Jack Shadow

by Graeme Smith

  The beautiful young man’s smile was flat. “Indeed. Unicorns—and emeralds that are not emeralds.” For a moment, the young man’s eyes were distant, and the smile real. “And dragons who are not dragons….” His eyes went distant again, and he shook his head. “And that, kedves, is the point. That to achieve the future which is my right, I must first establish a suitable past. Just as it had to be Sigismund who established the Order and not I. And that it had my—” he grinned, sourly “—my benefactor’s name.”

  “Quite. And so….” the Countess smiled also.

  The young man interrupted her, his smile gone, “And so if I am to live forever, my dear, the future cannot include a past wherein my beloved Erzsébet successfully plotted to have me assassinated. So she might take my place.”

  “Ah.” The beautiful woman pondered. “But we are so much alike, my lord. We desire….” Her hand wandered, slid lower, “…many of the same things. So what might convince me otherwise? For it might strike me that, since I still live, the ambition alone is not terminal in nature.”

  The young man smiled. “Ambition is good, my dear. But so is wisdom. And since those you have drawn to your cause are now dead meat … did you enjoy dinner, my lady?” The young man smiled. It was not a warm smile. “I had thought to offer you a story. One that might, perhaps, bring wisdom.”

  The Countess pondered the well-roasted meat on which they had dined. She shifted slightly, so her lover’s hand fell somewhere more interesting to them both. “A story? Delightful, my lord!”

  Wladislaus smiled. “It was long ago. Well, these things do not always fit the words we use. But suffice, it was when I was younger than I am now. You see, there was a party at my father’s castle. One I had spent no little effort arranging for him to set forth.” He paused. “No, my dear. I think, perhaps, it is better if you see.” Wladislaus grabbed his lover’s head. As he stared deep into her eyes—she began to scream….

  * * * * *

  1446. Sighişoara, Transylvania

  He could see every woman in the room hated her. Let them hate. It had cost him—or at least others whose lives he could afford to spend—much to learn of her. Of her, and of her tastes. Tastes he had taken steps to ensure he fitted to perfection. He walked over. “Good evening, my lady. Or is that Grófka? Or…?”

  She shrugged her shoulders, slowly. It was, no doubt, intended to arouse his interest. The emeralds round her neck were all the interest he had, but he smiled. He allowed his eyes to stray to those parts of her current form she no doubt thought fascinating. She smiled back. “Oh, whatever you choose, my lord. Titles are so tiresome, don’t you think?”

  He shrugged also. “They impress my father.” He looked towards an older one across the room. “But then, he is Voivode.”

  She stroked her necklace. The huge emerald hanging from it drew his eyes, but not for the reasons she no doubt assumed. She grinned. “Well, sir. Perhaps we can discuss things to—to call each other—some place more….” she looked round, smiling, “more discreet?” She showed no hesitation in following him to his rooms. He had always thought the red velvet a little over-done. And there was too much gold. But then he was so rarely here, even when others thought he was. The woman who was not a woman threw herself back on the bed. She reached up and grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. As he fell towards her, she tugged harder, tearing his shirt open. “Perhaps we are wearing too much?” Another time, he might have called the servants. For custard. Custard and—and other things. The toys he found most pleasing, even if his companions did not. But on this occasion screams were not his purpose. He merely let matters take their course. And when the woman who was not a woman slept, he slipped the necklace from her. Then he took his clothes, and left the room. His horse was ready and he would need it. He had little time until she woke. He sent word to those who must know, and made for the hunting lodge. Then he waited. It didn’t take long.

  “Get your bloody ass out here, Tepes! Before I burn your little hut to the ground!”

  The words were strange. But the sentiment was not. He smiled, but did not get up. “And my greetings to you, Grófka. Or should that be my lady lizard?”

  “Lizard? LIZARD? I’ll roast your hide, thief! Where’s my bloody necklace?”

  “Your necklace, lady lizard? Yes. Perhaps we should discuss it. The door is open….”

