Geoffrey Mylus,
May 21, 1833
~~~
Tom gazed hard at the cabin wall opposite him. Dozens of carefully balanced throwing knives jutted out from it haphazardly. He’d scratched a number of concentric rings into the planks like a target board. The knives fought for space, all having found their mark directly in the center of the target. Tom shouted, hurling another. The blade whipped across the cabin and planted its tip into the bull’s-eye, knocking out three others in a shower of sparks. Hands on his hips, Tom examined his practice throws and grinned viciously. Walking over to the target, he jerked the knives out from the wooden planks and placed them in their respective leather sleeves inside his shirt.
It had been two months since the incident with the Leviathan. The crew had been given much time to prepare. The ship cruised silently and speedily toward Deep Water Harbour. Tom leaned over his desk where several loaded pistols lay in neat rows. One by one, he pocketed them in his gun belt (fastened loosely around his black trousers in anticipation of a transformation), leaving a few unbuckled for easy retrieval and securing others tightly. He then lay on the floor, placing one ear against the planks. He knocked against the floor, finding a hollow board. Smiling to himself, he sat up and lifted the board out of place. From within the hidden space he picked up a blunderbuss, loading it and dropping it into the sling strapped around his back and shoulders. From the small space he also retrieved a few glass vials of blood—his own, which he’d drawn, with much hesitance, and collected from his arm ahead of time—and two raw jades, placing all the small items in a safe pouch hanging from his gun belt. Last he took Brother from beneath his bed and, after sheathing it, wrapped a large black waistcoat around himself and Brother and placed his tricorn hat on his head.
Stepping out onto the main deck, Tom was illuminated in orange torchlight. The crew had assembled on deck, weapons at the ready, awaiting orders.
“Good evening, gentlemen!” Tom greeted them with a smile. “You all look as though you’ve congregated here for some special occasion!” Several men snickered. “Mr. Shaw, are you positive you know how to properly handle that device?” he asked, pointing at the pistol at Shaw’s side.
Shaw shook his wild brown hair from his face and grinned. “I’ve held one or two of ’em, Captain.” The men laughed again.
“Well, gentlemen, I figured after so long at sea and surely exhausted from your tedious duties, many of you would like some leisure time, yeah?”
The crew cheered.
“Well what do you say to a little hunt, eh?”
They cheered louder.
“And I’ll tell you what! The man who bags the most of those filthy bats gets my cabin for the night!”
“Never mind the cabin, sir, give us a drink!” one of the men called out, laughing with half a mouth of teeth. The crew cheered at the suggestion.
“A drink it is, then! Winner’s choice! Helmsman! Take us in, if you please, sir!”
“Aye, sir!”
Tom went across the deck, strolling toward Molly’s cabin.
Molly sat on her bed, waiting anxiously. She was restless, her ring glowing in anticipation of the events to come. There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called.
Tom opened and shut the door, taking a seat on a small stool. “We’ll be in port within the half hour. Now I must explain to you how we will go about this.”
“There’s a method this time, Captain?”
“I normally make my plans with a clear head, but I’ve been into the wine and I’m thinking much more creatively.” He tried not to smirk. “Tonight the Society will be assembled for a special occasion, you understand that much. You and I will be attending. And … you’ll need to change. Your attire will be your ticket in, if you understand what I mean. You have only to give the impression I’ve brought you for entertainment and comfort’s sake. I myself will be dressed like them—just an unimportant member of the Society.”
“I suppose you can supply me with such attire,” Molly said, irritated by the idea.
Tom revealed some folded clothes and handed them to her. She took them reluctantly. “The neckline was much lower, so I had it tailored. I thought you might appreciate that.”
“You thought of this ahead of time?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I had the outfit made in London.”
“There’s no way you knew you’d need this that long ago, Thomas.”
“When I bought it, it was just something of a little project, for a future gift, or...” Tom tried to explain.
“Hush.” Molly didn’t make him squirm anymore and grinned as she fiddled with the outfit.
Unfolding the garments, Molly saw that they were just as provocative as the captain had implied. The top of the crimson blouse was indeed very low, and split ever so subtly at its lowest point. The black bodice was surely going to boost anything Molly had to display, and for once in her life, she regretted how much she had. Molly stared at the garments in obvious distaste; Tom, not so much. But he hid his mounting interest. “I understand this isn’t comfortable by any means, but it will ensure you do not arouse any suspicions.”
“Don’t mention arousal right now, Thomas.”
“I’ll make it up to you. You will need your rings of course, and your pistols. Do you still have the silver bullet I gave you when we first met?
“Yes.”
“Load it into La Flor, but do not use it unless I tell you it is necessary. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“That—above all else—is the most important thing I have to tell you.” He gave her a hard look.
“I understand.”
“Everything else will be relatively simple. I will lead you in. Stay close, and it’s preferable you keep a good grip on my arm. They may be transformed due to the time of day. If they offer you drinks or anything of the sort, smile and accept them but do not drink. Rather, make it ‘magically’ disappear, yeah?”
“Being in their company takes the utmost caution in itself. I don’t have an appetite right now, anyway.”
“Well, I assume you are well aware of their tricks, but I’m taking an extra precaution.”
