The Iscariot Sanction

by Mark Latham

  Lillian looked at the lenses warily, and finally acquiesced, allowing Smythe to lean in to insert the strange lenses over her eyes. So close to him—inappropriately so, were he not a medical man—she could smell the nervousness on him, and the blood pumping through his veins. She bit her lip to quell the urge to tear out Smythe’s throat.

  As she had suspected, she felt nothing. When Smythe was done, she blinked madly. It felt like he had thrown sand in her eyes.

  ‘You’ll soon get used to them,’ Smythe said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. ‘Here.’ He took a small mirror from his bag, and handed it to Lillian.

  The sight of hazel eyes, a close match for her old self, brought a lump to her throat. For that moment of feeling alone, she was grateful to Beauchamp Smythe.

  ‘I… do not know what to say,’ she said at last.

  ‘If you are happy, then you need say nothing. If you are displeased, then tell me what I may do to make amends. I am, as always, your servant.’

  Was Smythe still sweet on her? Was such a thing possible? More likely he was merely being the perfect gentleman and consummate professional. A few weeks ago, Lillian would either have dismissed him bluntly, or encouraged him cruelly, depending upon her mood. Now she did not want to do either.

  ‘Beauchamp… something troubles me.’

  ‘I imagine a great many things trouble you, Lillian. But is it anything I can help with?’

  ‘It is about your help, as it happens. All of this…’ She waved a hand across the medical supplies that Smythe had brought with him. ‘These things could not have been prepared in just two or three days, even with the help of Intuitionists. The tests that Lord Cherleten has conducted so far cannot have borne fruit yet. And so… how is it that you come to know so much about my condition, and how to treat it?’

  ‘Ah,’ Smythe said, averting his eyes from Lillian’s.

  ‘How long has the Order been preparing for this? Did they know about the Iscariot Sanction?’

  ‘Good lord, no,’ Smythe said. ‘Lillian, this really is not my place to say. The Order is built upon secrets on top of secrets. We all play our part in the great game, without ever holding all the cards. Lord Cherleten comes deuced close, though.’

  ‘That was not an answer.’

  ‘Just this once, it is all the answer I can give you. You will have to ask Lord Cherleten for the rest.’

  ‘I will,’ Lillian said, determination and frustration washing over her in equal measure.

  Smythe began to pack away his things. ‘Best not dilly dally much longer,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Cherleten is already suspicious. Just… try not to land me in it, will you?’

  Lillian thought about that for a second, then nodded. ‘Of course not.’ Then, although she resented herself for it immediately, she brushed her fingers against Smythe’s cheek, and whispered to him. ‘You are a dear friend. Please… visit again.’

  Smythe did not recoil this time, and she knew then that his feelings for her still burned strong, and were overcoming his fear and misgivings. She needed that, not only because she craved some contact with the outside world—some weak link in Cherleten’s chain of secrecy—but also because she needed to feel like a human being. At least a little. At least for now.

  Smythe took her hand and kissed it. ‘I shall return as soon as I can, and as often as I can. And I shall give your regards to John. He won’t rest until they let him come back to see you, you know. He’s proving quite the squeaky wheel back at the club.’

  ‘A dog with a bone.’ Lillian smiled. ‘He won’t give it up. Bless his heart for it.’

  Smythe held her gaze for a moment longer, before clearing his throat and opening the door, making a show of it for the doctors back in the ward.

  ‘And if those lenses give you any trouble at all, tell one of the nurses at once and I’ll get them remade. Farewell, Lillian.’

  She followed Smythe out of the examination room, where Cherleten was waiting. By his side was a nurse, holding a neatly folded stack of clothes. One of Lillian’s own uniforms, with a pair of boots, cleaned and polished, on top.

  ‘My dear, please forgive me,’ said Cherleten, with uncharacteristic humbleness. ‘I have allowed my pursuit of scientific endeavour to blind me. Your frustration earlier was not unwarranted, and for as long as you remain here I would not have you feel like a prisoner. Please, take the examination room as a dressing room for the time being, and I shall have an orderly make one of the other rooms available for you.’

