The Rift Walker

by Clay Griffith

  “Oh no,” Lady Tahir bubbled girlishly. “Not at all, Senator Clark.”

  Adele glanced coldly at her, then took a deep breath. “Very well, Senator.”

  “Call me Miles.”

  “Why would I call you that?”

  “It's my name.”

  “Really? I didn't realize you had a first name, only a title.” Adele rose slowly and started down the table. Stepping off the dais, she headed for a side door and heard a murmur of excitement as she pushed through into the kitchen. By then, it was too late to turn back, and she didn't care anyway.

  The serving staff was relaxing, smoking cigarettes and chatting. Most of the men had removed their tuxedo jackets, while some of the women sported bare feet instead of shoes under their long skirts. They all froze in shock at the appearance of Princess Adele and, on her heel, the uniformed Senator Clark. Stubbing out their smokes, they stood at attention.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Adele said to the wide-eyed staff. “Please, stay. This won't take long.” She gave Senator Clark an impatient gaze, her arms crossed over her breasts.

  He laughed uncomfortably. “I felt it was time you and I had a chat, face-to-face. It is our wedding, after all.”

  She stared silently.

  “It's just that we need to make a decision. You do understand the stakes, don't you? How close are you to being recovered?”

  “Thank you for caring.”

  Clark narrowed his eyes. “Let's stop pussy-footing around, Adele. You're fine. You're traipsing around at official lunches and garden parties and such. Hell, it won't take any more time or effort to get to the altar and say I do.”

  “Don't curse at me. And what the hell do you know about how I'm feeling?”

  “You can only play this game for so long. Look, I'm sure it was bad up there—”

  “The worst part was when you shot me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “We are way behind schedule. We are losing the summer. Do you have any idea what will happen if we commit troops to North America and Europe in the fall and winter? We lose all our advantage. This delay is going to cost lives.”

  From a purely strategic level, Adele knew he was right. Her stiff shoulders dropped a bit; she hated his tone, but heard his logic. She didn't want to put the men of her army, or her American allies for that matter, at greater risk. If this wedding was inevitable, perhaps it was time to end the stall and set a date.

  Clark seemed to sense her crumbling façade, so he continued, “You've got huge fleets gathered at Gibraltar and Aden, and we've got ours at Havana and Vera Cruz. They're waiting for the word to head north and start operations. We've got to have a target date. There's no point sending airships in harm's way to strike the food source without ground troops ready to follow up and seize territory. And we can't coordinate it all until the alliance is finalized.”

  Adele nodded. “I know. I understand what you're—” She paused. “What did you say? Strike the food source?”

  “That's phase one.”

  “What do you mean by ‘food source'?”

  He looked at her with confusion. “You know what their food source is. You more than anyone.”

  Adele felt a chill. “You mean humans? You're going to attack the humans in the north?”

  “Attack them? No, that implies they're an enemy. I'd say we're going to slaughter them. Like cattle. It's a common strategy in war throughout history; deprive your enemy of food. Burn their crops. Drive off their herds. It's an elegant solution, if I do say so myself. We'll gas and firebomb the human population centers, driving the vampires out in search of food. We then occupy, fortify, and defend. As we march northward, this constant pressure will create competition for food among the vampires and destabilize the clans. Then we just pick them apart.” Senator Clark smiled, waiting for his fiancée to praise his military genius.

  “No.” Blood drained from Adele, and she had to steady herself. “No. You can't do that. They're people.”

  “They're animals. So what we need to do is set the date for the wedding and then—”

  “I said no! Does my father know about this?”

  Clark appeared more irritated, no doubt because he had to coddle an emotional girl. “Of course he knows about the war plans.” He checked his pocket watch. “In fact, this chatter is making me late for a planning session with the emperor. So I can tell your father we're in agreement?”

  Adele reached out and seized the front of his blue tunic, causing the senator to rear back in shock. “You can tell my father that I wouldn't marry you now, even if you weren't a murderous, filthy reptile! You might be too stupid to understand, but I know he believes what I've said about the northern humans.”

