by Rice, Anne
But he’s alive, I thought. That’s what matters. I caught the scent of many mortals in this place. I caught the scent of food that had recently been cooked. I caught the scent of oak fires and as I looked up I saw the faint smoke of chimneys against the sky which I had not perceived earlier.
With no further questioning, I was soon led by torchlight up a winding stone stairway in one of the many towers. Over and over again I looked out of small windows at the bleak land. I saw the dim outline of a nearby town. I could see the patches of the farmers’ fields. All looked so very peaceful.
At last the boy anchored his torch, and, lighting a candle from it, opened two heavily carved doors to reveal a huge room with sparse but beautiful furnishings.
It had been a long time since I had seen heavily carved tables and chairs, and fine tapestries. It had been a long time since I had seen rich golden candlesticks and handsome chests with velvet draperies.
It all seemed a feast for the eyes, and I was about to sit down when there came rushing into the room a spry elderly man with streaming gray hair in a long heavy white nightshirt who gazed at me with brilliant gray eyes, crying out:
“Marius!”
It was Raymond Gallant, it was Raymond in his final years, and I felt a terrible shock of pleasure and pain as I looked at him.
“Raymond,” I said, and I opened my arms, and gently enfolded him. How frail he felt. I kissed him on both cheeks. I held him back tenderly that I might look at him.
His hair was still thick and his forehead smooth as it had been so long ago. And when he smiled, his mouth seemed that of the young man I remembered.
“Marius, what a wonder it is to see you,” he cried. “Why did you never write to me again?”
“Raymond, I’ve come. I can’t account for time and what it means to us. I’ve come, and I’m here, and I’m glad to be with you.”
He stopped, turning from right to left suddenly and then he cocked his head. He seemed as agile and quick as he had ever been. He was listening.
“They’re all aware that you’re here,” he said, “but don’t worry. They won’t dare to come into this room. They’re far too disciplined for that. They know I will not permit it.”
I listened for a moment, and I confirmed what he had said. Mortals throughout the immense sprawling castle had sensed my presence. There were mind readers among these mortals. Others seemed to possess some keen hearing.
But I distinguished no supernatural presence here. I caught no inkling of the “infidel” he had described in his letter.
And I caught no menace from anyone either. Nevertheless, I marked the nearby window, and noting that it was heavily barred though otherwise open to the night, wondered if I could easily break through it. I thought that I could. I felt no fear. In fact, I felt no fear of this Talamasca because it seemed to feel no fear of me and had admitted me so guilelessly.
“Come, sit down with me, Marius,” Raymond said. He drew me near to an immense fireplace. I tried not to gaze with concern at his thin palsied hands, or his thin shoulders. I thanked the gods that I had come tonight, and that he was still here to greet me.
He called out to the sleepy boy who remained still at the door.
“Edgar, build the fire and light it, please. Marius, you will forgive me,” he said. “I’m very cold. Do you mind it? I understand what happened to you.”
“No, not at all, Raymond,” I said. “I can’t fear fire forever on that account. Not only am I healed now, I’m stronger than ever I was before. It’s quite a mystery. And you, how old are you? Tell me, Raymond. I can’t guess it.”
“Eighty years, Marius,” he said. He smiled. “You don’t know how I’ve dreamed of your coming. I had so much more to tell you. I didn’t dare to write it in a letter.”
“And rightly so,” I said, “for the letter was read, and who knows what might have happened? As it was, the priest who received it for me could not make much of it. I understand everything, however.”
He motioned to the door. Two young men at once entered the room, and I made them out to be the simple sort rather like the busy Edgar who was piling up the oak in the fireplace. There were richly carved stone gargoyles above the fire. I rather liked them.
“Two chairs,” said Raymond to the boys. “We’ll talk together. I’ll tell you all I can.”
“Why are you so generous to me, Raymond?” I asked. I wanted so to comfort him, to stop his agitation. But as he smiled at me, as if to reassure me, as he put his hand gently on my arm, and urged me towards the two wooden chairs which the boys had brought to the hearth, I saw that he did not need my comfort.
“I’m only very excited, my old friend,” he said. “You mustn’t be concerned for me. Here, sit down. Is this comfortable enough for you?”
The chairs were as heavily carved as every bit of ornament in the room, and the arms were the paws of lions. I found them beautiful as well as comfortable. I looked about myself at the many bookshelves, and mused as I have often done on how all libraries subdue me and seduce me. I thought of books burnt and books lost.
May this be a safe place for books, I thought, this Talamasca.
“I have been decades in a stone room,” I said in a muted voice. “I am quite comfortable. Will you send the boys away now?”
“Yes, yes, of course, only let them bring me some warm wine,” he replied. “I need it.”
“Please, how could I be so inconsiderate?” I replied.
We were now facing each other, and the fire had begun with a riot of deep good fragrance coming from the burning oak, and a warmth that I even enjoyed, I had to admit it.
One of the boys had brought Raymond a red velvet dressing gown, and once he was clothed in this, and settled in his chair, he did not seem so fragile. His face was radiant after all, his cheeks actually rosy, and I could easily see the young man in him that I had once known.