  The nurse handed the clothes to Lillian, who was so surprised at the gesture she said nothing.

  ‘When you are ready,’ Cherleten said, ‘I would have words with you in private. I am making that room in the corner my office. Meet me there at your convenience.’ He indicated one of the locked rooms nearest the main doors.

  Lillian gave a small curtsy. She felt foolish at once, but Cherleten did not react. It was the proper form of thanks when done a kindness by a peer of the realm, after all. Lillian went back into the room to change; a simple act that felt like the most important thing in the world.

  * * *

  Cherleten was different somehow. He sat behind a desk in the windowless office, which was sparse and clinical, having been, until recently, a disused private room in the ward, Lillian surmised. He offered her a seat, which she refused—she had spent far too long prostrate recently. She likewise turned down a glass of brandy. She had eaten no food nor taken any drink but small amounts of water in three days. She felt none the worse for it, and the smell of the brandy overwhelmed her even from two yards away.

  ‘I expect Smythe’s news came as a shock to you?’ Cherleten said, once he had made himself comfortable and poured his drink.

  Lillian tensed. Had he overheard? She said nothing.

  ‘It is a lot to absorb in such a short space of time,’ he continued. ‘The transformation you are going through is… unprecedented. If what de Montfort told you is true, then the repercussions for us all are grave indeed.’

  She relaxed a little; Cherleten knew that Smythe would confront her with wigs, glass eyes and formaldehyde, and it seemed he meant no more than that.

  ‘Lord Cherleten, it seems I am a living experiment, first for them, and now for you. Might I ask what you hope to discover with all these tests?’

  Cherleten swilled his brandy around the glass, and put it down on the desk without taking a drink. ‘De Montfort explained some of the vampires’ nature to you, did he not?’

  ‘He did. It was barbaric.’

  ‘They come from ancient times. Everything was barbaric then. These days we are taught that men evolve; perhaps the vampires have evolved too, albeit much more slowly. For what good is evolution through natural selection when one can live for a thousand years? And that is really the crux of the matter, Agent Hardwick. For the vampire, procreation is difficult. They despise the very process, for it means debasing themselves with “lesser creatures”—humans. I can see from your face that this subject repulses you, so I shall put it in as fine a way as I can. The vampires have half-breed servants, some of whom, like de Montfort, even rise to prominence due to quirks of their blood. But even those of the old lines, of the Blood Royal, are not truly pure. They masquerade as such, and are certainly powerful, but they are degenerates, slowly becoming more grotesque with each new birthing. Weaker, less able to walk amongst men without evoking fear and revulsion. You must understand that the curse of Judas Iscariot cannot be transmitted like some disease spread in a brothel. It is passed through the generations, a taint passed from father to son—or sometimes daughter—by birth. The Iscariot Sanction, if it truly does what de Montfort claims, creates new purebloods from the line of kings. It distils the very essence of Judas and bestows it upon another. If de Montfort can create a new vampire of such power by taking just one human life… well, he could transform as many of the populace as he wished, and slaughter the rest.’

  ‘I still do not understand how I can be a “pureblood”,’ Lillian
said. ‘If de Montfort is not of the Blood Royal, then surely he could not make me so.’

  ‘Even now, under such immense trials, your enquiring mind does you credit, Agent Hardwick. Where, indeed, did de Montfort acquire the Blood Royal for the transformation? You said he transfused his own blood into you, which means he must have imbibed the Blood Royal first. But that is dangerous for one of our kind—unpalatable, at best. Legend has it that the blood of the elders is so powerful, a single cupful can cure disease and heal grievous wounds… or strike one dead on the spot. There are manuscripts locked away in the vaults of the Vatican itself, supposedly written by those who witnessed Judas Iscariot’s ascension—or destruction, if you like—and those fables would make your toes curl. There are probably three or four people in the world who have read those suppressed tomes, and I am one of them.’