  Clark angrily slapped her hand away. “Everybody knows what you said about those creatures in the north. We all saw your papers and reports. But it doesn't matter, because everybody also knows that you're a histrionic lunatic. Your opinion means nothing.”

  Adele glared at him. She couldn't feel her fingers or feet, and her face flushed with rage. She stood breathing hard for several long minutes. Clark went from vicious to slightly worried, watching her for signs of a nervous breakdown.

  Finally she looked him in the eye. “We'll see. We'll see how my opinion matters.”

  Adele slammed out though the door and surged past the Phoenix ladies, whose heavily powdered faces were frozen in shock after overhearing much of the unpleasant exchange between their future loving rulers.

  Word spread rapidly through the palace that something had happened. Princess Adele left her staff behind at the Delhi Room in the east wing. Messages flew through pneumatic tubes clanking into in-baskets across Victoria Palace. Retainers and footmen raced through corridors to intercept the princess as if she were a ship torn loose from her moorings and endangering all other ships in the harbor.

  The princess crossed the central atrium of the palace and turned up the wide stairs to the upper floors. Heads turned to watch. Then Senator Clark passed too, with a face like a thundercloud. He took the stairs three at a time.

  Adele saw the great door of her father's council chamber at the far end of the hall. A group of soldiers standing outside suddenly came to attention at the sight of the princess. Some twenty yards from the door, Adele's secretary sprinted from a side corridor, looking both ways and expelling her breath with enormous relief at intercepting the princess.

  “Your Highness,” the secretary said pleasantly, but out of breath, “may I help you?”

  Adele surged past without a glance. She marched to the soldiers—imperial marines—who blocked the door.

  “Step aside, please.”

  A marine, Persian by the look of him, responded, “I fear I cannot. Entrance is forbidden by His Majesty Emperor Constantine.”

  “I am his daughter.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The marine commander's eyes shot over her head to the approaching secretary and Senator Clark, seeking guidance or support.

  “What is wrong with you?” Clark snarled as he neared. “Stop it, Adele. You're only making a fool of yourself.”

  She whirled. “I won't let you kill thousands, hundreds of thousands of innocent people! The vampires call you a butcher, and that's exactly what you are.”

  Adele's secretary stood with her hand at her mouth. The crowd behind her was aghast.

  Clark laughed and stepped past Adele. Flashing a quick salute to the marine commander, he reached for the ornate door handle and pushed it open. He turned to give Adele a nasty grin. “If you'll excuse me, the emperor is expecting me. Good luck with your agenda.”

  As the American stepped inside, Adele caught a glimpse of her father and Lord Kelvin before the door shut with an echoing click.

  She said to the marine commander, “Will you please send word to my father to tell him that I'm out here?”

  “I am not allowed to interrupt His Majesty. But if you command it, I will do so.”

  Adele had to make her voice heard. She was dismayed that all her rep
orts about the state of the north had been ignored. She couldn't allow her nation to be party to a barbaric strategy. Equatorians couldn't participate in slaughtering the northern humans as if they were merely trampling a field of barley. The thought of Equatorian airships firebombing Edinburgh and killing all the people who had been so good to her made her sick. The thought that Senator Clark had ready access to the emperor while she, his only daughter, was held up in the corridor like some low-level office-seeker infuriated her.

  “Highness?”

  Adele snapped around with a ready retort, but she saw Colonel Mehmet Anhalt, the commander of her household troops, the White Guard. He stood calmly before the crowd.

  The colonel moved quickly to her side, announcing, “I have been searching for you. I need your attention in a matter of grave importance. Can you please accompany me?”

  “What matter?”

  He replied in a quiet, but assured voice. It was unlikely that anyone else could hear him. “Highness, you must withdraw. You can do no good here. You will accomplish nothing by embarrassing His Majesty or endangering these marines. They are bound not to allow you to enter, but if they dare lay hands on you, their careers are through.”

  “My father has to hear what I have to say. He is planning a great tragedy.”

