by Jack Conner
"So what brings you to Liberty?" Ruegger said.
Hauswell sipped his drink, waving his other hand impatiently. “I wanted to see this place while it lasts. The dog-sled race has become legendary among the Community. Sadly, rumor has it that things aren’t going so well in fair Liberty.”
“So we’ve heard.”
“I’m going back to Vegas after the race. Truth be told, I’m not looking forward to it. I wanted to get away for awhile. Every shade in the world who holds a position of power seems to be in jeopardy, lad. We're being systematically killed off.”
Ruegger remembered what Jarvick had told them. “The Scouring.”
“That’s right. I’ve heard that even Vistrot's gone underground to avoid it. Though still in New York, of course. He and that city are symbiotically linked, I think.” He paused. “Word has it that you were off in the desert again. Remind me, what is the purpose?"
"Vision quests are supposed to bring one closer to wisdom,” Ruegger said.
"So what've you learned?"
"Wisdom is elusive."
To Danielle, Hauswell said, "And how are you doing, dear?"
"I could be better. There's a price on our heads, too."
"So I've heard."
"Don't suppose you know anything about it?"
"I wish I did, my girl. I will tell you that you don’t fit the profile of the victims of the Scouring. All the shades being Scoured are either religious or criminal leaders of some sort. Whoever wants you dead has another agenda.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve given serious thought to going into hiding, myself. You might, as well.”
“We’ll think it over.”
Hauswell looked around. "I'll tell you another thing; I'll be glad when this fucking race is over—pardon the vulgarity, but this place … disturbs me. Ever since I got here, maybe before, strange things have been happening, and an odd tension's in the air. Someone saw a pair of wolves streak through here last night—big ones, not sled dogs. I heard them howling myself, and they weren't were. Do wild wolves live this far north? And the explosion, and the execution—"
"Execution?"
"Apparently one of the idiots who attacked Maleasoel the other day stabbed her. Ludwig had him slowly tortured, beheaded and hung by his toes.”
“Gods,” Ruegger said. “That’s not like Ludwig at all.”
“He’s changed, lad. They just took the body down a few hours ago. Probably, Ludwig didn’t want you to see it. Of course, the assault on Maleasoel had a precedent. It seems that one of the higher-ups, a man named Gleason, a personal friend of Ludwig, was killed two weeks ago. His killer hasn't been found."
"What do you think happened?"
"I have no idea, although I think some of this strangeness might have something to do with a mysterious visitor Ludwig had about a month ago. Not that I was here, but I heard about it. They kept his identity secret, but that itself was conspicuous, so the gossips have been running wild with improbable theories. But back to the more supernatural aspects of the madness here. For example, the bat.”
“Bat?” said Danielle.
“A giant bat, larger than a man, was seen perched on a rooftop more than once, and there have been a few disappearances connected to it. Tell me, are there such things as shapeshifting vampires?"
"Not that I know of,” Ruegger said slowly. “Unless ... but no, the Balaklava aren't around anymore. And they're not strictly vampires."
“Well, all this, plus the War of the Dark Council …” Hauswell gestured vaguely. “It’s a strange time to be a shade.”
He glanced up as a girl approached, smiling when she sat down beside him. Gaudily but seductively dressed, she was a ghensiv, a race of female immortal that thrived off of semen and sometimes procreative tissues. To accommodate this dependency, many of the succubae became prostitutes.
She grinned, wrapping an arm about Hauswell. "Ready, darling?"
"Sorry, guys, but I've got a date,” he said. “See you around, okay?"
"Later," Ruegger said.
"Oh, and good luck during the race." Hauswell and the ghensiv vanished down a hall. A few shades who must be Hauswell’s security people followed in his wake.
"Cute couple," said Danielle. She killed her drink and flagged down their waiter for another.
"I've never seen Hauswell spooked before,” Ruegger said. “And what was that about giant bats?"
"Just nerves. I bet people are getting jumpy around here with the execution and all."
