Clan Novel Ventrue: Book 5 of The Clan Novel Saga

by Gherbod Fleming

  Dear God, Victoria thought. More sympathy.

  For all practical purposes, that left only Maria Chin, the representative of the Tremere. Victoria felt the knowledge that the Tremere in Washington, Chin’s own chantry, had watched idly as the city had fallen to the Sabbat might be of some use. Perhaps there was a deal to be made. Victoria could defend the actions of the Tremere in return for the clan’s support in the conference. There was, of course, the complicating factor that the Tremere might, as Gainesmil and later Vitel had suggested, simply take the position that they were more concerned with the long-term interests of the Camarilla—maintaining the sect’s presence in D.C.—than in propping up a Ventrue prince in the short term. The Tremere might not need Victoria’s defense. But surely, she hoped, they would see the benefit of having friends in the conference, and there was no harm in attempting to lay the groundwork for mutual support in the future.

  That was why Victoria had ventured down to the lobby of the Lord Baltimore Inn in the first place. Chin had agreed to come speak with her. Victoria glanced at her diamond-studded watch and was completely unsurprised to see Chin walk through the lobby doors precisely at midnight, exactly on time. Victoria rose to greet her visitor, and completely ignored the mortal employees of the inn who scurried away in every direction, each fearful that he or she had somehow offended the elegant guest and was personally responsible for her departure.

  “Maria,” said Victoria, taking a friendly, familiar tone.

  The Tremere’s expression remained unchanged, neutral. “Ms. Ash.” She wore a long gray-blue robe with the hood back. It struck Victoria as slightly anachronistic, but that was hardly a sin or even out of the ordinary with Kindred.

  Victoria took her guest by the arm and led her toward the elevator. “I took it upon myself to wait for you personally—how very gauche, I know—but I’m afraid none of my servants made the trip north with me, and there’s just been no time for interviews…” Victoria kept up the patter, quite innocuous talk to any mortal who might be within earshot. Chin did not contribute to the conversation or attempt to address Victoria’s rhetorical questions.

  Bubbling over with personality, this one, Victoria thought wryly, but wasn’t that the case with all Tremere? As she turned her key to send them on their way to the seventh floor, the Toreador was tempted to seduce Maria right then and there, just to see some type of reaction from the woman. I could do it before we reached the fifth floor, Victoria thought, but decided against it. There was little sense in jeopardizing future gains for such petty gratification at this point.

  What actually did happen before they reached the fifth floor was quite different. Victoria was chatting away, making up for the silence of her companion. Neither occupant of the elevator saw or heard the hatch open in the ceiling, or the speciallycrafted garrote that lowered through the portal. Not until Maria Chin’s feet were dangling two feet above the floor did Victoria realize something was wrong, and even then it took a moment for the sight of the Tremere’s bulging eyes and flailing arms to sink in.

  Victoria saw the hands, the black gloves, pulling forcefully on the wire behind Maria’s neck. Immediately, Victoria’s instincts for dealing with danger took over—she screamed bloody murder.

  It seemed to her that her scream provided the impetus for the wire as it sliced upward under Chin’s jaw. Victoria was pressed back against the corner, her mouth still open wide, when the garrote completely separated skull from spine, and both portions of Maria Chin thudded to the floor.

  part two:

  domain

  Saturday, 17 July 1999, 12:37 AM

  McHenry Auditorium, Lord Baltimore Inn

  Baltimore, Maryland

  Security was heavy. Not surprising considering the events of just a few nights past. Jan slipped in as unobtrusively as possible through the door near the head of the auditorium and occupied a vacant seat on the front row. En route, he nodded a polite greeting to Prince Garlotte, who stood near the center of the well. At the moment, however, Victoria Ash seemed to have the floor and was speaking to the receptive gathering.

