Clan Novel Ventrue: Book 5 of The Clan Novel Saga

by Gherbod Fleming

  Lox’s agitation meant that the trail was getting fresher. Euroboy was slowing down. Running out of steam, Terrence thought. Maybe Sonny had pegged him a few times before he bought the farm. Of course, Sonny probably wasn’t mangled beyond repair—if Blaine thought that some screw-up Lasombra was worth the trouble. Terrence wouldn’t bet on Sonny’s chances.

  He wouldn’t bet on Euroboy’s chances either. Jammer was almost caught up now. “Come on, you stupid, horny bastard,” Terrence called, and then let Lox lead the way again. The bloodhound tugged at the leather straps. He sniffed back and forth along the trail so energetically that he set his testicles swinging side to side.

  Their prey’s course veered left of the upcoming park, to Terrence’s surprise. Figured we’d find him curled up under a bush calling for daddy. Ahead were some of the city’s docks, but that wasn’t going to save Euroboy. He couldn’t hide behind the smell of water and diesel, or the sound of cranes and forklifts. Not for long. Lox would sniff him out.

  Terrence didn’t bother with trying to conceal himself. He looked fairly normal, and Lox could be mistaken for some kind of big fucking dog. And if anybody wanted to stop Jammer and ask him why he was so ugly, they were welcome to it. Mostly, Terrence didn’t care who saw him. This was a Camarilla city. If he stirred up a little trouble for the limp-wristed Ventrue prince to cover up, that was just hunky-damn-dory. Dock workers don’t care anyway, Terrence figured. They’re just doing their grunt job and collecting union wages.

  The trail led right down to the access road along the water’s edge. With Jammer not too far behind, they began to pass piers. Ships were docked at most, and many were loading or unloading cargo. 24-7, Terrence thought. Fucking grunts. At least I get days off.

  Lox was about to lose it. He strained to get away from his keeper and snarled insanely. “Pipe down, you moron. You’re gonna gag on your own spit.” It had happened before.

  Terrence paused alongside one of the big ships. He held Lox in check and scanned their surroundings. A large crane was unloading pallets, swinging its load slowly over the access road. Jammer was caught up to within a few yards. Lox jerked frantically at the lead, redoubling his efforts to get free.

  “Oh yeah, we’re close,” Terrence muttered to himself. “I’m gonna pin Euroboy’s ears to his—”

  Lox gave an incredible tug. Terrence lost his balance and stumbled forward. He fell to his knees and was dragged by the bloodhound, just as the huge pallet from the crane crashed to the ground where they’d been standing. The force of the impact bounced Terrence into the air. He landed roughly and stared at the wreckage. He’d seen it happen. One second Jammer was limping toward him; the next second forty fucking tons of broken crates and spilled sugar were spread over the goddamned dock where Jammer had been.

  Terrence had the leather lead wrapped around his wrist, so while he was staring at the mountain of sugar that had almost crushed him like it had Jammer, Lox was about to dislocate his shoulder pulling in the other direction. After a few seconds, the pain got Terrence’s attention. He turned just in time to see Euroboy scurry up the gangplank and onto the sugar boat. Terrence freed his hand from the lead. “Rip his heart out,” he said.

  Lox was off in an instant, charging up the gangplank.

  The crane operator had evened the odds slightly. Though Jan had hoped for better, he was more refined than to be ungrateful. The sight of Rhino crushed beneath the huge pallet was sweet indeed. But Jan only allowed himself a few seconds to admire his handiwork. The bloodhound and his master still survived. Jan would have been better off if the…the whatever that thing was that was following his scent had been destroyed. It wasn’t a dog. Now that Jan saw it at closer quarters—as close as he wanted to get—it seemed vaguely humanoid, though bent over on all fours, legs deformed so that they were much like a canine’s, and its face grotesquely flattened.

  Tzimisce, Jan thought. Or some foul creation of that clan.

  If the bloodhound had been destroyed, Jan might have slipped away and made his way back to allies eventually. But the Sabbat could still follow his trail, and Jan had no doubt they would.