He finished his martini, and when the waiter brought out Danielle's second round, he asked for his.
"What do you think about Ludwig closing this place down?" she said.
"Well, we knew he'd come to that conclusion eventually."
"Speak for yourself."
"I never thought he'd go this far,” Ruegger said. “I never thought Liberty would last five years, much less this long. The last thing I want is to have to act against Ludwig.”
“I can’t believe he made it work. A modern Marx with an army. Until his crisis of conscious, anyway.”
“A crisis with bad timing. It sounds like even if he decided to abandon the compound, others would take his place, and with more sincerity. Or at least with a greater appetite for power."
Danielle’s face clouded. "I don't want them to take over the world, babe.”
There was little doubt in either of their minds that a few hundred powerful immortals could, if placed in the right positions at the right time, seize control of all humanity. One immortal alone could slip into the White House and take over the President’s mind. Of course, the President had a few secretly on the payroll to prevent this, but only a few. All it would take was enough to overwhelm them. A half dozen, tops.
“The Libertarians would have to move fast,” Ruegger said. “If they gave humans enough time to mobilize, to discover our weaknesses, all would be lost. But if they struck swift and sure, they could do it.”
Her eyes bored into his. “We have to prevent that. You know that.”
Grimly, he nodded. “If it comes to that, we’ll act.”
After a moment, he nodded. “The attentions of the Marshals may be required again.”
“They say absolute power corrupts absolutely,” she said. “I believe it. In my opinion, shades have too much power not to be corrupted at least a little. Most of the people we know are evil to a point, and maybe we are, too." She winced. "I didn't mean you, you know that. But ... sometimes I feel less than wholesome."
"I do, too,” he admitted. “Morality is a sticky thing when you’ve got to kill intelligent living creatures to stay alive.”
She sniffed. “Speaking of which, you hungry?"
"I guess."
"Well, we can't wait here for Ludwig all day. He'll find us when he's ready."
They finished their drinks and moved to the door, replaced their snow-shoes and returned outside, where (trailed by their guards) they made their way to the last building in the arc—a well-disguised barn—and paid five hundred dollars for admission. There they were given their choice of cattle, selected one and drained it dry. It wasn't as satisfying as a human would be and wouldn't last as long, but afterward the vampires were reasonably sated, at least for the moment.
They relocated to the main building of the arc, the central one, where Ludwig and Maleasoel lived, as did all the chieftains of the compound. Ruegger and Danielle had a room on the third story, in the same wing and hall as Ludwig's. Entering their suite, they left their guards outside.
"So what've we learned?" Danielle said, looking out the window.
Ruegger flung himself on the bed. "Someone wants us dead, Hauswell may go into hiding because of some weird systematic execution of power-wielding shades known as the Scouring, and Ludwig's about to be overthrown.”
“Sounds like we picked the wrong month to go on a vision quest."
“And don’t forget the War of the Dark Council.”
They had only heard vague rumors about the conflict the Dark
Lord Roche Sarnova was engulfed in and had no clear understanding of what it meant, only that shades were killing shades in large numbers, mainly in Europe. Such wanton violence could easily spill over into the human world.
“Do you think that has anything to do with what’s going on here?” Danielle said.
“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s all connected somehow. Perhaps not.”
She drew the drapes shut, slipped her shoes off and lay down beside him.
He started unbuttoning his shirt, taking off his various holsters. He traced her jawbone, running his hand through her hair, and she gave a small smile, coming in closer to him. Their mouths met.
Afterward, Ruegger kissed her and said, "I'm going for a walk, okay?"
She nodded, saying nothing.
He ducked out into the night, refreshed by the cold. Darkness fell about him, but he enjoyed that too. He set off. Seeing Hauswell had stirred up memories in him, and he needed to be alone for a moment. He thought of whom he had once been, what he had once done. Most of all he thought of World War II.
