The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3)

by K. P. Ambroziak

  “Ta chi dutzi,” Youlan said to Peter, who nodded in return.

  “You’ll be going in alone,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’ll be here.” He pointed to his forehead and I knew he meant he’d be listening in. I suppose it gave me some relief to know he was just outside, but also that the Empress would be forced to speak to me in my native tongue.

  “Ju,” Youlan said, addressing me for the first time. “Come.”

  The Empress was sitting on the daybed, as she’d been when I paraded my goods for her. “Leekie womun,” she said to Youlan. Her servant bowed slightly, and slipped back out of the compartment, closing the door behind her.

  I studied the wispy vampire. She looked old and frail, and nothing like a great ruler. Her cabin was packed with even more trinkets and artifacts than it had been before, and I wondered where all the junk came from. A small terracotta statue of a Chinese god caught my eye, but only because it sat atop a glass case with a creepy looking head in it. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought it was the head of a vampire—a frightening one to boot. The Empress pulled out a cigarette case and spun it between her thumb and index finger. She drew attention to her ornamental claws, which were back on her hands.

  Since we hadn’t formally greeted one another, I spoke the one phrase Peter had taught me. “Weng ho, jizow shung” I said. Greetings, maker. I pronounced the Mandarin words with little grace, if any, especially since she didn’t seem to appreciate my attempt. She stared at me without a word.

  I suppose her silence emboldened me, and I returned her glare with one of my own. Her signal filled the compartment, and I could barely tune it out. She clicked open her cigarette case, and put one of her dainties in the slender holder she’d produced from the bun atop her head. She moved swiftly, probably too swift for the human eye, but I saw everything. Once she’d smoked her cigarette, which took no time, she refilled the holder with another and lit that one the same way, without the use of fire. She sighed and stood up.

  “Ei wai lina,” she said. “Wo dei jianjing.”

  I didn’t know it at the time, but she’d pronounced my name in Mandarin and called me her prize before addressing me in Italian. “You’ve created quite a stir, my novice,” she said. “The others don’t know what to make of you.” I wasn’t sure to whom she referred, but Peter had warned me to listen and not speak, which is exactly what I did. “You are special,” she said. “Do you know why?”

  I held my tongue, though the question wasn’t rhetorical and when she asked it again, I answered, “I’m the newest progeny.”

  Her top lip curled up, revealing her fangs, as she sucked on her third cigarette. “Ignorant one,” she said. “You are special because you come from the greatest venomline. Greater than Toktomer and the House of Dracul, greater than any line of vampires, you are descended from the transcendent Xing Fu of the Zhou dynasty.”

  I wasn’t surprised she didn’t say greater than the ancient one—my only master—since such a claim seemed blasphemous with him on her ship.

  “I never wanted to share my maker’s gift with another,” she said. “But your admirer forced my hand.” She scowled, though nothing compared to Vincent’s glower, and approached me as she had in the small compartment where I’d taken my life. “Satisfying one as ancient as him has its advantages,” she said. “And saving you seems to have pleased him.”

  I was glad to hear her say it, though I’d wished he’d told me so himself. He must’ve known I ached for his approval. He’d discarded me so easily, forced me into the hands of another, and I only wanted to please him.

  Empress Cixi stood in front of me, sizing me up again, though this time she didn’t examine my physical features, but gazed into my eyes instead. “You were a useful human,” she said. “But I’ve yet to see your worth as my progeny. Tell me about the pit.”

  I took a deep breath, despite not needing it, and contemplated how much of my foray into the ring I should divulge. I didn’t know if she’d be happy to hear about my talent for recognizing frequencies, or my gift for amplifying sounds and voices, which was still too fresh to explain, so I compromised and told her I’d felt the weaker vampire’s distress. “I thought he needed my help and couldn’t resist,” I said, feeling good about telling her as much.

  Her violent reaction surprised me, but when she pulled her hand out from hiding in the folds of her dress to slap me across the cheek, I jumped back in time to avoid the whack. When she missed, her face took on a darker mien. Though I’d only been subject to a vampire’s anger once, this was different. My beloved didn’t come to my rescue and I found myself up against a more vicious competitor than the bearish vampire in the ring.

