She wiped a tear with a fast swipe and even tried to smile.
"That's a great idea, Raist. I own a house there, too, you can settle there. I know some interesting people, vampires like us, who might be useful for you to know. Have you ever heard about Clans? "
I revealed what I had learned from my tutors’ books and stories about Scottish Clans, but she gave me quite a different version about the whole thing, transposed to the world of vampires.
Clans, she said, were born from the need of the members of our race to organize themselves into groups in order to better fight and defend us from our enemies, the werewolves, who were divided into packs.
There were many Clans in Europe, which were further divided into several subgroups, called Academies, each with its own leader called Master. The Academies were allowed to have their own rules and were located in different places with respect to their Mother House, even very distant from one other, converging into one strong alliance in case of war or attack on the main Clan. All the Academies were required to pay a regular contribution in gold to the Mother House, which in turn bought houses, weapons, equipment, and clothing for all its members. The adepts of the main Clan, usually older and more experienced, committed themselves to educate and help the vampires of Academies, personally intervening in case of events that could endanger their physical safety or their wealth.
In France, she revealed to me that one of the most ancient and powerful European Clan existed, second just to the Romanian Clan of Draculian: the Diurnals, which has as High Master a very ancient vampire named Vincent. And let’s guess who he was: Shibeen’s maker.
"I could introduce you to him; we're... uhm... very... intimate... He is a bit set with his own rules, but he is worth meeting. He's a very important member of our species.”
That day, for the first time in six months, I didn't dream about dismembered bodies and screams.
The following evening, I started to prepare for my departure.
7 - NEW HORIZONS
I gave a solicitor the responsibility to sell both the shop and the house on my behalf; I would let him know my new address later on. However, I had to go back there to pack and take my beloved trunk away.
It was a shock.
The shop windows were shattered, the interior in ruins. I was overcome by anger towards Robert, the salesman, whose job was to keep the store open from morning to evening, keeping it clean and in order and taking care of everything concerning the suppliers. In practice, we entrusted the store management to him. Was this the way he performed his duties? On one wall, with faded red paint, you could read the word "murderers."
Investigations conducted by Shibeen indicated that there were strong suspicions focused on me, the tall and blond coalman with strange nocturnal habits. Someone had been able to escape from the tavern before the real hell was unleashed, or just at the beginning, and had spread horrible rumors about me. If that evening I had returned home rather than take refuge at Shibeen’s, I would have been caught before dawn, most probably lynched by an angry mob. However, I could not bear the thought of the Palmer's name being defiled that way, and the little chap didn't even care to remove the insults from the walls.
I went upstairs. The staircase was full of dust and spider webs, and fustiness hung in the air.
The door to my apartment was open, the interior devastated. My fury towards Robert was reaching dangerous levels. Even there, the walls were smeared with obscene drawings and not a single furnishing was spared from destruction. After lighting some candles, I reached my bedroom. Same chaos as in the previous rooms. With hands trembling with rage, I picked anything up from the ground I could, realizing soon that it was a losing battle. Strangely enough, the wardrobe hadn't been touched; I emptied it, cramming its contents into my trunk, and then I looked around for something that had belonged to Kristen, at least to have a keepsake of her.
I was aware that an entire chapter of my life was ending, but I didn't want to forget the people who had made it happy. My selling the house and the shop already seemed like a betrayal to the Palmers and to the hopes they had in me but, after the massacre in the tavern, that place was no longer safe. I could not find anything belonging to my wife, not even a piece of garment forgotten by mistake. It was as if she had never been part of my life. For sure, I was not a happy part of hers. I looked around one last time, and then went out towards the stairs. I hesitated in front of Roger and Ambrosine's apartment door because I wanted to take something away with me to remember them by. The door was still locked, there was even a brand new bolt that stood out against the dark wood.
The apartment was as dusty and as dark as mine was, but still tidy. I wandered in the tiny rooms touching the abandoned objects on the furniture. I went into the bedroom where I had said goodbye to my saviors for the final time and picked up Ambrosine's pillow, sinking my face in it in order to smell the last traces of her perfume. I detected the slight hint of the rose lotion she used to wipe her face and I felt tears in my eyes once again. I picked up the shawl she wore every night, the silver brush that she combed her hair with, and then I looked in the small wardrobe for something belonging to Roger. I found the waistcoat he wore for special occasions and added it to my small load. I still own those things and deem them as part of my most precious treasures, souvenirs from the happiest period of my life.