  Before the beast’s handler had time to raise himself off the ground, Jan dashed up the gangplank of the closest freighter. As he crossed the deck, he heard the baying of the hound behind him, coming closer. There was more activity on board than Jan would have preferred. A small crowd, alarmed by the tremendous crash of the sugar pallet, had gathered near the railing. Jan had no idea how something like the bestial creature trailing him might be explained away. But suddenly the Masquerade became much less of a concern as the hound crested the gangplank and galloped onto the deck. Different clusters of mortal onlookers had exactly opposite reactions: some froze, paralyzed by terror; others ran for their lives. Jan ran too, and the shouts and confusion provided some cover.

  The hound only paused for a moment, however, before it was after him again. It had his scent and wasn’t about to be thrown off by a few frantic mortals. One sailor stumbled before the onrushing beast. It didn’t slow in the slightest. Its hind claws raked deep into the sailor’s body as the creature rushed on after Jan. With a few powerful bounds, it closed the distance between them. Jan could feel it gaining on him. It was practically on him, so close that the beast’s snarls reverberated in his chest.

  Jan lunged for the nearest doorway on the ship’s superstructure just as the beast leapt for him.

  He slammed the hatch. The force of the hound’s impact against the door knocked Jan backward. The sound of the blow set the metal bulkheads humming. But the door held. Jan slammed home the heavy bolt and backed slowly away, all the while watching the door, as the beast pounded and clawed on the opposite side.

  Jan forced himself to turn away from the blocked portal, to take note of his surroundings. He was in a corridor, not a single cabin. Thank God for that, he thought. He wasn’t trapped. But that also meant that the hound could still get to him, and probably it would set about that as soon as it realized the door between them was impassible. If the door between them remained impassible and didn’t tear from its hinges any second. Either way, Jan had to move.

  He started down the corridor, but now that the hound was not right behind him, he began to grow lightheaded. The arrow-straight passage seemed to zig and to zag. Blood. Jan had to find some soon. The wounds he’d suffered would definitely have killed a mortal, and would have destroyed—or incapacitated, which amounted to the same thing—many a Kindred. Jan had only the blood of Hardestadt and the elders of Clan Ventrue to thank that he’d survived this long. He might shrug off two dozen gunshots for a time, but eventually he’d have to find more blood. And for him, in a foreign land, that could prove difficult, because the blessing of Clan Ventrue resilience was accompanied by a curse that burdened no other clan. If only he could just grab the first sailor he came across and drain him—inelegant, yes, but style mattered very little at times like these—but it could not be.

  Move, damn you! Jan told himself.

  Blood, though vital, was not his most immediate problem. He couldn’t tell if the howling at the door had abated, and he wasn’t going to take the time to find out. Then he saw what he was looking for—a ladder. He paused for a moment, then started climbing down. One level, two. But he found that he had to concentrate on the ladder or he missed rungs, and he soon lost track of how far he’d descended.

  Finally, even though he was careful with placement of hands and feet, he misstepped.

  For a moment that seemed to encompass lifetimes, he felt himself in freefall. He passed beyond the tangible world, felt himself free of it—then his hands grabbed hold. He jerked to a halt, smashed his face on the side of the ladder. He stayed there longer than he could afford to, clutching the rungs like a prodigal child might embrace his mother.

  A few more steps down and Jan stumbled into another corridor. The lightheadedness gave way to debilitating vertigo. Jan staggered. He didn’t even see the sailor before the young man caught him and kept him
from falling to the floor. The yellow lights below deck seemed unusually harsh to Jan. He squinted up at the sailor.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  But Jan barely heard the words. They were drowned out by the rhythmic rush of blood beneath the boy’s skin. So much blood, so close, and of so little use to Jan. He latched onto the boy, struggled to his feet.

  “Where is the engine room?” Jan asked, his voice barely a whisper.

  The sailor was puzzled. “Do you need a doctor?”

  “Where is it?” Jan hissed. He held tight as the boy recoiled from him, the mortal’s mind suddenly confronted with that which it couldn’t comprehend. “The engine room.”

