Fortunately my night vision is rather good, and I had little trouble examining all sorts of trees in search of holes suitable for sleep. Even if none of them were large enough for my normal form, I could always shift to my smaller bat form and sleep that way. But then, none of them were lightproof, either, which was most important.
I hadn't eaten. The forest was filled with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, but then, most of them are quite small—raccoons and rats and bugs, mostly. But I had something of an advantage. At least I wouldn't have to hunt, as far as, say, rats and other rodents were concerned. All I had to do was concentrate on summoning them, and soon I was surrounded by dozens of squeaking, scurrying rats. And disgusted as I was with the thought, I dined that night on rats and rat blood. At that point I was hardly in the condition to find a bear or even a deer. Small animals tonight.
It was getting dangerously close to sunrise when I finally located a suitable hole to crawl into. It was on the side of an embankment, fortunately a dry one, and I had to shift to bat form to fit inside. I'm grateful it was dry, for the last thing I needed was for some river to overflow and flood the hole. As I mentioned before, running water and vampires do not get along very well.
Chapter 25
After feeding the next night (on rats again), I set about making my way to the Channel. I expected I could make it to the shore by morning, if I went on foot, and that wouldn't do. Flying was out of the question; my sack was too big to be able to carry, and probably would be too heavy, too. Eventually I ended up tying the sack to my back and then transforming into a wolf. The sack stayed on quite snugly after I changed. There was no more time for me to waste, though, so I immediately set off at full speed.
Wolves are already blessed with good stamina, and add to that the vampire's tirelessness, and I was able to reach the shore in half the night. I transformed behind some bushes and stepped out into a clearing, where I could see that a boat was docked, ready for a morning departure.
We vampires can see life auras—that is, living things literally glow in the dark to us—and no one seemed to be about. It was the middle of the night, after all, so I didn't have to be especially sneaky to reach the boat.
Getting on board and down below seemed too simple, but I could detect no one moving about, although a rat startled me one time. This was a cargo ship—wheat, it looked like, which was just fine with me. That meant no passengers.
It was only halfway through the night, but I was weary following such a long run, but after snagging a huge rat and tossing the carcass overboard, I found a mostly empty crate. It seemed dark enough to sleep in, so I scrunched myself inside and fell uncomfortably asleep.
It was dark enough; I survived. That, and not much light got to where I was. Before leaving the crate I listened for a long time for any voices or movement. All I heard was the creaking and rocking of the boat itself, so I slowly stood up and opened the top.
It was night again. But the same night or the next? I wasn't sure, until I noticed that many of the crates that had been there before had been removed. Ahh, thank the gods mine wasn't, I thought, and climbed from the crate.
Still no voices, so I made my way across the room and crept up the stairs, and then listened at the door. I could hear other sounds, but they were too faint or muffled to tell what they were, so I opened the door and peeked out. There was the top deck, all right, but there didn't seem to be anyone about, so I opened the door wide enough for me to squeeze through, and then shut it behind me quietly.
I was almost at the edge of the ship when I heard a "Hey I What are you doing?" and I didn't even look back, but dove right off the boat. I had no intention of diving into the water, however, so I grabbed hold of part of the hull and scrambled off to the side, spider-like, just in time to see someone poke his head over the bow. I was able to avoid further detection that way, and crawled over to where the dock was, plopped down from the hull, and ran off into the night.
It didn't take me long to figure out that I wasn't in Clovaine. I thanked the gods for that. I knew I'd been in this place before, though, but when was it, I wondered? There didn't seem to be any familiar landmarks about, but damned if I didn't remember this fog and that enormous river that—
Oh, of course, London, I thought. The boat went to London, and why wouldn't it? Did you really expect Castrill, girl? I remember laughing and crying tears of relief and joy then, for that meant Gaul and Clovaine was a whole Channel away. But London was still too close for me. I wanted to get as far away as I could, which wasn't very likely in a place like England. Just then, I had more immediate concerns, however, such as finding food and shelter before daybreak, so I slung my sack over my shoulder and crept into the fog.
Don't expect great descriptions of a Dickensian city. This was the sixth century we're talking about. I've been around long enough to stop seeing cities and towns as so incredibly varied and wondrous. Naturally every place has its own local culture, distinctiveness, and flavor, but when trying to find a place to sleep, eat, or work, a shack becomes a shack and a pub a pub.
I had some money with me, but not much, and I intended to save it, so I spent the evening looking about for abandoned shacks, cellars, or whatever. Eventually I found an old wine cellar that no longer had any wine (it had the smell, though), but it had plenty of dust, dirt, bugs, and rats. There was a window level with the street, so I found some old rags to cover it up with. Then after a hearty feast of rats, I spread out some clothes and slept on the floor.
The next night I found an old dog to feed on instead. Hardly much of an improvement. Later on I walked through the streets and started remembering Heleyne's talk of plagues and death. She wasn't lying, but then she never really described it to us, either. I had seen the effects of plagues in small cities, but not in one as large as London. They tried to be very discreet about it, of course. Bodies weren't lying in the street but had been stuffed off into corners and behind crates and into shadows. Small carts with bodies under the blankets then collected them every now and then. Some were not dead, but were dying; they had been put off into corners as though they were already gone.