“All right.” She released her hair from it’s tie and sighed heavily. “Where does your plan lead from there?”
“I will be waiting for their successor to show his face. At that time I will act. Once he is dead you are welcome to dispose of the others as you please, because I’ll be looking for Harlan. Does that suit you?” He grinned.
“Just fine, thanks.” She turned, removing the belt from around her waist and picking up the tight-fitting, black skirt Tom had given her. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I must prepare for the party.”
“I’ll see you outside then, Miss.” He politely bowed, smiled and exited the cabin.
Molly dressed quickly, letting her hair down, being sure to allow a few curly strands to drape carelessly in front of her cheeks. She hid her pistols within what little she was wearing and walked out the door, making her way to the main deck. Fiddling with her top and feeling extremely awkward in such risqué attire, she wondered how low the front had been before Tom had it altered, considering it wasn’t as concealing as she would like even then. She hoped it wouldn’t be a long night.
Tom paced before his crew, dragging the tip of his silver blade against the deck. It left scratches and notches in the planks as he walked. “You all know what to do. No man makes a move unless instructed by Mr. Shaw! Do not act carelessly! Do not draw attention to yourselves! Mr. Shaw, in my absence or death you are to protect the lady of the ship, do you understand?”
“With my life, sir.” This notion made Shaw antsy for a few reasons. For one, disappointing Thomas, whom he’d served faithfully for so long, was not an option. Further, acting in Tom’s stead might prod him to rely on more than just a sense of duty to his captain and long-time friend …
Tom nodded.
Molly stood to the side, silently th
anking Shaw, who quickly averted his gaze from her attire and nodded respectfully.
“When we reach port, anchor and disperse to your posts!” Tom ordered.
“Aye!” The crewmen loaded pistols and sheathed daggers and swords. One man tied a cross around his neck, hiding it beneath his shirt.
“Prepare to anchor!” Tom called.
The ship approached the docks, slipping past the sleeping merchant ships, fishing boats and smaller schooners. The blackness of the early morning shrouded the vessel as it crept into Deep Water Harbour. Tom motioned for several men to stay behind and for the rest to depart the ship quickly, in small groups so as not to create a disturbance. He found Molly behind the crowd. “Are you sure you want to come?”
“As sure as I was the last time you asked.”
He smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “You look very nice this evening.”
“I’m flattered, Captain.” Despite her objections to her uncharacteristic role, it did lend her a great deal of courage and made her feel more like Thomas—uninhibited and unafraid. Still, as she spoke to Tom, she tried to maintain a demeanor of decency, and was embarrassed when his blue eyes told her he knew she was enjoying herself.
“Do you have everything you need?” He turned to head toward the gangway.
“Yes.” Molly stared down at her rings for a moment. “I’m ready.”
“Stay close.”
She looped her arm around his. “Aye, sir.”
Tom headed down the gangway, stepping lightly onto the dock with Molly. Bridgetown was dark except for an occasional glow cast through an inn window or a light burning on a street corner. The sea breeze strolled the streets with them and moved the clouds clear of the crescent moon above their heads. Mama Dlo was asleep, and Papa Bois must have been, too. The silence was unusual. A few crew moved ahead of them, cutting into alleyways and disappearing into the dark, hiding behind barrels and crates. “It’s just ahead. Of course, you already knew that,” Tom whispered, pointing to a large house positioned inconspicuously between a larger building and a gunsmith’s—Christopher’s, he was sure.
“Unfortunately.” The jaw muscles beneath Molly’s ears contracted.
Tom climbed the stairs to the front door and knocked lightly only once. He looked at Molly for a moment and tried to smile. A dim light grew from underneath the doorway. A panel slid open; it was black within. A hiss came from behind the door. “What is your business?”
Molly maintained a calm composure, one hand on her hip and the other around Tom, occasionally faking a sultry smile as Tom replied. “I seek a dark place to rest.”
There was a pause and then the voice answered. “Very good. And her?”
“I think you know what her business is here.” He put on his best lecher’s smile.
“Good, come in quickly. Make no noise.”
Tom entered and kept Molly close. Molly trained her eyes on the dark ahead of her. Tom led, although the room was nearly pitch black. Occasionally he paused to make sure Molly still had a grip on his arm. The sound of a doorknob turning broke the silence. A dim light filtered through the doorway, piercing the pervading darkness. As Tom stepped through, the source of the voice was revealed. It came from a lanky, pale fellow standing in the doorway in front of Tom. He allowed Tom to enter first. His eyes held a pale red shine. As Molly passed he flashed his white needle teeth at her, chuckling to himself. Another voice was speaking as they entered the room. A taller figure sat at the head of a long table. Along its side were gathered several members of the Society. The cloaked figures breathed as if they were stricken with fever. Hungry red eyes followed Molly and greeted Tom readily. In the corners and extremities of the room lounged a multitude of male inductees and their inductresses—fair, young women with pristine skin, red lips and all varieties of long, unruly hair, wearing much less than Molly, who clung to their fellows and spoke in soft whispers as their lips and tongues hovered next to their guests’ cheeks and necks, fangs lingering over their skin. An overwhelming presence of perfume thickened the air. It mingled with older odors of blood and alcohol.
