubt he'll come.” He paused for a moment. “You know, my stupid brother really doesn't know what he's missing.”
“What?” she asked, spinning around to face him, with a shocked expression. “Has Benjamin said something about me?”
“No. He's too caught up in that bloody Madeleine. Worships the ground she walks on.”
“Oh,” she replied, clearly disappointed. “Yes, he does seem rather infatuated. Tell me, do you think...” She paused, as if she didn't really want to ask the question. “Well, I mean, do you think he's in love with her? I mean, really and truly in love, the kind of love that lasts forever?”
“Like in a fairytale?”
“Well... No, I don't mean some kind of fantasy. I mean in real life.”
“I think he is,” he replied. “As mad as it seems, I think he truly is. My brother has always been weak for the flesh. He doesn't appreciate the deeper qualities of a good, honest woman such as yourself.”
“I'm sure it's more than that,” she said, her voice trembling a little. “There must simply be more to Madeleine than either of us knows, must there not?”
“I doubt -”
“Sorry,” she stammered, turning and hurrying into the back room, “I must fetch something. I'll see you later!”
Left alone for a moment, Benjamin finally allowed himself another smile, even as he heard the faint sound of sobs in the distance. “Oh yeah,” he said, heading outside, “I hope to be seeing a lot of you later, Evangeline. All of you, in fact.”
II
“These things are fascinating,” Nixon said as he stood in the underground chamber beneath the stones, using a primitive flashlight to illuminate the bare wooden panels that lined the walls. “Why do you think nothing's been written on them?”
“According to Kate,” Edgar replied, standing a little further back, “something has been written. By her time, anyway.” He paused for a moment. “Illustrations showing the war.”
“Which war?” Nixon asked, turning to him. “You don't mean... your war?”
“The great vampire war,” Edgar continued. “From her description, it would seem that at some point in the next hundred years, someone carves and paints great images onto these panels, showing elements of both the vampire civil war, and the war against the spiders that preceded the schism. She described them in enough detail for me to be absolutely certain that she's not lying. There's no other way she could know these things. As I'm sure you'll appreciate, there are very few people who have the requisite knowledge to produce such images. And yet, one hundred years from now, someone will have placed them on these walls.”
“Maybe it's you,” Nixon pointed out.
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“Well... Nostalgia?” He stared at Edgar for a moment, before realizing his mistake. “No, maybe not.”
“I can assure you, I will create no such images,” Edgar told him firmly. “So who does that leave? More and more, I'm starting to think that there is someone or something on Thaxos, waiting in the shadows, watching my every move. For the first time in my life, I doubt that I see the full picture.”
“But the war,” Nixon continued, “I mean... It's not as if there are too many people floating about who even know that there was a war, so who could it be?”
“The war produced many damaged minds,” Edgar replied, staring at one of the blank panels. “I have never talked about my experiences very much, because I would prefer to leave them in the past. If you had seen what I saw, you would fear sleep every night. The possibility of such nightmares...”
“Oh the war, blah blah blah,” replied another voice, heading across the chamber until she reached them. “I'm sure it was awful,” Madeleine continued with a distinctly airy tone, “but for someone who doesn't like talking about it, dear brother, you bring it up rather often.”
“Does she have to be here?” Nixon asked with a sigh, turning to Edgar.
“Edgar and I are friends now,” Madeleine explained, forcing a smile. “Didn't he tell you? We're trying to have a less combative relationship now that...” Looking down, she realized that she'd inadvertently placed a hand on her belly. She moved the hand away, wary of hinting at her pregnancy. “I wish I'd been allowed to fight in the war,” she continued. “It sounds like such fun.”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Edgar said darkly.
“Exactly, and I wish I did know! Every so often you mention these wonderful things like the Unholy Gate or the Aborted City, but it's hard to get a handle on what those things actually looked like.”
“Why didn't you fight?” Nixon asked. “Females were eventually permitted to participate, were they not?”
“Eventually,” she replied, “once enough males had been ground to dust. The truth is, my father put his foot down. Any female seeking to fight needed the permission of her father, and he vowed never to offer his consent. I tried forging his signature, once. I ran away from this wretched island and went all the way to the recruiting hall at Gothos. Of course, father had noticed that I was gone and he'd sent word to watch out for me, and my forged papers were rejected. I was sent straight back to this dump, and would father reconsider his decision? Would he hell!”
“He was right,” Edgar told her.
“Women shouldn't fight,” Nixon added.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because it's not right.”
“Werewolves,” she muttered. “Such... chauvinist assholes.”
“Excuse me?” Nixon replied. “Asshole? Why do you keep calling me that lately?”
“It's an insult I picked up from Kate Langley,” she replied. “Turns out, in the future they're much more inventive with their curse words. I heard some other goods ones, too, but I'm saving those for the next time you really pee me off.”