  “Chili bu towhow,” she said, as she whacked me and pushed me back.

  I don’t know which was worse, her wailing Mandarin, clearly laced with profanities, or her screeching frequency that wouldn’t cease. She’d let the cigarette holder fall from her mouth and her iron fangs take its place. She scoffed at me, digging at me with her claws, as I ducked and weaved, attempting to evade the wrath of my maker. Whenever she got close enough, she landed a ferocious hit. I felt like a mouse trapped in a corner by a snake—I couldn’t escape her attack, and though I wanted to defend myself, I was terrified of retaliation. What kind of hell would be unleashed if I hit my maker, the great Empress Cixi? Her simian screech peaked and I raised my hands to my ears to block out the racket. This egged her on, and she redoubled her efforts to rattle me.

  “Wu yong,” she said repeatedly, deeming me worthless one hundred and sixty-seven times, though I didn’t know the meaning of the word then.

  I could barely contain my horror, despite my brain cataloging the highlights of the experience. My maker’s treatment wasn’t anything I could’ve anticipated, though Cixi isn’t refined or caring or heroic and wields hypnotic power like no other. Her gift for manipulation can only be vampiric, for no human has been quite as formidable a dictator as she is. My maker is a self-serving tyrant, addicted to power, and I trembled in my state of panic, as the raving queen chased me around her compartment.

  I didn’t know if she’d take off my head, as she hopped from bulkhead to bulkhead, cornering me and then slashing me with her talons. I blocked her a few times, but she landed most of her shots, sending bolts of heat through my body. She moved without knocking anything over, as she whipped around the cluttered cabin like a hyena on the hunt. She has an impeccable sense of space. My original assessment of her was false since she’s far from frail, old and weak. She is a fiend of epic magnitude.

  Tossed across the cabin more than once, my body smashed priceless artifacts and knocked several canvases from their wires on the bulkheads. I paid no attention to my destruction, as I ran from my aggressor, trying to avoid a fatal blow. She could only finish me by decapitation, and so I focused my defense around my neck and head.

  “Boo pay,” she said, calling me undeserving countless times.

  I barely escaped her wrath, let alone reasoned with her, until she landed the blow that ended it all. As I attempted to raise my body from the deck after her kick to my chest, I faltered and in the second between my standing and dropping back to my knee, she jabbed her ornamental claw deep into my neck. I didn’t doubt it was the exact same place in which I’d plunged it to spill my own blood. The sharp point penetrated my hardened flesh, as she drove it in with her pinky finger. I felt no pain and there was no blood, but with her finger in my neck, she gained the advantage I’d tried so hard to retain. One slice of her real talon and my head would come off. I kneeled before my maker, looking up at her vicious face, into her savage eyes, and smiled. “Wu yong,” I said, mimicking her pronunciation as best I could. “Worthless,” I repeated.

  She stared down at me with disgust, her yellowish green eyes wide like saucers, and smoke escaping from her open mouth as if a cigarette still dangled from her lips. She was a dragon and I was about to be slain.

  I don’t know where the word came from or how it landed on my lips
but I whispered, “Tsu,” as though reciting some magic spell. The sound pronounced made it seem as though I’d said the progenitor in Mandarin, though it wasn’t said consciously.

  My maker’s dark mien shifted to an expression that could only be one of surprise or, perhaps, wonder. “Tsu,” she said. “How do you know?”

  Though her aspect had changed, she still held me in the vulnerable position with her claw deep in my neck. I hesitated before admitting I didn’t know. “Fingwa,” she said, calling my bluff. My maker’s spell was broken, and she slid her claw out of my neck. “Humph,” she said, wiping the point on her dress.