  Jan had known that Victoria would be present, yet the first sight of her triggered a slight fibrillation in his chest. He had first met her years ago at a social event in Paris, then seen her again on similar occasions in London and New York. He’d seen her last three years ago; she’d attended one of his corporate galas in Amsterdam. Each of the encounters had been brief, polite, consisting mostly of superficial pleasantries, yet each time, he’d walked away feeling the exchange had been…loaded, that each word brimmed with meaning and passion revealed only in tiny, innocuous, maddening morsels. There was no single phrase or glance on which he could pin this feeling, yet the impression persisted, and was renewed more forcefully with their every meeting.

  Tonight was no exception. Victoria wore an off-white, beaded gown. The high neck was conservative, but the dress was form-fitting and complimented her figure nicely. Her long gloves and the gold locket that hung from her neck lent an air of stateliness, while the plunging lines of the dress’s back teased of the sensual. Jan’s initial reaction was the desire to lead her from this crowded chamber and sit with her privately, to spend hours doing nothing but listening to the music of her voice and gazing upon her beauty.

  Jan closed his eyes tightly and squeezed the bridge of his nose, a gesture born only partly of fatigue. He struggled to clear his mind. From his brief conversation with Prince Garlotte earlier, and from what he’d learned from other sources, Victoria was likely to be, if anything, an impediment to the task at hand. Jan could not afford to allow gentle feelings to stand in his way. Regardless, he knew quite well that his attraction to her was the result of more than her charming personality and pleasing appearance. More subtle forces were at work, and to be enthralled by one such as her would not be wise. That knowledge, however, did little to diminish the allure of the prospect.

  “Baltimore must become the bastion of Camarilla resistance,” Victoria was saying. Murmurs of agreement rose from the assembly. “This city will become the bulwark against which the fiends of the Sabbat cannot hope to prevail, and then we shall turn the tide. How else will we ever regain Charleston, Abigail? Or Richmond, Peter?” The individuals mentioned, and others, nodded solemnly and voiced their support.

  Jan casually surveyed the chamber. Theo Bell appeared to be among the unconvinced. He sat, arms crossed, silent as the sphinx. Judging by appearances—not always accurate, Jan knew—there seemed to be a sprinkling of other Brujah seated around the brooding archon, though not as many and not as boisterous as reported from the first meeting of the conference. Jan suspected that their numbers and their enthusiasm had been thinned somewhat by the vigorous resistance Bell had been coordinating on the outskirts of Washington.

  There was Robert Gainesmil, Prince Garlotte’s Toreador advisor, and not far from him another figure of decidedly noble bearing. Jan had never met Marcus Vitel in person, but knew of the prince of Washington, D.C., enough to recognize him on sight. The exiled prince seemed practically disinterested in Victoria’s platitudes. He watched through eyes of the defeated. While Victoria had been driven from a city, Vitel had been driven from his city. He was more intimately familiar with the odds they faced.

  Another face of skepticism among the malleable crowd was that of the Tremere representative, Aisling Sturbridge, regent of the chantry in New York City. She was a slightly built woman who appeared in her mid-thirties by mortal reckoning—as little as that meant among the Kindred. A long, black ponytail hung over the shoulder of her stiff business suit, and an open laptop computer rested on her knees. Jan knew all the gory details relating to the previous Tremere representative to the conference—the assassination to which Victoria had been a witness, an innocent bystander, if her account were given weight. The assassin had, of course, escaped—so utterly without trace that some Kindred were left to speculate about the loyalty of certain Nosferatu, while others spoke in hushed tones of a more menacing possibility.
Clan Assamite.

  As Jan’s gaze drifted back to Victoria, he was careful to keep a tight rein on his thoughts. Business must be tended to. Hardestadt would not brook failure.

  Without the flagrantly disruptive competition from the Brujah, Victoria seemed to be encountering little resistance in her address to the gathering. The collection of refugees continued to nod and echo her pronouncements on the necessity of concerted effort. As Jan watched, she came to a natural pause and her vibrant, green eyes turned to gaze directly at him. She blinked, slowly, once, and Jan felt a tickle against his cheek, as if her dark eyelashes caressed him across the few yards separating them.