“Pee you off?” Nixon asked. “What does that mean?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Women are perfectly capable of fighting,” Edgar told them. “Some of the finest warriors in the war were women. Cassandra, Oncephalus, Cerulesis... I stood shoulder to shoulder with them, and I never once considered them to be inferior. To this day, I would trust Cerulesis with my life.”
“Then why do you think father was right not to let me go?” Madeleine asked.
“Because so many people died,” he replied, turning to her, “and I might have lost you.”
“Oh,” she said, clearly a little taken aback by the honest of his answer. She paused, before patting him on the shoulder. “Wimp,” she whispered, before turning and heading over to the stone altar. “There's zero chance that I'd have died in the war, thank you very much. You're just worried I'd have kicked your ass on the battlefield. I'd probably have become a legend. Madeleine the Destroyer, or Madeleine the Impaler. Or I could have skinned people, maybe that would've been my thing.” She turned to them with an expression of pure glee. “Madeleine the Skinner! Yes, that's what I'd have done in the war!”
“I'm sorry to ask again,” Nixon said after a moment, turning to Edgar, “but does she really have to be here? She's a frightful interruption to the scholarly work I'm trying to conduct.”
“Suck it, asshole!” Madeleine called out.
“See?” Nixon continued.
“I thought Madeleine might offer a useful new perspective,” Edgar told him. “You and I have already spent several days out here and we seem to have drawn a blank. Perhaps the scholarly approach is not the only method we should consider.”
“Just bec
ause we haven't come to any conclusions yet,” Nixon replied, “that doesn't mean you should start considering extreme strategies. The whole idea of the scholarly approach is that it's calm and considered, not random and -” He glanced over at Madeleine and frowned as he saw that she was busily sniffing the altar. “I mean, do you really think she's going to be of any use? She's out of her goddamn mind, Edgar.”
“Who built this place?” he asked, taking a step back. “Come on, I'm asking both of you. We've avoided making firm statements so far, but I want your best guesses. Who built this chamber and then sealed it up with a Tenderling guard inside?”
“It's far too early to be making guesses,” Nixon told him.
“Try.”
Looking around, Nixon paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. “The basic layout is mildly reminiscent of the Etrusian Haemogoths,” he said finally, “but not to the extent that I'd consider them to be likely culprits. There's really not much to go on, but I suppose one could link the style of the stones to the Balth order of Drazi, if one was really stretching things. Then again, if one took a neo-classical approach -”
“Vampires,” Madeleine said suddenly, interrupting him.
They both turned to her.
“Let's not beat around the bush,” she continued. “We all know that vampires, and only vampires, are behind this. I mean, a mysterious chamber underneath some equally mysterious stones, on the island of the Le Compte family for God's sake... It's like you mentioned before, dear brother, there's obviously a connection to vampires and I think you're probably right to consider the cult of Ashalla. Despite all the improbabilities, I think it was them.”
“How would they construct such a site?” Nixon asked. “You really don't know what you're talking about, Madeleine. I considered them, but they weren't known for their technological advances.”
“They found a way.”
“But -”
“They found a way,” she said again. “People do, when they're desperate.” She stared at him for a moment. “Have you never been desperate, Nixon?”
“I always pride myself on remaining calm and methodical.”
“Then you don't know how desperation works,” she continued. “Trust me, when you're desperate, when you're truly, truly desperate, you almost become another person entirely. You consider things that would ordinarily horrify you, and you commit acts that later...” She paused, as if she was lost in dark memories for a moment. “You become more resourceful than you ever thought possible. Desperation, my dear Nixon, can drive one to great feats that later seem quite impossible. If you've never been truly desperate, you don't truly know yourself.”
Nixon opened his mouth to reply, but at the last moment he held back.
“And that,” Edgar said finally, “is why I brought her along.”
Over by the stone altar, Madeleine smiled and took a bow.
“If the cult of Ashalla came here,” Edgar continued, “and if they were truly desperate, perhaps after the war had ended, then they might well have been able to construct this place. It would have been a kind of temple for them, a way to cling to the culture of the cold-bloods. Everything the cult did, every action, every thought, was focused on the desire to raise the great cold-blooded god Ashalla so that he could fight for them and return their species to glory. If the cult came to Thaxos many hundreds, even thousands, of years ago, I think we can assume that they were desperate. They were most likely dying off, so this would have been their last stand.”
“That's the kind of desperation that knows no limits,” Madeleine added. “When you're that desperate, you'll do anything.”
“Anything?” Nixon asked.
“Anything,” she said darkly.
“So it's decided,” Edgar continued. “This chamber was definitely built by the cult of Ashalla. Does anyone want to argue with me?” He waited, but no-one replied. “They thought they could raise Ashalla in this very place, but obviously they failed.”
“Are you sure about that?” Madeleine asked.
“I think we'd know if they'd succeeded,” Nixon pointed out. “Unless anyone's failed to notice a cold-blooded vampire god in the vicinity?”