  “This way,” said the sailor, pointing down the corridor. “Not far.” There was no fear in his voice, only obedience.

  “Take me there,” said Jan.

  The boy was quite amenable, much like the crane operator had been. Jan never could have figured out the crane controls in time, nor in his current state could he have found the engine room on his own.

  As they made their way along the corridor, Jan tried to listen for sounds of the bloodhound, but his ears were ringing. He couldn’t be sure if what he heard were really the beast’s snarls from the deck just above, the sound of the creature’s claws as it slid down a ladder in pursuit. Or were the noises in his own head? With each step, Jan expected the hound to pounce on him from behind. Finally, he and the sailor reached the engine room.

  “Is there another exit?” Jan asked.

  The sailor nodded. “Three. One on the far end, this level. Two on the catwalk, either side.”

  “Crew?”

  The boy glanced at his watch. “No. Shouldn’t be.”

  Jan leaned against the nearby doorway. Good, he thought. He had enough lives on his conscience for one night. This boy would follow his instructions without question; if Jan was lucky, they’d both survive. If he wasn’t lucky…well, then at least he wouldn’t have to worry about his conscience. Jan rested there against the doorway for a minute or two. He inspected the door itself and the emergency panel on the wall just inside the engine room.

  Then a chilling howl echoed down the corridor—the cry of a hunter who’d caught the scent of his prey. The boy looked nervously back the way they’d just come. Jan placed a calming hand on his shoulder, though Jan felt no great sense of calm himself. He waited a few moments longer. The howl sounded again, closer. The hound was definitely tracing their path.

  “Come on,” Jan said at last. He half led, half supported himself on the boy as they made their way across the engine room. The main thoroughfare through the buzzing, vibrating machinery was a relatively straight shot, but the engine room was long, about fifty meters. If it was too long, or if it were too short, for that matter, then Jan knew that he and the boy were finished. The mortal kept glancing back over his shoulder—and then his eyes suddenly grew wide with fear.

  “Come on, damn you!” Jan urged the youth to greater speed, though it was Jan’s infirmity that slowed them. He caught the boy’s eye, put all his waning energy into maintaining his control. If he faltered and the sailor fled, there’d be no hope.

  The engine room seemed to stretch on and on before them. It seemed that each step took them nowhere. Finally, when Jan guessed they were at least halfway, he did risk a glance back. They were well over halfway, in fact, but entering the other door were the hound and his master. The master again had the leash in hand.

  Don’t turn it loose, Jan thought. Just don’t let go.

  Jan took the boy’s chin in his hand, looked deep into his eyes and spoke words that must be obeyed if either of them were to survive: “Run. Hit the emergency fire code. Wait for me just beyond the door. Now.”

  The boy was anxious to obey—anxious to run, at least. But his running was a prompt to the hound’s keeper. He turned loose the leash.

  “Kill, Lox!”

  The beast didn’t need instruction, might not even have heard its master. It shot across the long, narrow chamber. Jan ran as well. He’d waited only a second after the boy ran, but it seemed as if everyone else were moving at full speed while Jan labored in slow motion. He followed the sailor toward the door and prayed that his legs wouldn’t fail him.

  The boy reached the emergency panel, jabbed in the code, and was out the door in record time. By the time Jan got close to the exit, the emergency fire door was sliding down—a quarter of the way, halfway. He could hear the hound closing the distance between them, and the keeper was all the while yelling, “Kill, Lox! Kill!”

  Jan pictured the door closing before he could get through. He pictured it not closing in time to trap the hound. He pictured the beast taking him down before he got to the door. Jan’s legs were numb. They must’ve functioned on their own, because he couldn’t feel them. Still several meters from the doorway, Jan dove and rolled. The fire door was well past half closed. It would meet the floor in a few seconds and Jan would be trapped or crushed.

  The beast howled and lunged for Jan just as he slid under the door. The creature caught his leg. Its claws sank in, dug into his flesh as it pulled itself along. His leg and the beast’s upper body were directly beneath the door. Half a meter farther and it would be sealed.