“My friend, should anything come between us,” he said, “let me give you to know that she still travels in her old way, rapidly through many European cities. Never to England, for I don’t think they want to cross the water, though no doubt they can, contrary to folklore.”
I laughed. “Is that the folklore? That we can’t cross water? It’s nonsense,” I said. I would have said more, but I wondered if it were wise.
He apparently took no note of my hesitation. He plunged on:
“She has for the last few decades traveled under the name of the Marquisa De Malvrier, and her companion the Marquis of the same name, though it is she who goes to Court more often than he does. They’re seen in Russia, in Bavaria, in Saxony—in countries in which old ceremony is honored, seeming from time to time to need the courtly balls and the immense Roman church ceremonies. But understand, I have gleaned my account of this from many different reports. I’m sure of nothing.”
The warm wine was being set upon a small stand beside him. He took the cup in his hands. His hands were shaking. He drank from the wine.
“But how do such reports come to you?” I asked. I was fascinated. There was no doubt he was telling me the truth. As for the rest of the house, I could hear its many inhabitants all around us, waiting in silence it seemed for some kind of summons.
“Forget them,” he said. “What can they learn from this audience?” he asked. “They are all faithful members. To answer your questions, we go out sometimes in the guise of priests seeking information about those whom we call vampires. We inquire as to mysterious deaths. And so we gather information which is meaningful to us when it may not be meaningful to others.”
“Ah, of course. And you take note of the name when it is mentioned in Russia or Saxony or Bavaria.”
“Exactly. I tell you it is De Malvrier. They have a liking for it. And I shall tell you something else.”
“Please, you must.”
“Several times we have found upon the wall of a church inscribed the name, Pandora.”
“Ah, she’s done this,” I said, desperately trying to conceal my emotion. �
��She wants to be discovered by me.” I paused. “This is painful for me,” I said. “I wonder if the one who travels with her even knows her by that name. Ah, this is painful, but why do you assist me?”
“By my very life, I don’t know,” he said, “except somehow I believe in you.”
“What do you mean believe, believe that I’m a wonder? That I’m a demon? Believe what, Raymond, tell me? Oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter, does it? We do things because our hearts impel us.”
“Marius, my friend,” he said, leaning forward and touching my knee with his right hand, “long ago in Venice when I spied upon you, you know that I spoke to you with the purity of my mind. I read your thoughts also. I knew that you slew only those who were the degraded killers of their own sisters or brothers.”
“That’s true, Raymond, and it was that way with Pandora. But is it now?”
“Yes, I think so,” he said, “for every ghastly crime imputed to the vampires whom these creatures may in fact be is connected to one who was known to be guilty of many murders. So you see it’s not difficult for me to help you.”
“Ah, so she is true to our vow,” I whispered. “I didn’t think so, not when I heard of her harsh companion.”
I looked intently at Raymond, seeing with every passing moment more of the young man I had once known so briefly. It was saddening to me. It was dreadful. And the more I felt it, the more I tried to conceal it.
What was my suffering to this, the slow triumph of old age? Nothing.
“Where was she seen last?” I asked.
“On that point,” he said, “allow me to give you my interpretation of her behavior. She and her companion follow a pattern in their roamings. They go in rude circles, returning over and over again to one city. Once they have been some time in that city they begin their circles once more until they have gone as far afield as Russia. The central city of which I speak is Dresden.”
“Dresden!” I said. “I don’t know the place. I’ve never been there.”
“Oh, it cannot rival your gorgeous Italian cities. It cannot equal Paris or London. But it is the capital of Saxony and it lies on the Elbe River. It has been much adorned by the various Dukes who have ruled there. And invariably, I say invariably, these creatures—Pandora and her companion—return to Dresden. It may not be for twenty years, but they come back to Dresden.”
I fell silent in my excitement. Was this some pattern meant for me to interpret? Was this pattern meant for me to discover? Was it like a great round spiderweb meant sooner or later to ensnare me?
Why else would Pandora and her companion follow such a life? I couldn’t imagine it. But how did I dare to think Pandora even remembered me. She had written her name in the stone of the church wall, not mine.
At last I heaved a great sigh.
“How can I tell you what all this means to me?” I asked. “You have given me marvelous news. I’ll find her.”
“Now,” he said in the most confident manner, “shall we take up the other matter which I mentioned to you in my letter?”
“Amadeo,” I whispered. “What happened to the infidel? I sense no blood drinker in this place. Am I deceived? The creature’s either very far afield or he’s left you.”
“The monster left us soon after I wrote to you. When he realized he could hunt for his victims throughout the countryside, he was gone. We could do nothing to control him. Our appeals to him that he feed only on evil men meant nothing to him. I don’t even know if he still exists.”
“You must guard yourselves against this individual,” I said. I looked about myself at the spacious stone room. “This seems a castle of remarkable size and strength. Nevertheless, we speak of a blood drinker.”
He nodded.
“We are well protected here, Marius. We do not admit everyone as we admitted you, take my word for it. But would you hear now what he told us?”
