The lieutenant in charge privately congratulated himself on having lit a fire in the auditorium’s opulent antechamber and laid in some extra bottles of schnapps. He’d hoped to purloin them later, but no matter, compliments on his organization would make for a better reward.
The antechamber was an awkward room, oversized, with high ceilings and heavy velvet drapes that collected too much dust. The general seemed pleased, nonetheless, and busied himself lighting a pipe.
“Guten Tag, General,” murmured a sweet voice behind him, so that he and his guards started violently.
No one had seen the scrumptious golden-haired girl enter, but there she was, standing by an armchair, her smile an open invitation.
“Pleasant journey, one hopes?” The strawberry-blonde with the enormous green eyes might have sprung up from the antique Persian carpet, but the general was hardly interested in asking questions. He was impressed that these German peasants were so thoughtful and had such very fine taste. The girls were exquisite. They must be Prussian.
The honor guard hovered hopefully, not expecting the general to share, but wanting to be at the ready, just on the chance. Von Kassell noted the looks the girls were giving him, the way they were assessing his figure. He was over sixty, true, but still handsome, and powerful. A warrior to the very core.
“Is this your first trip to Berlin, General?” the blonde queried.
“No, I came to Berlin as a boy,” he answered, his tone both jocular and rueful. “It was very different. A warmer place, full of life.”
“I agree,” Mors put in, astonishing the group. They hadn’t heard the door open, but three strange men, wearing swords, leaned against the wall. Von Kassell glanced past Mors to the short corridor leading toward the auditorium. The scent of the suddenly too-silent space made his neck prickle, the way it always had in the heat of battle. Mors was smiling at him, and for a brief moment, von Kassell thought he recognized him, or perhaps it was just that he knew a fellow soldier when he met one.
“If you don’t like what Berlin has become, why are you here to help it down this new path?” The tone was polite, but the disgust and malice unmistakable.
Von Kassell only stared, and Brigit suspected he had no answer, or none that he wanted to speak out loud. The Prussians had always felt themselves above the Germans, and having first to give up their own kingdom, and now come round to this new Reich, so much more powerful than theirs had ever been, was shameful. Undoubtedly, von Kassell had some plan to join with Hitler so as to build up the Prussian kingdom again. Mors looked at him with a kind of amused pity.
The guards had drawn their weapons and were only waiting for the general to order them to fire. Brigit and Meaghan each smiled at two men and ran their hands over the close-cropped hair. The other eight guards and the general stood in frozen horror as the vampires neatly twisted the heads, popping them off the bodies and tossing them into the fire.
As the cacophony of yells rose, Mors, Cleland, and Swefred each gave easy, almost careless swings of their swords. Eight heads toppled to the carpet, rolling about like marbles before being squashed by falling bodies. Mors smiled at von Kassell.
“You should be pleased, General. You are to set a good example of what will befall everyone in Berlin if they carry on down this path. You seem like the sort of man who likes to set examples.”
Mors stepped closer and von Kassell brandished his own sword with a practiced grace. Mors smiled, and even Brigit did not see how, seconds later, the general’s sword was in Mors’s other hand. Mors’s arms seemed hardly to move, and yet von Kassell’s body lay in the center of the room, the head and limbs severed, veins protruding so as to more thoroughly saturate the carpet with blood.
Brigit found the hook that opened the skylight and the five vampires leaped up through it. Only Mors knew the trick of closing it so that it would lock from the inside. They lurked near the auditorium’s entrance, watching the guests approach, biding their time for maximum impact.
They had carefully calculated this next step, wanting the terror to build. The first men entered and slid to the floor on the reams of spilled blood, snatching at hands that came loose on contact. The hardier ones ran through the auditorium, useless guns in hand, calling, until they found the antechamber. They yelled for those who weren’t vomiting to hunt the assassins, who could not have gotten far. The vampires were counting on a few among them to keep their heads and run for the train, knowing it must also be a target.
Mors could have managed the Nazis and the general on his own, but the other four were determined to be in on the fun. The mission was a group effort, after all, and too little real progress had been made not to want to team up now for such a brilliant show of chaos. Besides, it was cleaner and quieter this way, all the better for what they were about to do.
The train was ringed with guards whose ears were just pricking at the sounds of cries from the nearby auditorium. Each man felt a rush of cold air and had a millisecond to see the volcano of blood spurt from his neighbor before he, too, was slashed to ribbons by the knifelike claws of a sprinting vampire.
The men who came running from the bloody scene at the auditorium saw only the bodies. They paused, hearing a rumble, a whine, and then stared, dumbfounded, as the train exploded.
The fireball sprang into the air like sunrise. The shouts of fear and dismay, as well as the sound of falling debris piercing flesh and setting buildings afire, were pure nectar to the vampires. They held back their laughter as everyone screamed that the saboteurs must be near, there was no way they could escape, and yet no one thought to look up. Mors gave the signal and the vampires scampered away, skipping lightly over building rooftops like gazelles, all the way back to the lair, enjoying the singed air and its ripe promise of a hot summer’s journey home.
“It was too inhuman.”