Finally, I closed the door behind me and descended the stairs, heading for the stable; I wanted to use the coal wagon to carry the trunk away and my other things. When I went inside, the terrible stench of putrefaction overwhelmed me, turning my anger towards Robert into absolute rage. Tony, our beautiful workhorse, was lying on the ground in an advanced state of decomposition. Given his extreme state of thinness, it was not hard to imagine he had died of starvation, left on his own for who knows how many days. I rocketed out of the stable and walked towards our salesman's house, determined to get back at him.
That short and thin fellow lived a little further down the street on Wickham Street, in a building that had seen better times. I didn't know the exact location of his home, but I would not give up until I found him, even at the cost of kicking down all the doors in the building. Luckily, the third was the right one; I went into a tiny apartment consisting of one room only. Next to the stove, where the remains of a fire were still burning, was a bed. It was almost three in the morning, my man was sleeping with his wife and two small children, two boys not more than six, all of them huddled together for warmth. Observing such an intimate scene, I hesitated for a moment, but the memory of the horse's death by starvation rekindled my anger and provided me with the incentive to act. I climbed up on the bed and grabbed Robert by his nightgown, lifting him with one hand and bringing his confused, sleepy, and, soon after, terrorized face next to mine.
"You! Disgusting being, how dare you let my benefactors' memory be defamed with those obscene writings without doing anything to fix it?! "
I threw him to the other side of the room while his wife and his sons were screaming in fear. I saw him becoming smaller and smaller in the corner behind him. It was pitch dark and maybe the fellow didn’t realize who was talking to him yet. I lit some candles, stinking tallow candles which were the cheapest possible available, and, holding one of them just below my face, already ghostly enough, reached him in the blink of an eye. When he realized who was paying him a visit and what I really was, he started to tremble and stutter. For once, I didn't have to hide my real nature; instead, I was revealing it to him in all its terrible glory. I drew my fangs and stared him into his eyes, enjoying his terror. Behind, the rest of his family was crying desperately.
"Shut up or you'll end up like him!" I growled at them, but all I got were heartbreaking moans.
"So what? What can you say in your defense?"
"Please... please, Mr. Van Hoeck, let me explain... I... I tried to go to work every morning, I swear, but people... there was always someone there with sticks and stones; they did not allow me to work... They destroyed ever
ything, they were looking for the one who killed all those people at the Goat and Chain, and they said it was the blond coalman, who goes out only at night... I mean you... I didn't have the guts to come back there, they wanted to beat me too... I have a family, I must take care of..."
"But you didn't take care of that poor horse, did you? You let him starve, imprisoned in that filthy stable!"
I put the candle on the ground and grabbed the salesman by his nightgown, shaking him as if he was a ragdoll. His teeth rattled behind his blue lips. As for the rest of his family, they burst in tears too.
"What do you think the punishment ought to be for your failings? What should I do to you now?"
He shook his head. The moans behind us grew louder. In an instant, I stood up and took the younger child in my arms, bringing my fangs to his tender neck. His mother tried to hold him back, but I shooed her away like she was an annoying insect.
"So what? Should I take it out on your poor child, you disgusting little man?"
He threw himself down on his knees at my feet, clasping his hands in a gesture of supplication. "I beg you, I beseech you, sir, I'm sorry ... Tomorrow I'll go to the store and fix it all, I promise! I carried away the sales ledger, I have it here, no one has taken them! And, as you have seen, I did not allow anyone to ravage the Palmer's home, I have been careful! Did you see that nice new bolt I bought? I beg you, I did my best, I have always served you honestly, spare us, please! "
I gave the crying child back to his mother and reached for the poor wretch a few feet within. My abrupt movements around the room were terrorizing them for sure, but that was just what I had wanted. I bent over him again with my face just a few inches from his: "What about my home? Uh? Wasn't it worth protecting also? Tell me!"
"No! I mean, yes sir, but I did not have the time... I beg you to believe me, don't hurt my family..." More hysterical weeping which I chose to ignore.
