by Anne Rice
She reached out and put her left hand on my cheek.
"Marius," she said. "Speak freely always of Pandora. Don't ever think that I shall fail to understand your love for Pandora."
I thought this over for many long moments. I took her right hand in mine and I kissed her fingers.
"Listen to me, my love," I said. "With every prayer, I ask the Queen if you might drink. But I gain no clear answer. And after what I witnessed with Eudoxia and Mael, I cannot take you to her. And so I shall continue to give you my blood in so far as it will make you strong, but—."
"I understand you," she said.
I leant across the table and kissed her.
"Last night in my anger I learnt many things. That I cannot live without you was one. But I learnt another. I can now cover greatdistances with ease. And I suspect my other powers have also increased beyond recent measure. I must test these powers. I must know how easily I can defeat those demons if ever they come near to me. And tonight I want to test my power of flight more than any other."
"And so you are telling me that you want to take me back to the shrine now, and go off to England."
I nodded. "The moon is full tonight, Bianca. I must see the isle of Britain in the light of the moon. I must discover this Order of the Talamasca with my own eyes. It's scarcely possible to believe in such purity."
"Why don't you take me with you?"
"I must be swift," I answered. "And if there's danger I must be swifter still to escape it. These are mortals after all. And Raymond Gallant is only one of them."
"You will be careful then, my love," she said. "You know now more than ever that I very simply adore you."
It seemed then we would never quarrel again, that such a thing was impossible. And it seemed imperative that I never lose her.
As we went out into the darkness, as I wrapped her in my cloak, I pressed my lips to her forehead as I took her into the clouds and homeward.
When I left her, it was two hours before midnight, and I meant to see Raymond Gallant before morning.
Now, it had been many years since my meeting with him in Venice. He had been a young man then, and perhaps middle-aged at the time that I wrote my letter to him.
So it did occur to me as I set out on my journey that he might no longer be living.
Indeed, it was a terrible thought.
But I believed in all he had told me about the Talamasca and so I was determined to approach them.
As I moved towards the stars, the pleasure of the Cloud Gift was so divine that I almost lost myself in the rapture of the skies, dreaming above the isle of Britain, plunging to where I could see the land perfectly against the sea, not wanting to touch the solid Earth so soon or roam it so clumsily.
But I had consulted many a map in recent years to find the location of East Anglia, and I soon saw below me an immense castle with ten rounded towers which I believed to be the very one engraved upon the gold coin which Raymond Gallant had long ago given me.
The sheer size of the castle gave me doubts, however, but I willed myself to set foot on the steep hillside quite close to it. Some deep preternatural instinct told me that I had reached the right place.
The air was cold as I began to walk, indeed as cold as it had been in the mountains which I had left behind me. Some of the woods had come back, which had no doubt been cut down once upon a time for the safety of the castle, and I rather liked the terrain and I enjoyed walking in it.
I wore a full fur-lined cloak which I had taken from one of my victims.
I had my customary weapons, a thick short broadsword, and a dagger. I wore a longer velvet tunic than was favored at the time, but this did not matter to me. My shoes were new and I had bought them from a cobbler in Geneva.
As for the style of the castle, I figured it to be some five hundred years old, built in the time of William the Conqueror. I surmised that it had once had a moat and drawbridge. But these elements had long been abandoned, and I could see a great door before me, flanked by torches.
At last I reached this door, and pulled the bell, hearing a loud clang deep within the courtyard.
It did not take long for someone to come, and only then did I realize the curious propriety of what I'd done. In my reverence for this Order of Scholars I had not "listened" outside to discover who they were. I had not hovered near their lighted tower windows.
And now I found myself, a curious figure no doubt with my blue eyes and dark skin, standing before the porter.
This young man couldn't have been more than seventeen, and he seemed both sleepy and indifferent as though my clarion had awakened him.
"I've come in search of Lorwich," I said, "in East Anglia. Have I reached the right place? "
"You have," said the boy, wiping at his eyes and leaning upon the door. "Can I say for what reason?"
"I seek the Talamasca," I replied.
The young man nodded. He opened the door widely, and I soon found myself in a great courtyard. There were wagons and coaches parked within. I could hear the faint sound of the horses in the stables.
"I seek Raymond Gallant," I said to the boy.
"Ah," he replied, as if these were the magic words that he needed from me. And then he led me further inside and shut the giant wood door behind us. "I'll take you where you might wait," he said. "I think that Raymond Gallant is sleeping."
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 lean."
"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 roam-ings. 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 h
er."
"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? "