I bowed my head. I knew what Raymond would tell me.
“The Satan worshipers,” I said, using the more specific words, “the very ones who burnt my house in Venice, they prey upon humans in Paris. And my brilliant auburn-haired apprentice, Amadeo, is still their leader?”
“As far as we know,” he said. “They are very clever. They hunt the poor, the diseased, the outcast. The renegade who told us so much explained that they fear ‘places of light,’ as they call them. They have taken to believing that it is not God’s will for them to be richly clothed, or to enter churches. And your Amadeo now goes by the name of Armand. The renegade told us that Armand has the zeal of the converted.”
I was too miserable to say anything.
I shut my eyes, and when I opened them I was looking at the fire which was burning very well in the deep fireplace.
Then slowly my gaze shifted to Raymond Gallant who was staring at me intently.
“I have told you everything, really,” he said.
I gave him a faint, sad smile and I nodded.
“You’ve been generous indeed. And many a time in the past when one was generous to me, I took from my tunic a purse of gold. But is such needed here?”
“No,” he said agreeably, shaking his head. “We need no gold, Marius. Gold we have always had in great abundance. What is life without gold? But we have it.”
“What can I do for you, then?” I asked. “I’m in your debt. I’ve been in your debt since the night we spoke in Venice.”
“Talk to several of our members,” he replied. “Let them come into the room. Let them see you. Let them ask you questions. That is what you can do for me. Tell them only what you will. But create a truth for them which can be recorded for study by others.”
“Of course. I’ll do this willingly, but not in this library, Raymond, beautiful as it is. We must be in an open place. I have an instinctive fear of mortals who know what I am.” I paused. “In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever been surrounded by such.”
He thought on this for a moment. Then he spoke:
“Our courtyard is too noisy, too close to the stables. Let it be on one of the towers. It will be cold, but I shall tell them all that they must dress warmly.”
“Shall we elect the South Tower for our purpose?” I asked. “Bring no torches with you. The night is clear and the moon is full and all of you will be able to see me.”
I slipped out of the room then, hurrying down the stairs, and easily passing through one of the narrow stone windows. With preternatural speed I went to the battlements of the South Tower, and there waited in the mild wind for all of them to gather around me.
Of course it seemed I had traveled by magic, but that I had not was one of the things which I meant to tell them.
Within a quarter of an hour they were all assembled, some twenty well-dressed men, both young and old, and two handsome women, and I found myself in the midst of a circle.
No torches, no. I was not in any conceivable danger.
For a long moment I allowed them to look at me, and form whatever conception they desired, and then I spoke:
“You must tell me what you want to know. For my part, I tell you plainly that I am a blood drinker. I have lived for hundreds of years, and I can remember clearly when I was a mortal man. It was in Imperial Rome. You may record this. I have never separated my soul from that mortal time. I refuse to do it.”
For a moment only silence followed, but then Raymond began with the questions.
Yes, we had a “beginning,” I explained but I could say nothing of it. Yes, we became much much stronger with time. Yes, we tended to be lone creatures or to choose our companions very carefully. Yes, we could make others. No, we were not instinctively vicious, and we felt a deep love for mortals which was often our spiritual undoing.
There were countless other little questions. And I answered them all to the best of my ability. I would say nothing of our vulnerability to the sun or fire. As for the “coven of vampires” in Paris and Rome, I knew little.
At last I said:
“It’s time for me to leave now. I wil
l travel hundreds of miles before dawn. I lodge in another country.”
“But how do you travel?” one of them asked.
“On the wind,” I said. “It’s a gift that has come to me with the passing centuries.”
I went to Raymond and I took him in my arms again, and then turning to several of the others I bade them come and touch me so that they could see I was a real being.
I stood back, took my knife and cut my hand with it, and held out my hand so that they could see the flesh heal.
There were gasps from them.
“I must be gone now. Raymond, my thanks and my love,” I said.
“But wait,” said one of the most elderly of the men. He had been standing back all the while, leaning on a cane, listening to me as intently as all the others. “I have one last question for you, Marius.”
“Ask me,” I said immediately.
“Do you know anything of our origins?”
For a moment I was puzzled. I couldn’t quite imagine what he meant in this question. Then Raymond spoke:
“Do you know anything about how the Talamasca came to be? That is what we are asking you.”
“No,” I said in quiet astonishment.
A silence fell over them all, and I realized quickly that they themselves were confused about how the Talamasca had come about. And it did come back to me that Raymond had told me something of this when first I met him.
“I hope you find your answers,” I said.
Then off I went into the darkness.
But I didn’t stay away. I did what I had failed to do on my arrival. I hovered quite close but just beyond their hearing and their vision. And with my powerful gifts, I listened to them as they roamed their many towers and their many libraries.
How mysterious they were, how dedicated, how studious.
Some night in the far future perhaps I would come to them again, only to learn more of them. But just now, I had to return to the shrine and to Bianca.
She was still awake when I came into the blessed place. And I saw that she had lighted the hundred candles.