  ‘You have entered the Vatican’s vaults?’ Lillian was almost impressed. Such a thing was unheard of, and the more fervent esoteric groups of London spoke of the vaults in tones of reverence and awe. Indeed, Pope Leo XIII had made Rome almost free of the Riftborn taint, supposedly through means inherited from the occult lore locked within those very vaults. Lore that he was, allegedly, unwilling to share.

  ‘A lifetime ago, when I was striving to understand my own nature.’ Lillian frowned, as Cherleten continued. ‘You see, my dear, there is a reason that the Order is so well versed in vampire lore. Why we know how to preserve your flesh and make you look human.’ He pinched his hands to his eyes, and removed the lenses that covered each of them, and when he looked again at her, his eyes glittered violet in the dim light of the office.

  Lillian stepped back. She could not comprehend what he had shown her.

  ‘No, I am not one of them, nor could I ever be,’ he said, answering a question that she had not asked.

  ‘Then… what are you?’

  ‘The Knights Iscariot would call me an abomination. Do not worry, my dear, I am no interloper—Sir Toby knows, and has since the beginning. Smythe is one of a select few medical personnel who is trusted to attend me. I am not sure about your father… perhaps that’s why he dislikes me.’

  ‘De Montfort… you know him?’

  ‘Good lord, no. Understand, all of Apollo Lycea’s knowledge of the vampires comes through study—primarily of me. We have not treated with them, and nor would we, had they not forced our hand. We had thought their activities restricted to the most remote parts of Britain, and with the Riftborn posing the greater threat, we rather mistakenly let the vampires grow too bold. It was only when your brother uncovered de Montfort’s plans in Hyde that we realised just how bold.

  ‘What I mean to say is that I have never returned to the race that sired me, nor ever wished to. If they knew me—knew my true nature—they would kill me, without question, for I represent an abomination in their eyes. You see, my mother was the concubine of one of the Blood Royal—an inbred, imbecilic creature, half-vampire, half-human, kept in chains in some crumbling ruin in France. My father, while still a young man, came across this wretch while on the Grand Tour. He was lucky he found the lair during daylight hours, by all accounts, for the vampires within were sleeping. He took the woman away, and made her a servant in his household. As time went on, my father grew old and fat, and more than a little mad. The concubine, on the other hand, aged but slowly, and despite her… condition… came to be more attractive to the aging Lord Cherleten. Eventually, as was so often the way in those times, he had his way with the woman during a night of drunken excess, and the product of that coupling was… me.’

  Cherleten held out a case, and Lillian took a cigarette from it without thinking. Etiquette be damned.

  ‘So, you are… human? For the most part?’ Lillian asked, lighting her cigarette and drawing on it eagerly. The sensation was not unpleasant, though very different from how it had felt in her former life.

  ‘The taint of the vampire is strong. By day I find myself lethargic, by night I am invigorated. I can see things with these eyes that other men cannot—I know you see them too, although that can be our little secret for now. And yet, for all the advantages of my birth, I rot. I age more slowly than a normal man, but age I do. I have lived for almost a hundred years, and for half of that time I have relied on unguents, arsenic powder, and the attentions of the finest physicians in the land to stop my body falling apart. The Awakening was a blessing for me, I can tell you, for only through the endeavours of the Intuitionists has my condition been made bearable.’

  ‘This… this will happen to me?’ Lillian asked, feeling somewhat selfish at the question.

  ‘That depends on whether or not the Iscariot Sanction is as potent as de Montfort claimed. If you are a highborn vampire now, then your flesh will necrotise, but you will also undergo other physical transformations over the years. And you will grow stronger too. If you are lucky, you might even glean some of those Majestic skills as evinced by the likes of de Montfort.’

  ‘Lucky?’ Lillian thought of Arthur. He had never seemed particularly blessed by his so-called gifts.

  ‘It does not come to us all,’ Cherleten explained. ‘A pity, for the ability to control the vampires’ servants would be rather useful, don’t you think?’

  ‘You said there would be… other transformations?’