  Prince Garlotte stepped forward and drew the attention of the assembly. “Fellow Kindred, allow me to take this opportunity to present an esteemed guest who we are honored to have with us this evening: Mr. Jan Pieterzoon of Amsterdam.”

  Jan nodded again to the prince and stood, as all eyes in the auditorium turned to him. “Ladies, gentlemen.” He bowed to the assemblage.

  The prince, whose response to Jan in their brief conversation had been mixed, fell silent, and so the first question seemed naturally to fall to Victoria. “Mr. Pieterzoon,” her smile washed over him like a warm bath, “welcome to Baltimore, to the United States.” Her eyes were electric, but Jan held firm and was not drawn in. “What news do you bring from our European friends?”

  Jan held her gaze momentarily, let her see that he would stand his ground, then shifted his position so that in facing her and the prince he did not have his back to the rest of the gathering. He smiled slightly and looked over the seats. These were delicate seconds, and Jan would not be rushed. He chose his words carefully. “I thank Prince Garlotte, and the rest of you, for your hospitality. It has been several years since I visited these shores. I only wish that we met under more leisurely circumstances.”

  An expectant silence quickly overpowered the minimal anxious shuffling in the auditorium.

  “I am pleased to hear you speaking of concerted action to turn back the Sabbat, for this is the strategy I am here to advocate,” he said. “These attacks launched by the Sabbat, beginning in Atlanta just over three weeks ago, are unlike any we’ve seen before. They are a greater threat than any we’ve faced before.” He paused to let his words sink in. Jan was not telling them anything they did not already know, nor was he trying to comfort them. He was giving voice to their considerable and legitimate fears, without resorting to the popular wooing he’d heard from Victoria.

  “I have been sent by the elders of the Camarilla to support this effort, to lend aid in coordinating the defense,” Jan said.

  A murmur swept through the gathering. The palpable anxiety seemed to slacken the least bit, as Jan had intended.

  “So you bring with you troops to oppose the Sabbat?” Victoria asked.

  “No,” Jan answered quickly. Equivocation at this critical juncture would be fatal, could only be seen as a sign of weakness. “The elders, my sire Hardestadt the Elder among them, believe there are resources enough here to meet the threat.”

  Total silence. Jan had spoken boldly. Most of what he said he believed to be true, though the implication that the decision had come through an organized, deliberative process of the elders he rather overstated. In truth, he had no idea how the decision had been reached, or exactly who had been involved. He only knew the scant details that Hardestadt had revealed to him. Now, Jan waited for the inevitable backlash.

  Of the American Kindred, Victoria found her voice first. “No? Just…no? You bring no military force whatsoever?”

  “That is correct,” said Jan without missing a beat. “I bring my personal experience and the support of—”

  “Treachery!” someone shouted. Others took up the call.

  The Brujah element, subdued until this point, came to their feet as one—except for Bell, whose expression and manner remained unchanged. The others howled in protest. They filled the air with insults and threats directed at Jan and his Old World masters. In one instant, they’d become ardent supporters of Victoria, as Jan knew they must.

  The other refugees reacted vehemently to the news as well. Heated and desperate conversations flared around the chamber. One Kindred—a Malkavian, Jan hoped—actually tore hair from his scalp and gave in to tears. Most others reacted less extremely, but none favorably.

  Prince Garlotte moved closer to Jan. Jan had given this same news to the prince earlier, so Garlotte, though not pleased, was not surprised. Nor would he have been surprised by the reception Jan received. Garlotte’s concern now was for his guest’s safety.

  “I think you’d better come with me,” the prince said, indicating the nearby door through which Jan had entered not long ago.

  Jan raised a restraining hand to his clansman, the prince. “I will stay.”

  Garlotte eyed the increasingly threatening crowd, and nodded respectfully to Jan. The Brujah had resorted to uprooting seats again, one of which flew past not too far from Jan and the prince. Garlotte signaled to Gainesmil, then moved closer to the throng with his hands raised before him. Gainesmil began to circulate among the crowd and speak quietly to those he knew personally. Gradually, and seemingly of its own accord, the din lessened. Soon relative calm was restored.