  “He has heard you. I know this to be a fact. I beg you to hear me. This is a disaster for you if you push any further.”

  Anhalt was sincere, yet firm. His warm, dark eyes burrowed into her with an intensity that belied his calm voice and woke her to reason.

  It took everything she had to master her fury. Only Colonel Anhalt could have delivered this message to her. She finally nodded with formality. “Very well.” The words tore through her.

  The colonel said, “Thank you, Your Highness.” He saluted the marine. “Captain Eskandari, please give the emperor Her Highness's regrets, but she has been called away.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Anhalt extended an arm away from the council chamber. “If you please, Highness. Thank you for your help.”

  As Adele took Anhalt's arm, the crowd parted for her, the colonel, and her secretary. Despite his kind bluff, no one was fooled. They watched Princess Adele withdraw, defeated, from the field. Yet, for many, there was also a new respect for the girl's intensity and passion. She had stood up to the American who seemed to want to run the Empire.

  “MY WEDDING DATE has come and gone, much to the detriment of the war effort, not to mention my personal inconvenience and embarrassment!” The council chamber could hardly contain Senator Clark's foul temper. Only the presence of the emperor kept him civil. “I want a new wedding date set. I want it written down and agreed to. And it needs to happen now or we lose any hope of a weather advantage up north. All this dillydallying jeopardizes the war—if you want to win, that is. I'll not be held back by a hesitant bride!”

  Lord Kelvin, the prime minister, replied, “I understand your eagerness, Senator. But after the ordeal suffered by Her Imperial Highness Princess Adele—”

  “Good God yes!” Clark snarled. “I know all about the horrific ordeal suffered by the fragile princess. After all, I was the one who rescued her from Edinburgh. But by God! Enough is e-damn-nough! Any more dithering from the court will endanger the alliance. I have a war to start!” He regarded the emperor, who was sitting quietly, absorbing the various arguments. “My apologies, Your Majesty, but you need to know where we all stand. Reports are coming in from Panama that there have been attacks in Philadelphia and Charleston. The New York clan is stealing the march on us. We should be in Paris by now. We should be in Washington and St. Louis. If we wait much later we will bog down in southern France and in the Ohio Valley this winter.”

  As Clark grew hotter, Kelvin iced over and his words became slow. “His Imperial Majesty Emperor Constantine the Second is well aware of the views of all sides, sir. You surely appreciate that he is balancing the needs of state with family.”

  Clark's eyes narrowed and he stared directly at the prime minister. “There are no needs of family compared to those of state.”

  The prime minister didn't move. “His Imperial Majesty Emperor Const—”

  “For crying out loud!” the senator bellowed. “Maybe if you didn't have to spout a ten-mile title every time you opened your mouth, I'd be your emperor by now!”

  “My emperor?” Kelvin actually started, then laughed, perhaps for the third time in his adult life. “You will not be endowed with the title of emperor. You will, of course, be prince regent to Her Imperial Majesty Empress Adele the First.”

  Clark stared at the reedy bureaucrat, flexing his hands into fists, clearly working through the long-term implications of murdering the Equatorian prime minister, but then he turned his attention back to the emperor, the man whose opinion was the sole one that mattered.

  Emperor Constantine sighed loudly and shifted in his chair. Despite his crisp and elegant uniform, he seemed fatigued. Lord Kelvin remained motionless at the emperor's right. The polished table reflected the gaslight and the four men around it.

  Laurence Randolph, Lord Aden, crossed his arms thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would be best to wait until next year.”

  “By all means!” Clark scowled savagely and refused to face the Equatorian lord. “They know we're coming. Let's give them another year to fortify.”

  “Fortify?” Aden mocked. “Come now, Senator. Vampires don't fortify. They don't even use tools, according to all the reports I've read.”