My one good Samaritan act that night was to help one victim get away from the corner. He was covered with blotches and boils, and was not long for the world, but he begged me to take him away from there. I hesitated for a long time, but then hefted him into my arms and carried him through the streets in search of some comfortable place to put him. And people who saw us backed away, pointed, muttered to themselves, and one person even shouted at me to put him away. I would just die with him if I didn't get away.
I ignored them for the most part and finally reached a church. I pounded on the door, and some time passed before a priest answered it, and crossed himself when he saw the man.
"Dear God in heaven," he mumbled, and then clearly: "Why have you brought him here, my child?"
"Urn… he… he was lying in the street," I said. "Don't you have shelter for these people?"
"As many as we can help, but he…" the priest said. "He is almost gone from us now. Look."
"Please help me, priest," the man croaked.
The priest fidgeted and hesitated some more. "Um… um… well, child, have you been carrying him all this way?"
"I'm not tired," I said. "Please; couldn't you at least, um… take him and give him a cot to rest on?"
"Um…" he said, and then looked down, shaking his head. "Dear God in heaven, if you would deliver us from this," he muttered, and then looked up again.
"Come in, my child," he said, and opened the church door wide for me to enter. I took a step forward and then hesitated. A church? Wouldn't I—? Wouldn't it—?
"Come, child, come," the priest urged, and I took another slow, hesitant step, and then entered the church slowly, cautiously.
No pain so far, I thought as I followed the priest off to a small room in the back of the church. Still no pain, I thought as we passed moaning, writhing masses of dying and dead plague victims. He gestured t
o a blanket-covered spot on the floor, and I knelt down and laid him gently onto the blankets. I tried to stand, but the man grabbed my hand tightly and held on.
"Thank you," he croaked.
"It… it was little trouble," I said nervously. I kept looking around the room like a frightened mouse, wondering when the wrath of God would fall on me. The priest tried to move me to the side, and I scooted over to let him kneel down and give the man a wafer, then some wine. The man swallowed the offering, then let his head fall back onto a blanket. He held on tightly to my hand.
"You'll be safe here," I said, "You won't need me anymore."
"Thank you," he croaked again. Then his hand started to weaken. His grip was loosening, and I watched his aura begin to flicker, and then start to fade.
"Priest, he is dying!" I said, but the priest had left the room. The others who were also there started to groan louder, and the man I'd helped lost hold of my hand as his life slipped away.
"Priest!" I called louder, only the aura was gone. Too late, the priest ran back in but could do nothing now. He was no doctor, I knew that, but I didn't know who else to ask. He saw that the man was dead and then crossed himself. Then he started mumbling things in Latin like (translated) "God keep your soul, Let your journey into heaven be well," and other things like that.
Outside the room the priest told me I was a good Christian for helping the dying, and he blessed me, which I was quite surprised did not cause me to burst into flames. Why is it that Christians kept thinking I was one of them, and yet all of their ceremonies and trinkets hurt me? But there I was, standing in God's own house, being blessed by a priest, no less, and I wasn't in pain. And when I finally left the church I couldn't help wondering if God hated all vampires, or only some of them. I never wanted to be evil, but Agyar never seemed to mind. Perhaps his influence on me had been stronger than my own will.
I'd already decided that I didn't want to stay in London, and wanted to get as far from Clovaine as I could. Next I had to gather supplies, such as lanterns, more clothes, a wagon, and so on. I found a man who had a small wagon, but I didn't have enough money for it. He saw my emerald ring and offered to trade, but I refused and went on to other business. An innkeeper was willing to sell a few plates and bowls for a piece of gold, and eventually I managed to scrounge up most of the necessities (including a small wagon) through pay, begging, or even stealing.
The only reason I was considering a coffin as my place to sleep was its practicality. We don't have to sleep in coffins. Period. But—as a human-sized, portable, and light-proof vessel, a coffin is quite useful. Now I admit I had no money to buy one, and I knew no coffin-makers personally, so I was forced to take the third option. There was a coffin-maker near a church (naturally), so late at night, when not a soul was awake (save us vampires), I crept behind a local coffin-maker's shop, hoped it wasn't where he lived, too (else I wouldn't be able to enter), and concentrated.
After transforming to mist it was a simple matter to slip inside through cracks and rematerialize inside. Good luck for me: the shop didn't double as his house. There were eight completed coffins along the walls and three in progress (plagues give them a lot of business), so I chose a large one, lifted it, and struggled to strap it to my back. To me it wasn't heavy, but it was certainly bulky; I had quite a time getting it out the back door. Outside I barely managed to get it onto the wagon and cart it away. It became easier once I put all my things into the coffin instead of the wagon.
I hadn't the faintest idea where I would go. But now that I had my portable bed I knew I could sleep in the middle of a desert and not have to worry about the sun. If the coffin-maker was any good, that is. Fortunately he was, or you wouldn't be reading this right now.