Was I really that man? My gods. Kharker …
A throat cleared behind him. He spun to see a shape there, framed against the lights of the compound.
“I thought that was you,” said the figure. “Off brooding, as usual.”
“Ludwig! It’s so good to see you.”
“You too, my friend. Come. I have something to show you.”
* * *
Smoking a joint, Danielle listened to jazz and thought briefly about inviting her guards in for a toke. She didn't have but about a penner left, though, and Ruegger would probably want some. This was one of the few times during the year that he would allow himself to indulge in such things (vision quests notwithstanding), but Danielle had no such qualms. She was a punk from way back, and though her hair was less spiky these days some things never changed.
Was he celebrating now? She thought not. She knew seeing Hauswell brought up bad memories for him—why, she didn’t exactly know. She only knew it had to do with him being evil once, long, long ago. She knew it had to do with Lord Kharker. She wanted him to talk to her, tell her his troubles. She knew he thought she'd stop loving him if she knew the details of the thing he had been, but he couldn't be more wrong.
He knew all about her. He knew what had happened between her and the werewolf Jean-Pierre at Kharker’ Lodge. He knew how her mother was a heroin junkie and died of an overdose while driving to the supermarket with seven-year-old Danielle in the car. He knew how Danielle’s father had fallen off the wagon and stuck the wrong end of a shotgun in his mouth three months later, leaving Danielle an orphan. Knew about Danielle's days of wandering the streets before she'd admitted herself into an orphanage. And about Malcolm Verger, her foster brother and the leader of the gang that had beaten and raped her and left her for dead ...
The gang of seven, now reduced to two. And, very shortly, zero. You know everything, Ruegger. Now open up to me.
Smoke swirled through the room, and her mind reeled pleasantly. The jazz reminded her of New York, although most of the music she'd listened to there had been punk or heavy metal, which she still loved. Supposedly, she was more “cultured” now, thanks to Ruegger, who had been alive during the time of some of the greatest classical composers and still loved them, but the truth was her first musical love was rock. She hoped it always would be.
Sometimes she wondered if she would've ever left New York if not for him. Would she still be headbanging every night, speeding off her ass, slashing her wrists and screwing anyone that came along? No, she decided. She'd probably be dead. Before Ruegger, death was what she'd really wanted. But she was wild, in love with life at the same time it disgusted her, so it was a toss up. Strange to think that she'd look like an adult now—well, an older adult; Ruegger had turned her at age nineteen—if still mortal, her girlish figure slipping away, her smooth skin growing tougher, wrinkled.
She told herself that in a hundred years it wouldn't seem so strange, her unchanging appearance. Maybe once it was certain that if she'd remained a mortal she'd be dead and buried the thought of being beyond those laws would be more appealing, whereas now she couldn't help but to think she was missing out on something. A real life. A normal life. She could have kids by now. Grandkids.
She lit a cigarette and stared out the window at the falling snow. Where was Ruegger?
* * *
“Don’t you love it?” Ludwig said.
Ruegger regarded his oldest friend, a tall, gangly man with curly brown hair and the kindest, most animated face Ruegger had ever seen. He looked like a court jester, even though here he was king. Ludwig had pioneered the Beat movement in the fifties, helped lead the masses in the Hip movement in the sixties and seventies, and had really never come out of it. Behind the act of this would-be ruler of the world lurked a long-haired hippie.
When he had originally founded Liberty, his idea had been to take over the planet in order to make it a better place. Ruegger had always known he would snap out of it sooner or later, but over the years Ruegger had begun to wonder. Now, his suspicions confirmed, Ruegger was relieved. I wouldn’t have wanted to have to kill you, Ludwig, you wonderful fool.
Ludwig hunched over a large table in his study, a surface overflowing with blueprints, carving instruments and blocks of wood. There his latest project rested: a chess board. As both he and Ruegger were ardent players, this did not surprise the vampire.
“Remember my dream?” Ludwig asked.
“Remind me.”