  ‘Yes. The more immediate ones, whether you are of the Blood Royal or of both human and vampire parentage, like me—are rather unpleasant, I am afraid. You have already started to be inured to physical pain; eventually you shall feel none whatsoever. That in itself can have a strange effect on the mind—the loss of physical sensation almost always accompanies a loss of empathy. For one such as I, who has never truly known the finer feelings of the human species… it is hard to comprehend. I imagine it will cause you some distress, until you lose the ability to feel even that, of course.’

  ‘Go on,’ Lillian said.

  ‘I am afraid, my dear, that your hair shall fall out, and then your teeth.’

  ‘My teeth?’ Lillian was aghast.

  ‘They are an inefficient means of extracting blood. Highborns of great age invariably develop interesting new mechanisms for feeding, although they have rarely been seen, and certainly never studied. Think of it much like a child shedding its milk teeth and growing a stronger set.’

  ‘I do not want to think of it at all,’ Lillian said, stubbing out her cigarette. She did think of it, though.

  ‘I’m am afraid you must. When it happens, we shall of course provide you with a set of false teeth, like mine.’ He tapped his front teeth proudly. ‘You’d never tell the difference. But for the purposes of feeding, well…’

  ‘Feeding? Is there no other way? I mean, must I…’

  ‘My dear, you have never stopped. I am sorry to break this to you so indelicately, but while you have been sleeping we have been transfusing you with blood. It is the only reason you are not flying about trying to kill my staff.’

  Lillian gripped the desk, for fear she might faint.

  ‘I would rather die than drink blood,’ she said.

  ‘And die you would; but your body will not allow it. If you do not feed, you will lose yourself in a frenzy until your thirst is sated. Go long enough without blood, and you would become one of those pale-skinned hunters you despise so much—halfway between highborn and the mindless ghouls that follow them. It is a fate that awaits us all, if the proper precautions are not taken.’

  Lillian held her head. Her brain had started to pound in her skull.

  ‘Eventually, you will learn to control your thirst. We shall provide you with needles, much like a Majestic might use etherium. Or you could do what the Knights Iscariot do, although it is a little… crude.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘They use a feeding tube. I rather fear you may have seen one first hand. It attaches inside their mouths by means of small metal clamps, and the other end is affixed to the vein of their victim. The vampire—or a servant, more usually—pumps the blood directly through the tube, into
their master’s throat. A human can be completely drained in minutes—the capacity of the vampire to consume blood is really quite extraordinary…’

  She thought of the vampire woman on the royal train, who had used such a device to so rapidly drain the prince’s valet of blood before her very eyes.

  ‘I am going to be sick,’ she said.

  ‘I am afraid that is quite impossible. There is nothing inside you, you see. You have not eaten—although there is nothing stopping you from doing so if you desire. Only, you are losing the capacity to enjoy food and drink, and hunger for nothing but blood. And blood is absorbed by the vampire physiognomy so completely as to be miraculous. It invigorates and nourishes, until it is used up, and dissolves to nothingness. When that happens, we grow weak, and must feed again. The younger the vampire, the more frequently they must sate this hunger. Hence we have transfused you daily, although the frequency will lessen soon enough.’

  ‘Must it be human blood?’

  ‘No, not for the purposes of mere sustenance. But human blood, for reasons unknown to us, is the only kind that truly sates the hunger, and imbues us with our vitality. I suppose we must be related species after all, for Smythe calls our blood “compatible”.’

  ‘And you? You drink… blood.’

  ‘I have, and may do again, as necessity dictates, although I must stress that there is no need for either of us to kill for it. With the imbibing of blood comes the greatest pleasure a vampire can experience—the only true pleasure. But it is a base and primitive sensation, one that we can rise above, should we desire. What separates me—and, I hope, you—from the Knights Iscariot is that very desire; the wish to embrace our human nature, rather than our inhuman one. The wish to live in society, and not in the shadows.’

  ‘But de Montfort seeks to bring the Knights Iscariot out of the shadows, to create his own society.’

  ‘And he will fail, because there is no world in which human and vampire can exist peacefully. The Knights Iscariot themselves might say it is the wolf lying down with the lamb. I myself think it is the wolf and the lion, for both species are bloodthirsty, and would kill the other given the chance.’