  The door he spoke of blew from its hinges in a blast of fire. Where it had been, his companion of the evening stood, naked save for her long, golden hair. “No discussing. Where’s. My. Necklace?”

  He grinned. He was going to enjoy this. “Lady dragon. Your necklace is—well, let us say, the soul of my desire. And, for now at least, not yours.” The blast of fire that washed over him suggested the dragon was not impressed. That it did not kill him suggested she wasn’t being quite as impulsive as it might seem. “I have, as you say, stolen it. And I have taken steps. If I die in some, shall we say, unfortunate accident, others will hear I have stolen it. Stolen a dragons’s craft from a dragon. And if such a word got out—that a mere human can steal from your kind—well. There would be, no doubt, consequences.”

  “Consequences? You know what they’d do. Bloody kill me.” The naked woman who wasn’t a woman paused. “How do you stand it? Being dead, I mean?” The naked woman who wasn’t a dragon almost looked scared. “And they’d do it very slowly, With extra screaming. And no custard.” She paused again, then sighed. “OK. So you didn’t get me here to talk about the weather. You want a deal. Talk.”

  “A deal? Now why did I not think of that?” The young man grinned.

  “Cut the crap, Tepes. Talk.”

  He stopped grinning. “Quite simple, lady. It is a thing of great power, as you are. How could it be else? I want power. I shall have it studied. I shall gain power. And one day? One day I shall die. And when I die, the necklace is yours again. But until then, by your name and your power, you swear you will do nothing to threaten me, my deeds or my intention. Nothing. Or your name and your power are mine, and your kind will learn of my theft.”

  The dragon laughed. “Until you die? You humans. Dead already, you are. And you do not see it. Pfah. So. A few years for you to study what you will never understand, and none I need fear ever learn of your theft? Very well.” The woman raised her hand, and one of her nails dug deep into her arm. Green ichor welled. Vlad Tepes drew his dagger, and cut his own arm. The woman leaned over him, and their arms pressed tight. In a flare of light, the contract was sealed. The woman grinned, if a little sourly. “I’d kiss you, Tepes. But I don’t do leftovers. Your loss.” And she was gone.

  Vlad grinned widely. He loved those who thought themselves clever. He took the knife, and cut his arm again. He drew the triangle on the floor, and the symbols. While it was still wet, he called, as he’d been instructed. He had expected some sign—perhaps thunder, or demon cackles. But perhaps the great Lion that appeared was enough in itself. He spoke the command, and the Lion was a man. “I have it, Great One.”

  The man who was not a man grinned. “Well done, mortal. I have often pondered their power. My Lord knows much of it, of course, but now I may study it also. And who knows. One day … but no matter. You have done all you offered, and I shall do the same. Come. Kiss me.” Vlad steeled himself. He stood, and did as he was bid. As he did, he felt a wind rushing through him. “There, mortal. It is as I promised. Your soul is in me, though I have not taken it. And there it shall stay, and I be thy phylactory. Of course, you will have to feed. But until I am broken, never shall ye die. And thy enemies will fail, and all ye seek shall be thine.” The man who was not a man grinned. “And save the One who cast us down, there is no Power that may break me. Ever.” He laughed. Then he wrapped the necklace in his hands. For a moment, black light burned. “And here—take these. For your study also. My power, and the lizard’s. Beauty, after all, should not pass, no?” The man who was not a man flicked a nail, and two emeralds flew from the end of the necklace into Vlad’s hand. Then Barbas, Great Pres
ident of Hell, was gone.

  * * * * *

  Sunday September 2nd, 1666. London, England

  “Barbas? Ye dare to reach so low?” The beautiful Countess blanched. The young man’s eyes were cold. “There is nothing I do not dare, kedves. And no price I will not pay. It might serve you well to remember that.” He smiled. “But come, my dear. The night is a little cold, no? Perhaps we should so something about that.”

  * * * * *

  Barbas. Damn. Prowess was right. I really didn’t know any words bad enough.