  She retracted her iron fangs and touched the side of her mouth with her index finger before producing another cigarette holder and cigarette for her newly taut lips. With the ease of a chameleon changing patterns, she switched to a pleasant mood again, as she retreated to the daybed. She motioned for me to sit in the throne across from her, and though I obeyed, it took all I had to recover from her attack. I struggled to contain my ire and seethed inwardly. The fire in the pit of my stomach roared, as I sat across from my maker, looking into her serene face, old and frail once again. My fingertips itched and tingled, and I ignored the prick in my neck.

  “You need blood,” she said. “When I dismiss you, you will go to the den.”

  I’d lost my desire to speak and simply nodded, as I’d seen Vincent do.

  “Have you discovered your talents?” She took a drag off her cigarette, smoking it down to the butt. “To compensate for your unworthiness,” she said, “have you realized your gifts?”

  I bit the inside wall of my mouth to keep my rage in check. Every word she spoke, even those in my native tongue, brought bile to the back of my throat. I didn’t know hate as a human, but with this repulsion for my maker I experienced admiration’s polar opposite. I hated the Empress Cixi.

  “Ei wai lina,” she screeched. “I asked you a question.”

  “No,” I said. “Peter tells me it’ll take time to discover them.”

  “Humph,” she said. “Tell him to train you better.” I smiled, as I thought of Peter already receiving that message. He could read the Empress’s mind as easily as mine since she was younger than him. “You should know Mandarin by now,” she said. “Learn it before I see you next.” She made a gesture with her hand that assured me I was dismissed. I stood up but refused to bow my head as I’d seen Vincent and Youlan do. When I reached the door, she called me back. “Ei wai lina,” she said. “Do not forget to whom you belong. We must make Xing Fu proud.”

  I left her starting a new chain of cigarettes, glad to escape the stifling air of her cabin. I took a deep breath in the passageway, from where both Peter and Youlan had vanished.

  Torn and flayed from her punishment, I contemplated going to feed on my own. I had yet to visit the den without an escort, but figured the ship’s mistress had ordered me to do so and if any vampire were to approach me, that’s what I’d tell him. I listened for Peter, rifling through the din as it came at me, but I couldn’t pick up his signal. I dropped the search and headed in the direction from which I’d come. I’ll admit I was ashamed of the wounds my maker had given me, which is why I didn’t seek out Vincent, despite my desire.

  I made my way through the maze, letting my satellite guide me. The tips of my fingers burned. The other wounds I’d suffered pricked at me, but pain wasn’t really what I felt. My flesh was irritated, that’s all. I stewed in my anger, as I recalled the dragon’s vengeful face. I left her lavish passageways as quickly as I could and sunk deep into the belly of the ship where I belonged. The dregs welcomed me with their dank surroundings, and I tuned in to the sounds of pleasure, thinking they’d lead me to the blood. Without my knowing it, I was pulled off course when I heard the soft murmur of a young girl. I recognized her voice as a replica of my own, thinking she sounded a lot like me when I was human. I didn’t presume to know her but searched for her as though tied to a tether.

  I floated through empty passageways to the other end of the ship where I found myself leaving the dregs once again, and rising up a level to a passageway with bulkheads that were lined with portraits of naked women. The female figures deserved my attention, exquisite works of art that they were, but my concentration was absorbed in the sound of the girl. She spoke softly, as though repeating the words of another—make me yours—feed on me. Her Italian was fluid, though I detected an accent.

  When I reached a row of first class compartments, I knew I’d arrived. I could hear her more clearly now through the door. There was no guard to deny me entrance, but I assumed the cabin was locked, and leaned in to listen. When her voice died out, all I heard was the lone warble of the sparrow. Small at first, it rose to greet me with a piercing cry, as my beloved stood on the other side. The knot in my stomach tightened and my fangs ripped through my gums, ire throttling my sense of reason.

  “Vincent,” I said in the rich tones of my vampiric voice, nothing like the strident mockery from within.

  It seemed impossible for him to deny I stood on the other side of the door. He would’ve sensed my presence, if not heard my frequency, but he chose to ignore me, as I waited on the outside of his world, begging to be admitted once again.

  I may have succumbed to my injuries, but I honestly believe rage strangled me and brought me to my knees, as darkness enveloped me and I fell into oblivion.