  The disbelief smoldering in Victoria’s eyes was representative of those around her. “With all due respect, Mr. Pieterzoon,” she said with thinly veiled daggers in her voice, “what use are you to us? How is a lone…ambassador going to turn back the Sabbat?”

  Jan took on a thoughtful expression. He clasped his hands behind his back and moved away from the door. He walked past Garlotte, past Victoria, and made his way to the center of the well. He ignored the assembled Kindred, perhaps fifty of them, the mob that moments before had threatened to tear him limb from limb, to stake him, to leave him out for the sun, and worse. He ignored them, but felt each one of them watching his deliberate movement. Let them watch, he thought.

  “No single individual,” Jan said, “is going to turn back the Sabbat, Ms. Ash. Not me, not yourself, nor the prince, not even the capable Archon Bell.” He gestured toward Theo. “But I may be of some assistance in planning the defense. Our defense. For the Camarilla is one body, and should the Sabbat triumph in North America,” he paused for what would have been a long breath, “it would be only a matter of time until they triumphed in Europe. The elders are quite aware of that fact, of the necessity of stopping the Sabbat here and now.

  “What, may I ask,” he said quickly before Victoria could interject a comment, “do you consider to be the purpose of this conference, which I believe you initiated, Ms. Ash?”

  Victoria was taken aback by his question, but only momentarily; then she smiled and replied in her polished manner, “I consider this conference to be the entity best able to coordinate the defense of the territory remaining to the Camarilla, and to reclaim that which has been lost.”

  “And how should it function?” he asked.

  Victoria’s eyebrow raised. “Meaning…?”

  Meaning,” Jan said, beginning to take on a scholarly tone, “what specific role should this conference fulfill? There are princes and their advisors in each Camarilla city.” He gestured toward Garlotte. “Do they not coordinate their own defenses?”

  “Of course, each prince ably defends his own city,” Victoria said, “but isolated cities cannot stand against the fury of the Sabbat, against this army of beasts that marches against us.”

  “Again, I ask, how should this body function? How, specifically, in relation to the princes? Should they subject themselves to the decisions of your conference?”

  “It is not my conference,” Victoria snapped, somehow without seeming to lose her temper. “And the decisions should flow from this body.”

  “The princes should subject themselves to the decisions of this conference?”

  “Yes,” Victoria said. “They should subject themselves to the decisions of this conference—for the good of the many.” She swept her hand th
rough the air, indicating the members of the assembly, and again mutterings of support emanated from their number.

  Prince Garlotte unwittingly mimicked Theo’s manner by crossing his arms.

  “The princes already answer to a higher authority,” Jan said. “It is called the Camarilla.” The mutterings died away. “And the deliberative body of the Camarilla is known as a conclave, the highest of which is the Inner Circle.” Jan still spoke to Victoria, but his words were aimed at the broader audience. “Are you, Ms. Ash, a justicar empowered to name this gathering a conclave? Does this body seek to usurp the prerogatives of the Inner Circle in naming you justicar?”

  “Of course not!” Victoria answered at once, but then faltered. “I never claimed…no one here…”

  “Prince Garlotte petitioned Justicar Lucinde of Clan Ventrue, a duly elected representative of the Camarilla,” Jan continued. “I am the duly appointed representative sent by the Camarilla, by the elders of our clans, to assist with the defense and counteroffensive against the Sabbat.” Steeled blue eyes locked with fiery green as he held Victoria’s gaze. Then Jan turned away from her and to the assembly as a whole. Again, he perhaps overstated the official dimension of his appointment, but who was there here to question him? Who would oppose the will of Hardestadt the Elder, founder of the Camarilla?

  “I am not here to subject anyone,” Jan said. He looked into the eyes of many of the assembled Kindred, then turned and moved closer to Prince Garlotte. “I am here to extend the hand of partnership to the princes of North America, to help coordinate their efforts. Not to dictate terms to them.”

  Victoria felt the shift in momentum as much as anyone. “I was not suggesting…of course the princes would have a voice in the conference….”