  Jan twisted around just in time to see the sailor swinging a fire extinguisher through the air. The butt end of the metal container smashed the hound square in the face. Bones cracked. The beast grimaced and spat blood but didn’t let go of Jan’s leg. Jan kicked at the monster with his free foot with little effect. The beast seemed only angered by the attacks and sank its fangs into Jan’s leg. At the same time, the sailor swung the fire extinguisher again.

  Jan and the beast both howled in pain. Teeth clattered across the floor. The hound pulled back its smashed face. Jan pulled his broken ankle free of the doorway just as the fire door ground completely closed.

  Jan fell back on the floor. He closed his eyes against the pain jolting through his ankle and leg and allowed himself one prolonged roar of agony. As the echoes of his scream died away, he noticed the strange silence—strange because there was no pounding and scratching from the other side of the fire door.

  “Are all the exits closed?” Jan asked to be sure.

  The boy nodded. His mouth hung open slightly, but he was mute from what he’d seen.

  Jan struggled up onto his elbows to inspect the damage to his ankle—and saw the two amputated, clawed hands that still clung to his leg. Blood had soaked into the cuff of his pants leg. The dizziness that he’d overcome during the height of the danger returned now with a vengeance. Jan lay back down.

  His mind was still racing. They might bypass the system. They might get the doors open, or find another exit, a vent system. There was no time to be lost, but only with great effort was he able to sit up again. Gingerly, he plucked the claws from his skin, his clothing, and tossed the hands away.

  “Help me up.” It was necessary, but neither pleasant nor comfortable. “Take me to the captain,” said Jan. “Now. And once we’re there, go find me a damned crutch.”

  The handful of sailors helped Jan down the gangplank. They had no idea who this battered visitor limping along on his crutch was. They only knew that orders were orders, and the captain had ordered them to see this person off the ship. Their careful glances showed their unease. They wondered if his presence had anything to do with the crane accident, or with the rabid dog that had gotten on board. But they asked no questions, nor did they linger on the dock. The ship’s engines were roaring to life. The men hurried back on. The ship cast off almost at once.

  Jan skirted the crowd assembled around the wreckage of the sugar crates. An ambulance had pulled up—little need for that—but no police. No one seemed to know exactly what had happened. An investigation would be required, safety procedures reviewed in depth. No dock workers were unaccounted for, but a few people insisted that the load had fallen on someone. Eventually, Jan knew, they would dig into the huge pile, haul away the sugar and sacks and spli
ntered wood, and the compressed mass of unidentifiable body parts would cause quite a stir.

  Garlotte will have to take care of that too, Jan thought. The prince would have to see that his people explained away the accident. And the bullet-riddled limousine and five bodies. And the freighter that shoved off for sea without clearance because the captain had believed a fire in the engine room would lead to an explosion, and he was willing to sacrifice himself and his crew to ensure the safety of countless dock workers. When authorities determined that there was no fire, the captain, despite his heroic intentions, would be reprimanded, and fired. Obviously he must’ve been drunk or worse. But he had served his purpose.

  I must get word to the prince, Jan thought. Garlotte would need to send a team in to “fumigate” the engine room, of course. Hopefully the hound and its keeper wouldn’t escape before then.

  All in all, not a very good night for the Masquerade. If Jan were a Kindred of less standing, he would certainly be flogged, at the very least. But as a child of influence—and, more importantly, a childe of Hardestadt—his transgressions would be overlooked. He would be lauded as a destroyer of Sabbat assassins, where a neonate, despite a lack of options, would have been punished for imprudence.

  Jan staggered away from the docks and between two gray warehouses. Each step set loose tremors of pain from his ankle. He was glad to be away from the throng of mortals; he was too conspicuous limping about with bullet holes in his clothes, in his face. And the aroma of the kine was a cruel taunt. Jan thought of Marja, of Roel, of their needed blood that was denied him. There were others available—in Amsterdam. One phone call would solve the problem eventually, but that didn’t help tonight.

  He wandered on through South Baltimore, noticing only vaguely the street signs he passed.