  With a cold glare, the American turned to him. “I didn't know you had purchased the Imperial War College, Lord Aden. I don't have time to lecture you on vampire warfare, but I'm telling you that giving the clans another year is a mistake of apocalyptic proportions. I've bloodied them. They obviously are not sitting idle hoping it will all blow over. Aside from shoring up their own defenses, they'll have a year to destroy the port facilities in New Orleans, Savannah, and Marseilles that we need to move our seaborne heavy equipment and massive troop deployments into North America and Europe. Without those ports, we'll have to drop men into vampire territory with limited artillery, and that's a recipe for disaster. Even better, maybe there will be a nice cold snap so the vampire packs can sail down to Gibraltar or Havana, or even here in Alexandria.”

  Lord Aden prepared to speak again, but Clark leapt to his feet and slammed his fist on the table with a crack that echoed throughout the chamber. “No, dammit! We have no choice. War! Now!”

  The emperor pursed his lips and looked down. His once-vigorous face looked aged, aided by his thinning hair and greying sideburns, and his left eye drooped from an old war wound.

  The American pressed on. “Your daughter, sir, is standing in the way. The decision we face is not about a marriage or a young girl's emotional state. It's about the future of our people. I will win this war for you, and there is only one choice to be made.”

  “What would you have, Senator?” Constantine murmured, and held up a silencing hand when Lord Kelvin stirred.

  Clark said, “Schedule the wedding, Majesty. Now. It must happen within the week. We must start the offensive or a lot of boys will die who shouldn't have.”

  Kelvin spoke quickly before the emperor could quiet him with another gesture. “That simply cannot happen, Your Majesty. The planning is so far behind, we—”

  “Stop,” Emperor Constantine whispered. “The senator is correct. Adele must conform.”

  Lord Aden stood. “Sire, if I may.”

  “No,” said the emperor decisively. “Stay quiet, if you please, Lord Aden.” He settled his dark-rimmed eyes on the bearded American. “Two weeks, Senator? Is that a satisfactory time to you?”

  Clark nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. That'll do.”

  Constantine lifted a finger at the prime minister. “See to it. I want a wedding in two weeks without fail.”

  “As you will, Majesty.”

  “Good. Senator, tomorrow we will begin to finalize the war plans so dispatches can be sent to America in
due course.”

  Clark saluted with one hand while resting the other on the hilt of his Fahrenheit saber.

  Lord Kelvin dutifully collected his papers. “I will have Her Imperial Highness Princess Adele's household informed of the schedule.”

  “No.” Emperor Constantine rose slowly. “I will tell her, personally. Good day, gentlemen.”

  Kelvin and Aden bowed to the departing emperor. When the teak door clicked shut, Kelvin straightened to see Senator Clark's grinning face.

  The American clapped a sturdy hand on Kelvin's narrow shoulders. “Book the hall, Mr. Prime Minister. I'll see you at the reception.” Clark's boisterous laughter echoed as he strode away.

  The two Equatorian gentlemen watched after their esteemed guest, embarrassed by his behavior and sad that either of them had to witness such a barbaric performance. They paused a long moment in case he should stomp back in and make further pronouncements, but thankfully there was only the sound of fading footfalls.

  Lord Aden cleared his throat. “Well, he's a hot one.”

  “Yes. Bit too.” The prime minister adjusted his fez an iota.

  “We tried our best.” Lord Aden shrugged. “No doubt the theater productions have riled him. It must be difficult to take second place to that heroic Greyfriar.”

  “Yes, but instead of driving him away, it seems to have made him more eager to possess the princess and beat the Greyfriar out of her.”

  Lord Aden rubbed his sharp jawline and took out his gold cigarette case, removing a hand-rolled Turkish cigarette. Kelvin politely declined. Aden lit the cigarette and blew aromatic smoke away from his friend. “What shall you do? How do you stop the wedding? How do you keep that American buffoon off the throne?”

  “I cannot stop the wedding now. But I must insure against the insanity of Clark becoming emperor. That way, if something unfortunate should happen to Adele, Prince Simon would succeed to the throne. I fear he may be our best hope now. True Equatoria must be preserved.” Kelvin muttered as if he didn't know anyone else was in the room. “This war is such a terrible mistake. But I accept the burden of guiding the Empire past these dire times.”