There was rueful congratulation in Cleland’s tone, because no one wanted to make Mors feel worse than he plainly did. They had never seen him cowed, and it was more terrifying than the realization of their new problem. The cleanliness of the assassinations, the perfect destruction of the train, and the total lack of any clues had led many in the party to whisper that there was something evil among them. It seemed someone had consulted a legend book and found that a few other enemies of Britain had been killed in the manner von Kassell had, and the legends all were sure it was the work of Mors. It was only Mors’s brilliant acting, combined with the poor renderings of his face in the German legend books, that kept anyone from realizing who Major Werner really was, but Mors was still compromised.
“It wasn’t just the assassination, it was all of it. We did it too well. That’s why it’s not in the papers.” Swefred was gently encouraging. And it was true. When Brigit asked Gerhard about the meeting with von Kassell, because she’d known for weeks that his superiors were going, he turned white and told her something had gone amiss, but she wasn’t to worry. Meaghan reported that the Chamber of Culture was devastated, and the Berlin Department of Education frantic, but with so many events planned for autumn, it would be well not to stir any doubt in the general public.
“So the plans are still going ahead,” Mors remarked with a bitter smile. “I wonder what role they’re expecting my major to play in this little war game of theirs? Ought I be worried they haven’t told me?”
Brigit lay a hand over his, running her thumb gently over his wrist. She wanted to enjoy their success more, but three weeks later, it was as though it hadn’t happened, and the only result was that they all had to be more circumspect than ever, lest the new wonderings brewing in some minds went wandering to close quarters. But Mors was still a fond member of his group of Nazis, they did not seem to suspect him, and the others reported no change in their circles. As for Gerhard, he was very much the same, and Brigit knew he was no actor, so it must be genuine. That was useful, but the fact that the vampires had shown such force, had taken such a stand, and ultimately achieved so little—that stung.
“We’ll have
another chance.” Brigit spoke with simple authority, knowing it was what Eamon would think. Mors grinned at her.
“Of course. And one thing is certain. They are sleeping far less peacefully. I like that.”
As the summer passed, however, Brigit had a bad feeling that they had only spurred the Nazis on to greater ambitions. The German Jews were kicked out of government jobs, Eichmann was given yet more power, and still the vampires came no closer to achieving their goal. The word from Otonia was to keep at it, to not lose faith. They had done well, they were making progress; it was just taking longer than they’d thought. But they should be encouraged: The world was getting nervous and paying attention to Germany, so surely, between their good work and the growing censure of other governments, war could be averted and the Nazis brought down.
For the first time in her life, Brigit knew Otonia was wrong. She admired their fine leader’s optimism, as she admired her power, intelligence, and courage, but she was wrong. The Germans loved Hitler, questioned nothing, adored him more than their families and themselves. And other governments? Those that hadn’t blinked when the Treaty of Versailles was so flagrantly violated upon the Anschluss? They as good as shrugged when Hitler helped himself to the Sudetenland, yawned when Czechoslovakia went down, and continued to placate and tolerate him. Brigit wanted to laugh, to shake every single world leader and slap them round the head to make them see that this was not the way to avoid war, that appeasement was pointless, that the world was only forestalling the obvious. It wasn’t going to end, it was never going to end. The Nazis were hungrier than a new vampire and they were going to eat with abandon the way no self-respecting vampire ever would. Now that they’d been allowed forks and knives again, they could eat even more readily, with refinement, and malice. Possibly, like so many empires before them, they would gorge themselves until they burst, but that would still mean the world had been stripped bare. Humans and vampires would starve together, waiting for life to start again.
Brigit lurked in the shadow of the U-Bahn station door, counting down the seconds till it was safe to go forward to her date with Gerhard. At four other doors, she knew the others did the same. Mors, back to his cheerful, assured self, would wink at her if she caught his eye. From far, far away, she felt loving fingers brush her cheek. Eamon believed in her, in all of them. And that trumped all doubt. Once again, she felt that thrill of certainty. What did it matter that this was all taking longer and seemed more difficult than they’d originally envisaged? They were here. They’d dealt a hard blow, left a bruise, and were continuing to twist their way in like corkscrews, as well as eating steadily, chipping away at the foundation. From them, there would be no appeasement, or mercy.
The world may not know quite what you’re up to, but we do. And every day, we learn more. And you, you learn nothing. You seek to plunge the world into darkness, but there is no darkness but ignorance, and you do not even know you cannot see. Master race … huh. You will learn indeed. It is we who will be the masters of you, most assuredly.
As Brigit set out for the restaurant Gerhard had named, she held her head arrogantly high and her eyes snapped with anticipated delight. Men ogled her as she passed, but she saw none of them. All she saw were the frightened faces of Hitler and his inner circle as they realized that the impossible had befallen them, and that it was indeed creatures they feared and despised almost more than any other who had found a way to bring them down.
Chapter 9
London. August 1939.
“You’re lucky, you know that?”
Padraic collapsed next to Eamon on the grassy knoll, rubbing his belly.
“Why, because I don’t have indigestion? Who did you eat?”
“Some drunken arse who smokes too much.”