  That’s how it is sometimes. You spend all your energy looking for an answer—then wish you didn’t have to ask the damn Question. But it’s OK. I’ll ask it. It’s just a job.

  And don’t worry. I won’t feel a thing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fixer-Upper

  “She’s looking well for….” Prowess’ lips moved as she counted, “what is it? Four hundred years?”

  She was. As far as my experience of totally naked women went. I was getting some ideas about that. But they’d take a while to, um, work out. And we had things to do. Or rather Prowess did. So I told her.

  “I’m not doing it, Jack.” It could have gone better.

  “P. You’ve already done it.” Sometimes logic works.

  “I’m not doing it.” This wasn’t one of those times.

  Liz’s guards were all dead. But bells weren’t ringing, and new guards weren’t beating down Liz’s door. Because, like I said, Liz did that now and again. Killed them. Every one of them. And now I knew why. She’d told me why one time, but it had never made sense.

  Not until now.

  “I’m not bloody doing it, Jack!”

  “P, you sort of have to. Because I still remember.”

  “Remember what, Shadow?”

  “Remember Liz telling me you did. And if you hadn’t—I wouldn’t. Remember. Or I’d remember her not telling me as well.”

  It took a while. But I told her. What we do. They do. The Dragon. They fix things.

  * * * * *

  An hour later

  “But—but you can’t!” Prowess wasn’t pissed. She’d gone past pissed a few shouting matches back.

  “Can’t what?” I wondered if we were headed for another one.

  “Can’t go changing the past!”

  “We don’t.”

  “We?”

  I figured the Dragon weren’t likely to be inviting me to any more staff dances. Not that they had any. “OK. They. They don’t.”

  “But you said….”

  “They don’t change the past. They just fix it. To match the future.”

  “What future?”

  “The one they’ve got.”

  “But….”

  Unicorn Horn and Tears won’t do it. They only take you into the past. Your past. But someone else can use them. To take you to your future. So long as it’s their past. Or present. So they do. Every new recruit. Just once. One night someone comes. Maybe someone you know, maybe someone you never saw before. But they know things. Things nobody else should know—about you, what you’ve done. And when they’ve convinced you, they take you. Up-Ahead. Tomorrow, and a hundred, hundred tomorrows more. They show you the ‘why’. They show you all the happy, comfortable people. All the people busy not being hungry, not breaking laws. All the sensible, not-crazy rational people not believing in madness like Unicorn Horns and Virgin’s Tears. Or Shifters. Or dragons. Or The Dragon. Nobody asking any questions, because everybody was taken care of. And then they bring you back. They bring you back and tell you if you ever tell anybody, they’ll kill you. And that now you’re a gnat. A spoon. And they really will—kill anyone who talks.

  Or someone will.

  I was getting an idea. Why they come, and who they come to. But it hadn’t quite worked itself out yet.

  “But….”

  See, that’s what you do. When you’re a gnat. You fix things that don’t fit. And when they’re fixed, that’s how they always were. And if people remember it being something else, they forget, and remember it right. Sure, it doesn’t work on some people. But it’s like the unicorns on the street corners. The few people who remember things as they aren’t anymore are normally locked up pretty quick by the large number of people who don’t.

  “But … but I can’t, Jack! I really can’t!”

  So Prowess told me why she couldn’t. And it made sense. And I had a feeling I’d still be needing P, because things weren’t done yet. So she was right. It probably wouldn’t be smart to take someone back who qualified for Liz’s more personal attentions. For her bath water. So I took care of it. Of course, I offered to knock her out. For some reason, she didn’t think that would be necessary. She even found where Liz kept the custard. Things got a little complicated when I told her I was a leg man. But P was OK with it. After a while, she stopped making new ones.

  When things were done, I mixed up some Unicorn’s Horn. Liz was always good for Tears. And I took P back to do her thing. I wondered why Liz never mentioned the giggling.