Tom recognized the tall figure at the end of the table—the recently appointed head of the Society and the one who would later present and hail in Mikael Sehović’s successor. Tom took a seat, pulling a chair out for Molly as well and politely offering it to her. Molly nodded and sat down. Tom—his face hidden in a hood beneath his hat—turned and leaned into Molly. He whispered carefully to her. “Simon Deschamps, head of the Society. I didn’t expect him.”
Deschamps glared at Tom. “I’m sorry, did someone have something to say?” Tom kept his head low and shook it. Molly moved her gaze to the floor.
“As we were, then. Our late patriarch and noble leader Mikael Sehović would have looked forward to this evening. This night his successor will be sworn in. I know you are all as excited as I am. Mikael told me in his last breaths how happy he was …” Deschamps rambled on, his wrinkled face smiling.
Tom whispered to Molly again. “He was there…” That bastard! He recalled the night quietly to himself. I thought I saw someone else that night. I didn’t kill them all in London, I knew it! That’s why Harlan sent Christopher Barnes to Barcelona in the first place. How else would he know to even look for me?
Deschamps stopped again. Molly offered Tom a warning look. Tom quieted himself.
“If you will all excuse me,” Deschamps said, “I shall leave you here while I go to meet the successor. I expect him to arrive soon.” The vampire stood to leave. He was much taller than any of the others—a tree of a man. He bowed, stringy brown hair falling like spider webs on his aged forehead, and exited the dim, candle-lit room. The Society members relaxed in their seats and talked in hushed voices to one another.
Tom spoke, still quietly, but very emphatically. “He was there, Molly! Deschamps worked under Mikael!” There was much regret in his voice. “He escaped me. Who knows what he has been up to?”
“Now is not the time to worry yourself with that. He won’t escape tonight,” Molly assured him, grabbing his hand from under the table and giving it a soft squeeze.
The lanky, pale man who had greeted them before approached Molly and Tom. His eyes examined Molly invasively. She quickly removed her hand. “Ah, pardon me, brother, but you did say you brought the uh … entertainment tonight, yes?” A menacing smile cracked his pallid face as if it were made of dried clay.
Tom glanced up and nodded, playing along.
“And how is the lady this night?” another, younger vampire butted in, pushing the lanky man away. He took Molly’s hand and placed a light kiss on it, flashing his teeth. Tom fidgeted furiously in his seat. Molly gazed hard at the man, breathing deeply. She struggled to maintain her confident composure. The young vampire was up to something. Molly felt attracted to him despite being repulsed by his intentions.
Tom looked uneasy but acted his part anyway. “I beg your pardon, what is your name, brother?”
The man looked up and smiled hesitantly. “The name’s Zachary Flannet. And you are?”
Tom feigned a smile. “Flannet. I’ll remember it.” He did not give the vampire his name in return.
Flannet smiled back, nodding and turning to Molly with a dark smile. “Come. Join me.” He watched her like a hypnotist.
Tom clenched a fist but hid it under the table. Flannet invited her to sit with him at the other end of the table. Two other figures sat with him, very close to Molly, who struggled to avert her eyes from Flannet’s handsome face.
Her posture was tense and stiff. Trying to play her part, she relaxed just barely and crossed her legs, socializing carefully with her audience. Tom surveyed their surroundings. The room was much larger than his first impression had given him. It appeared to be a banquet hall. The lanky man must have taken them to a lower level in the house. Most likely this was where the Society had been meeting since crossing the Atlantic—since the time he and Molly were still strangers.
“Tell me. Are you very shy?”
Flannet asked, reaching to touch her leg.
Molly pulled back ever so slightly. “What do you prefer? I can be just about anything.” She was careful to avoid his eyes, fearing that he would be able to read the terror in her own.
Tom kept careful watch over both of them, sitting low in his chair whenever a figure passed behind him and scanning the room again once they passed.
“What do I prefer? I prefer you to just stay still and quiet,” said Flannet, leaning very close to her, eyes glowing brighter, opening his jaws to reveal his long needle teeth again.
Tom began to stand but decided to intervene from his seat. “Brother! I ought to tell you she works for The Bonny Orchid.” Tom named a local brothel known to keep its comfort women saturated in a special gin redistilled with “nyxbane”, an herb which, though not harmful to vampires, creates a flavor in the blood most vampires liken to mulled goat sweat.
Flannet paused, shrinking back in his chair while several other hopefuls groaned all around him. Molly breathed deeply, trying to settle her nerves. Flannet spoke quietly in her ear. “I’m sorry, my dear. Perhaps later, yes?” he hissed. Molly didn’t respond. “Humph! A proud one are we? That’s very brave of you, girl. You’re something special.”
Tom’s hand reached slowly into his coat. Molly couldn’t help but shudder in her seat. Flannet leaned in again, opening his mouth. A metallic shine flashed before Molly’s eyes and Flannet shrieked. A single, flat knife pinned his collar to the back of his chair. Tom waved a finger of disapproval. “I paid her double for a whole night, brother,” Tom quickly lied. “I get her first.”
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