“They all smoke too much. It’s the tension, I think. Or maybe they like the taste.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Nor I. But it’s only really bad the first hundred years.”
They sat silently, watching the flickering of the lights in the city. Padraic’s stomach rumbled and he poked at it in frustration. Eamon grinned and Padraic continued.
“That wasn’t what I meant, anyway, about your luck, I mean.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“You hoped so.”
“Maybe.”
The younger vampire assessed his companion. He went on, hesitating only slightly.
“It’s a bit of a bastard, being his second love, d’ye know? I mean, it’s awful hard not to feel like there’s still some comparing going on. He wouldn’t have made me if he hadn’t lost Raleigh, of course.”
“No, but that’s just how these things happen. You wouldn’t want to not be here, would you?”
“Aye, no, I’m happy here and that’s sure. What would I be otherwise? Some dead and forgotten Irish poofter, right? I tell you this, it was a damn sight easier being a poof in London, even with them not much cottoning to the Irish, than a poof in Ireland. And easier yet being a vampire poof.” He studied Eamon again, and chuckled. “Would you have ever believed there’d come a time when it was better to be a Jew in England than a queer?”
“That’s the advantage of a long life, you see things change. Neither still have the easiest time, I suppose.”
“No, we have the advantage of them there.”
Eamon fell silent, impatient for and yet dreading the moment when Padraic was to get back to his main point.
“It must make a difference, it can’t not so, knowing that you’re the only one she’s ever loved.”
“You shouldn’t think such things, you’ll upset yourself, and that does Cleland no good. He waited a few hundred years before he found you. He knew it was real, and you did as well, you know you did. So he loved once before, so what? All that means is he learned how, it doesn’t mean he loves you any less.”
Padraic nodded. Eamon understood how he felt. That was the trouble with a long separation, it allowed your mind to wander to some dangerous places. Hanging between them was Padraic’s unasked question, “Why was there no one else, all those decades?” and it wasn’t the easiest question to answer. It was one he’d asked her more than once, as he was learning her, but although she was never less than honest, it seemed as though even she didn’t really know the reason. Her sins had been expunged at last and her heart was clean and ready to lay itself open, and that was when she found him.
But first, there was Aelric, and all the years in between.
No one in the tribunal could believe how much taste Aelric had shown in choosing Brigantia, nor how much luck he’d had in such a pick. Despite a temper that could be sudden and often vicious, she took to the dark life with alacrity and was admired by all.
Otonia made a point of tailing the new ones in their early days, so as to evaluate their potential. Brigantia was a preternaturally powerful predator, Otonia found, with an impressive knack for zeroing in on choice prey. When she ate, she seemed to be sucking more than blood; she wanted to imbibe the essence of the world with every kill. This was a vampire who wanted more than the hunt and food. A vampire who needed careful nurturing.
This was where Aelric created yet another problem. A maker didn’t have to instruct, but he should be a guide. He should initiate her into the deeper complexities of undead life, its trials as well as its joys. To begin to delve these was the path to a long and prosperous existence.
Brigantia learned to read faster than any vampire Otonia had taught, and she was quick to learn several languages as well. She devoured books like blood.
“Careful, lest you tear through the whole library in a year and have nothing left.”
Brigantia grinned and tossed her head.
“I’ll just start all over again, won’t I, and learn it even better. And the humans will have to write more. They don’t seem to have the same passion they did in your day, why do you suppose that is?”
Otonia ran a loving hand over a volume of Aristophanes.
“Times ebb and flow. Life
was richer then, but humans don’t always appreciate what they have. You wait, though, things will change again, I’m sure of it. Our England will have its excitement, and so will we.”
The hungry young vampire’s eyes shimmered in eager anticipation.
She was intelligent, far more so than Aelric, but she did not know how a vampire’s life could be ended. This was one of the first things a maker was meant to teach, in a loving and tender manner, so as to dissipate the fear. Aelric had no subtlety, but that didn’t excuse his failing. It didn’t seem right for another to step in on this crucial duty, but Brigantia was reckless, even beyond the scope of new vampires, and the tribunal would prefer to keep her. They’d never seen a vampire who ran through the woods chasing storms, whose wild laugh echoed down through the moors, who could spend hours on a cliff, calling down all her newly learned poetry into the sea and daring the waves to reach out and grab her. She once overheard Mors mutter something about “furious happiness and happy fury” and knew, with a fierce pride and pleasure, he was talking about her. And quite some time later, she discovered he’d talked about her again, to Otonia.
“Marvelous creature, our Brigantia, isn’t she? Who’d have thought Aelric had it in him?”
“Everyone gets lucky at least once in their lives.”
“Quite a taste for risk she’s got. I saw her leap into a whole circle of Vikings to grab one. The others shat themselves. She held down the prey and shot their own arrows after them as they ran. Missed, as it happens, probably on purpose, but the laugh in her was something to hear. I shouldn’t be surprised if they heard it in Cumbria.”
“Yes, hers is an especially virulent demon. It’s not wise, though, for one so young to draw so much attention. Too many will know her face.”
The Midnight Guardian Page 12