  I woke in my compartment with Peter. “You’ve been fed,” he said. “You’re healing nicely.”

  “I don’t remember—”

  “It’s not worth recalling,” he said. “Let’s just say I found you in time.”

  I lied about forgetting what had happened. I knew exactly where I’d landed and why. I just didn’t know how Peter found me and brought me here.

  “Vincent brought you back,” he said. “Ah, I see, Evelina.” He tsk-tsked in a teasing way. “You’ll stoop to any manner of tricks to incite the hero in him, won’t you?”

  I scowled at Peter, though I hadn’t meant to treat him with disdain. “Where were you?” I asked.

  “Youlan needed me to do something for her,” he said. “It couldn’t be helped.”

  “What do you know about my meeting with the Empress?”

  “I’m afraid I missed most of it—oh, I see,” he said. “That seems particularly rough.”

  “Rough?” I said without intending the emphasis I seemed bent on expressing. “Worse than rough—a pure hell storm.”

  “She can be fiendish,” he said. “She has your best interest in mind—”

  “Not so,” I said. “She wasn’t thinking of me. She’s thinking of the great Xing Fa or Fu—or whatever—and how I’m going to humiliate her venomline.” Peter remained quiet, as I continued to whine, venting about my disinterest in the Empress and her esteemed dynasty. “I don’t want to be her progeny, and wish I could get off this ship.” With my tirade finished, I dropped onto the berth and continued to stew silently.

  “Are you done?” Peter stood by the door, as if ready to leave. I wouldn’t look at him, though he could tell whether or not I was finished. “Your behavior will not help you,” he said. “Try as you might, you can’t change your relation. She’s given you a great gift, even if you can’t see it. And perhaps she’s oblivious to your talents, but that won’t be forever. We need to make you strong, Evelina. You need to earn the esteem of your maker and her peers.”

  I listened to what he said, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Vincent and how he’d moved on with another favorite human—a girl, no less. My anger jelled the blood in my system.

  “You already look better,” he said, pointing to my neck. “Your scrapes are healed.”

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest and turned away.

  “Don’t pout,” he said. “Things are not what they seem. Vincent is on his way.”

  “How do you know?” I tried to keep my voice from trembling, but obviously transparency was impossible with Peter.

  “He wants to see how you’re he
aling.”

  “He knows I was wounded?”

  Peter nodded and started to say something, but then restrained himself. “As I said, we must up the game with your instruction,” he said. “I’m assuming she wasn’t happy you haven’t learned Mandarin yet?” I didn’t say it, but he saw me recall her insult about his training. “Ah, I see,” he said. “Well, I’ll have to fix that. What do you say? There’s no time like the present, right?”

  I half listened to Peter, half tuned in to the wave of frequencies bouncing off the ship’s bulkheads. “Evelina,” he said. “You must concentrate.” He deepened his voice, as he’d done in steerage when he pulled me away from the ring. “Concentrate.”

  I was obliged to obey him since his whole being commanded my attention, and once again he thrust his signal on me, hacking into my gift. “I don’t like to be so forceful with you,” he said. “But you leave me no choice. You will gain the discipline required of you. Once again, concentrate.”

  Standing over me now, as I moved to the edge of the berth, he pronounced a phrase in Mandarin. He didn’t need to read my mind to know I heard indecipherable sounds, not words. He repeated the phrase, which sounded like “Ni how, wo da min za shi Ei wa lina. Wo hen gosing tien dow nee.” Again and again, he uttered the sounds with the same enunciation—slow and steady. “Ni how, wo da min za shi Ei wa lina. Wo hen gosing tien dow nee.” I concentrated on his intonation, as he commanded, noting the way he pronounced each group of sounds, the music they made as they rolled off his tongue, the wisp of the lilts and the punch of the hard sounds. “Ni how, wo da min za shi Ei wa lina. Wo hen gosing tien dow nee.” Soon, he ordered me to repeat after him, and I obeyed.

  “Ni how, wo da min za shi Ei wa lina,” I said. “Wo hen gosing tien dow nee.”