  Even though gnats remember all sorts of things that never happened any more, I still remembered the story Liz had told me. How her Sight had told her the little old woman was telling the truth. And the alarm bells still weren’t ringing, and new guards still weren’t banging on the doors—and at last it made sense. It made sense that one day an old woman looking for work had knocked at Liz’s castle, before she was walled into her rooms. How the old woman had told Liz she would rise to greatness on a sea of blood. How she would be betrayed, but how it wouldn’t matter because a greater fate awaited her. And how one day she would fall, because her guards would bring her doom.

  It all made sense. Now, at least. And most of all, the one thing that had never made sense made sense. Why an old woman looking for work would be a piano tuner.

  That’s often how it is. When the Answer doesn’t make sense—you just don’t understand the Question right. Not yet. But you will. Just not for long.

  Chapter 15

  Right-Now

  “Bastard!”

  For someone who normally froze into a fit of blushing at ‘you-know’, Prowess seemed to have got her hands on a whole new vocabulary. The razor teeth, multiple jaws and tentacles wrapped round my throat suggested she was interested in getting her hands on other things. Without wasting her time on hands.

  “BASTARD!” I had a feeling she was pissed at something. At someone. OK. At me. I’d have explained, but the tentacles wrapped round my throat weren’t letting me get a word out. They were also starting to sprout razor edged spikes of bone. “You made me make her! The Countess of….” The tentacle relaxed a little. “Jack, what’s a good word for blood? That starts with a C? I love alliteration.”

  “Cruor. That’s a good one.” You get to learn all sorts, in my line of work.

  “Cruor? That means blood?”

  “Well, red stuff. Leaky red stuff from people, anyway.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” The tentacle tightened. The spikes of bone bit. “You made me bloody make her! The Countess of Cru—” The tentacle relaxed. “Cruor? Countess of Cruor? That’s just silly, Jack.”

  “Claret? That any better?”

  “Oh, I like that! Claret!” The tentacle tightened. “You made me make her! The Countess of—”

  This wasn’t going anywhere useful. My arms were wrapped at my sides, but I could reach. I ran my left hand over my leather. P wasn’t a dragon, so the back door might work. On the other hand, we still had things to take care of. So I made do. The first spell wrapped round me and threw anything touching me across the room. Like Prowess. The second wrapped her up in a block of ice too thick for her to break. “P. It had to be done.” I got some rope and made sure Liz wasn’t going to be making any trouble if she woke up. “Thing is, starting over would be a bitch. See, I remembered her. Liz, I mean. Telling me the story. If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d have remembered something else. But I’m a gnat. That’s what we do. Fix things—and remem
ber it both ways. But you remembered. Remember. What she was. So if you hadn’t done what you did, you’d have forgotten. And if she hadn’t been what she was, we wouldn’t be here, because she wouldn’t….” Damn. Dragon stuff’s a bitch. “Look. If she hadn’t been the….” I stopped. But I couldn’t see any way out. But it was still a terrible name. “If she hadn’t been the ‘Countess of Claret’, she wouldn’t have been able to show us what she did. So we wouldn’t know what we know, right?

  Prowess shrunk a tentacle and used the space it made to tap on the ice block round her.

  I shrugged. “Be my guest. But no hitting, OK? Or strangling.”

  The ice block exploded. The razor teeth, multiple bones and tentacles morphed into a shape-shifting concert pianist with a frown. The concert pianist looked down, then blushed. A little more shape-shifting, and they changed to a concert pianist with a frown—and clothes. “I never thought of lit like that.” A tentacle flashed out and smacked me round the back of the head. “But you’re still a bastard, Jack.”

  I shrugged again. “Maybe. Damned if I know.”

  “No, Jack. Not damned. You have no soul to damn, remember?” Prowess was still frowning. “So your girlfriend here—”

  “Partner. Ex-partner. Ex-ex-ex partner. In Dragon work.”

  Prowess raised an eyebrow. I had a feeling it spoke volumes in the secret language women never teach men, but blame them for not knowing. “Right. Your ex-girlfriend here had to be what she is so we could know what we know. Did I get that right?”

  “That’s about it.”