“Nixon's right,” Edgar continued. “That begs the question, however, of why, when they abandoned the chamber, they went to all the trouble of sealing a Tenderling inside to act as a guard. Those don't sound like the actions of a group that is abandoning a location. What, exactly was the creature supposed to be guarding?”
“There's nothing here,” Madeleine pointed out.
“Maybe there is,” he replied, looking around, “and we're not seeing it.”
“So how do we fix that?” Madeleine asked.
“We get another set of eyes to take a look,” he said after a moment, turning to her.
“Who? Your new girlfriend?”
“I don't -”
“Come on,” she continued with a smile, “we all know that you and Kate Langley get on like a house on fire. There's no shame in admitting that you're attracted to her.”
“I will admit no such thing,” he said firmly.
“Fine. Keep it scrunched up in the back of your mind, but it's still true.” She walked around the altar, running her hand over the rough stone surface. “It can't be a coincidence, though. I mean, when she was snatched from her own time and brought here, she was in the middle of the stones. She's linked to all of this somehow.”
“That might well be true,” Nixon added.
“Really?” Madeleine replied, turning to him. “Are you actually agreeing with me for once?” Faking a moment of weakness, she collapsed theatrically to the ground.
“Don't get used to it,” he muttered.
“Kate has told me everything she knows,” Edgar replied, “and I have seen enough of her mind to know that she's not lying to me.”
“In that case,” Madeleine continued, dusting herself off as she got to her feet, “it's pretty obvious that she doesn't know everything about herself. Still, you need to work out what the hell's going on with her. And Edgar...” She paused for a moment, watching the hint of concern in his eyes. “If she's dangerous, you know what you have to do.”
“I'm sure it won't come to that.”
“But if it does -”
“It won't.”
She glanced at Nixon, and she could immediately see that he too was worried about Edgar's reaction.
“But if it does,” she said finally, stepping toward her brother, “and if circumstances demand... Can you kill Kate Langley? Would I need to step in and do the deed? I could, you know. Just because I wasn't in the war, that doesn't mean I don't have a taste for blood. If you need help, you must let me know.”
“I'm insulted that you even have to ask,” he replied. “The only thing that matters to me is keeping the Le Compte family safe, and part of that means protecting Thaxos too. No-one can stand in the way of those goals. If I have to get rid of Kate, then so be it. She means nothing to me.”
***
“I don't think I've ever worked so hard in my life,” Kate said as she wiped sweat from her brow. “How many more of these cases are there?”
“Let's see,” Jennifer replied, glancing over at the pile that Kate had already carried up from the basement. “You've brought twenty-two already, so that leaves... another twenty-two to go! You're exactly halfway!”
Sighing, Kate turned toward the hatch.
“Take a break,” Jennifer said with a smile.
“I feel like my arms are burning,” Kate replied, turning back to her. “What exactly is in these cases, anyway?”
“My grandfather's home-brewed wine,” Jennifer explained, getting to her feet and heading over to the nearest case. “I told you, Giuseppe Kazakos was a legend around this place. He brewed whiskey, too, but that's long gone.”
“But why are there forty-plus cases of it? And why does it all have to come up at this exact moment?”
“Because it's finally ready,” Jennifer replied, opening one of th
e cases and taking out a bottle, “and because I'm going to sell it all to the Le Comptes. After all, they're going to need plenty of drinks for the upcoming wedding, and despite his many faults, Edgar Le Compte likes to buy from local producers wherever possible. My grandfather always said that when the wine was ready, it'd sell for a song, and he was right.” Grabbing a corkscrew, she opened the bottle and then took a sniff of the wine. “Smells good.” She took a sip. “Tastes good too.”
“Easy,” Kate warned her, watching as Jennifer took a long drink from the bottle. “So do you really think Edgar will buy all of this from you?”
“I know he will,” Jennifer replied, wiping her mouth. “He's a man of refined taste.”
“And how exactly are you going to let him know about it?”
“I'll just send a message up via Jacob,” she continued, “and then...” She stared at the cases for a moment. “And then Edgar will send one of his men down to pick it all up. Hopefully he'll send...” Her voice trailed off, as if she was lost in thought. “Do you want to try a glass?” she said suddenly, turning to Kate.
“No, actually -”
“Come on,” she continued, hurrying through to the kitchen. “Anna's playing with a friend. I honestly don't remember the last time I had a few spare minutes to just sit down with a friend and drink a glass of wine.”
“It's barely midday!”
“We have to live, Kate!”
Sighing, Kate realized she wasn't going to be able to dissuade Jennifer. Just as she was about to head through to the kitchen, however, she heard the bell ringing over the front door, and she turned just in time to see Estella entering the store. “Hey,” she said, “you're just in time for -”
She stopped as soon as she saw the drained look on Estella's face.
“Are you okay?” she asked, heading over to her.
“Is Edgar here?”
“Edgar? No, why would he be here?”