* * *
BOOK III
Chapter 26
I made very little human contact while traveling about England, which wasn't quite England yet, actually. There really were very few cities that even began to compare with London at the time; come to think of it, there were very few cities, period. What there were were a lot of tiny villages, chiefdoms, kingships, and bands of roving tribes. Travelers were not so uncommon that I was interrogated just by stepping foot into town, but I tried to keep my distance from people while I went about my business, mostly to avoid trouble. Especially when a full moon was near.
Once there was an actual full moon I made it a point to be out of sight. Don't misunderstand me; I wasn't likely to start foaming at the mouth and raping the first man I came across, but I had never been with a man during that time, and I wasn't certain how much I could keep in. Maybe my eyes would become red, or a fang would grow, or some-thing, if I hit my peak, and he'd be likely to throw me to the flames as a demon or witch or… a vampire?
Either way I thought it wise to stay out of sight. Most of the time I had to satisfy the urge myself, or… all right, I'll admit that if there happened to be any big male wolves around, I'd… well. Yes. But I never harmed any man during a full moon.
I considered myself fortunate whenever I found a cave or some abandoned lair in the hills. I could live in the caves for a while and survive pretty well off of the animals around there, including the bats who were often in the caves with me. Hares were the best, when I could catch them. It's much harder to make eye contact with an animal than one might think, so I usually had to chase my prey. If I came across a wolf pack then the hunting was a little better. They always had a pack leader, but I was always alpha wolf for the time I was with any pack, so I got the first pickings. I only wanted the blood, anyway; the meat was all theirs.
Gruesome though it was, it's how I lived for centuries. At least I never succumbed to behaving like an animal; much of a night was spent in contemplation, not howling at the moon (except for full moons, that is). I don't claim to have become a philosopher during that time; I never made great intellectual discoveries, but I would just think. Usually about my old life, and old friends, and where I was now. Sometimes I fantasized, sometimes not, and sometimes I thought about nothing at all.
After four hundred years of this I returned to London. I had seen more wars, more plagues, more famines and droughts, and occasionally something pleasant like a pagan festival, but on the whole things were not good. It was the tenth century now. Many of the men before and after Charlemagne had tried to unify the land, but none were all that successful. The new economy was beginning: feudalism. Others call it the Dark Ages.
Well, none of it made much difference to me either way. Remember that people in the Renaissance named it the Dark Ages, not the people living in them. I'll admit that the standard of living had dropped significantly from what I'd known before, even for the rich, but since I'd been living off weasels and hares for several centuries, it wasn't much different to me.
But I didn't start this just so I could give you a history lesson. Forgive me, I teach it in night classes now. Just wanted to set things up, really.
But once again I was reduced to scurrying about, looking for old cellars and shacks to hole up in for the day (or two). Now that I was in a city I couldn't skulk about all the time; I had to find a job somehow.
Most women were supposed to be married, so they didn't need jobs, but I wasn't, so I walked the streets nightly, checking all the pubs and guildhalls and whatever to see if anyone had a job for an unskilled woman. After a few months I found one pub that needed a serving wench, so I took the job. Nights only, please, which the owner accepted grudgingly.
Not long after I moved back to London, I heard an odd and disturbing story. I was working a pub that night, and it was near closing time. One of the customers rose to leave and tipped his hat to all. But then one of his friends called out, "An' watch out for the Wagon Woman!"
"Aye, that I shall," he said, and left. I was curious.
"The Wagon Woman, sir?" I said while wiping down his table. "Who be the Wagon Woman?"
"Aye, ye've not heard of her?"
"No, I have not."
"Well, then, she might find thee
as well, if'n ye're not wary!"
"Why, sir?"
"Why, ye've not heard her stalking the streets on many a foggy night, pulling her death box behind her?" he said. Now this was curious. I looked about to see if there was other work for me, and finding none, I pulled up a stool and sat down.
"I've not heard this, sir," I said. "Tell me more." Another man spoke up.
"Some nights," he said, "when the fog's good and thick, the Wagon Woman walks the streets, pullin' her death box behind, and peeks into unfortunate homes, that she might find someone to fill the box with."
"Death box?" I said. "You mean—a coffin?"
"Aye," said the first man. "Ghostly pale she is, with a long white gown, an' she walks the streets with her wagon creakin' away… creeeak, creeeak, creeeak, til she finds a body she can fill the box with!"
"Umm… Are you certain that's what she wants?" I asked.
"That's what they say, wenchy," a third man said. "They say she died hundreds of years ago without a burial, for she was wicked, and now she's doomed to carry her coffin around and bury someone in her name."
"So that's why she needs bodies, eh?" I said, smiling nervously. The first man thought I was frightened and laughed.
"She'll be after you, wenchy, if'n you're not wary," he said.
"Aye, but I never seen her," the third man said.
"Oh, I have," said the second.
"Have you now?"
"Aye, I have. Well—her creakin' has woken me before…"
"But ye never looked, did'ya, lad?"
"Well, I heard her." The first man laughed and hit him in the back.
The Vampire Memoirs Page 24