“Oh, you were always the better player, I’ll grant you, but I was the one who wanted something new. Remember that night, we both agreed that traditional chessboards reinforced the class system? The whole object is to protect the king. Not only is it inherently elitist, but sexist, too.”
“The queen’s the most powerful player.”
“She’s expendable. The pawns, presumably just poor schmucks drafted by the king to fight a war, don’t even get a horse. No wealth, no power. The first to die. Then the rooks, the knights, the holy men, the queen and, finally, the king. Sexist and classist and religion-ist. Well, I’ve just finished the prototype for my new chess board. No peons, no royalty. You’ll love it.”
Ruegger inspected the board. He laughed. “They’re animals!”
Ludwig grinned. “Well, to make the game work right, I had to have some sort of class system. But see, now the pawns are the small bugs. Rooks are birds. Bishops are deer. Knights are lions. Queens are humans. And the king …”
“Is that the big bug?”
“That’s right. The whole cycle. From bugs and back to bugs again. See, the pawns are beetles and the king is a maggot.”
“You should have been a toy maker, not a revolutionary, though I pity the dreams you’d inspire in children.”
“Can’t wait to play it, can you?”
The truth was that Ruegger was far from in the mood to play a game of chess. Yet seeing Ludwig’s enthusiasm kindled some familiar spirit in him. Before he could accept the invitation, though, the door burst open and both men looked up as a messenger approached. He whispered in Ludwig’s ear, and Ludwig’s face dropped.
“What is it?” Ruegger said.
Ludwig visibly gathered himself. “There's ... there’s a situation developing in Barrow, my friend. Just north of here. It …” He cleared his throat. “It concerns you and Danielle.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think you should get her. We leave immediately."
* * *
"So what's going on?" Ruegger asked, once they were in the helicopter and en route to the small town of Barrow.
Ludwig’s face darkened. "Junger and Jagoda.”
Ruegger blinked. "The Last of the Roving Balaklava? I … I thought they'd given up and gone to Jamaica long ago."
"They're back."
"What're you talking about?" Danielle said. “Who are Junger and Jagoda, and what are Balaklava?”
“A race of immort
al,” Ruegger said. “Very strong. Brutal. Their method of feeding requires them to rip open living humans. They’re called Bone Crushers.”
“Damn.”
“Luckily, there aren’t many left in the world. The other immortal races banished them to the West Indies four hundred years ago. We haven’t heard much from them since.”
“They’re the second strongest race of known immortal,” Ludwig added. “Shapeshifters. They feed off of living human bone marrow. To get to the marrow, they have to tear open humans while they're still breathing—break open their bones. Hence the name. Junger and Jagoda, two of the most violent creatures ever to walk the earth, assassins on a global level, were also Balaklavian artists, sculptors, known to incorporate their victims into their work, and they refused to settle down until the 1800s, when they realized that the island homes of their immortal brethren were by then largely vacant of their kind—they have a tendency to kill each other off for territory—and prime to be exploited. Since then, they've fashioned themselves into Jamaican myth and folklore, becoming voodoo-gods of the islands."
"So what are they doing in Barrow?"
Ludwig passed a hand across his face. "I'm not sure, but I think they're the end result of a deal that I made not too long ago."
"What sort of deal?"
"A very bad one that I had to go back on. There was no choice, really, and now I have to pay the price. The problem's that I've endangered you two as well, and Malie."
"Tell us,” Ruegger said.
"No," said Ludwig. "I can't, not yet. Please understand."
"This is bullshit," said Danielle. "This has something to do with the hit that's out on us, doesn't it? Is that the deal you made?"
Ludwig covered his face with his hands. "You'll find out soon enough, my friends. But please believe me, I'd never do anything to hurt you unless there was no choice in the matter."
Ruegger seized Ludwig by the lapels of his jacket. Immediately, guards shot to their feet, crouching in the shuddering helicopter, but Ludwig waved them away.