"I'm going to leave for a long journey. I made arrangements for the shops and the apartments to be sold as soon as possible. Tomorrow you are to go back there and you fix it all. You spit and polish it all and collect the Palmer's personal items, the ones I left, to give them to the poor. Do the same with the items I left at my home. Don't forget about the horse. I want you to bury him, not just throw him in a ditch like some piece of garbage. I'll verify everything, Robert, be sure of it, and if I find something not to my liking I'll come back to see you. And be sure I will be starving next time. You got that?"
He nodded so much that his head had threatened to sever from his neck. He lavished me with gratitude, even kissed the tips of my boots, and I shooed him away with disgust, standing up. I gave a nod to his wife, still clinging to their children, and left the wretched place, confident that my orders would be carried out to the letter.
I must confess, sometimes it's useful to look frightening like I do, and it's also funny. I know, I humiliated a man and compelled him to crawl at my feet in front of his children. It is not supposed to be funny, but vampires have a peculiar sense of humor.
We left London after ten days, on April 22, 1712.
It was my seventh year as a vampire. I should have been 35, but my age was forever preserved at 28.
I say "we" because Shibeen decided to go with me to facilitate my entry into the society in Paris, a city where I had never been before and didn't know anything about, let alone the language. I realize how much help I had in the first few years of my new life and without it I wouldn’t have been able to make it, I confess, and things would have been much more difficult and risky. Just think of this journey: our two coffins were loaded on board a ship bound for France under the careful supervision of two humans loyal to Shibeen who ensured they were well sealed and that our luggage would follow us. In addition, they traveled with us and, at the right time, gave instructions for us to be disembarked from the ship and placed on a carriage that took us straight to Shibeen's home in Paris. All this in broad daylight because ships departing at night were very rare. How could I have made it by myself? I would have hidden in the dark, in the cargo hold, hoping no one would find me or lock me inside my coffin and be sent as a parcel, fasting for many days before reaching my destination. Outrageous.
Thanks to Shibeen and her acquaintances in both worlds - she liked to have both types of lovers, although, since I had been back into her life, she was just mine - we didn't even have the impression of having just traveled. When we opened the lids of our shelters, I was filled with curiosity, she with immense relief; it was sunset of the following day and we had been directly carried to our new rooms with our luggage in our respective closets. This house was also teeming with luxury and servants, local ones, but used to deal with people like us, and were organized in two shifts as in London. Only Lawrence, the night butler, had followed us. Shibeen was too fond of him and could not part with his lavish attentions even for a few days.
To be honest, in some ways, I'd have rather been there alone; nothing seemed to have changed, just the view from the windows was different. On the other hand, I was grateful for all the trouble she had taken to make sure I had started my new life on the right foot. The next day she intended to introduce me to the legendary Vincent to propose my candidacy to his Clan.
"When he sees you, he'll go out of his mind, believe me!"
She had told me this about six times in the last two hours but it seemed rude to point it out to her. Actually, being compelled to perform like a trained seal for that fellow, no matter how much of a big shot he was, didn't appeal to me at all. I was curious about the Clan, about the concept of unity it evoked, but I didn't plan on behaving like a wagging puppy on his behalf.
"Don’t forget, be respectful! Never look at him straight in his eyes, bow at the right moment, and don't talk if you're not asked to."
The whole thing was beginning to get on my nerves even before it had started!
If she had known how things had turned out, she would have dragged me to another continent by force I think. I promised I would behave just to make her stop tormenting me, then we went out for our first city tour as well as for our first dinner with a French menu.
Paris was as dirty and smelly as London.
The poor were as numerous and destitute as those in England; the air was just as unbreathable; the only aspect that was better compared to the British capital was the city plan, more orderly with wider and less winding roads, but equally chaotic with people and vehicles. Shibeen seemed to be acquainted with it inside out and escorted me all night long to the most glamorous places. I remember we got into a big square called Place Gréve, deserted and lit only by a few oil lanterns mounted on tall poles. An impressive gallows stood out against the black sky, dark and menacing. I remember I shivered and looked away quickly. She probably sensed my distress, gave me a strange look, and took my hand, leading me away from that dismal place. We did not talk about it until we got home in her bed when she shyly asked what I had felt seeing that instrument of death. She knew I did not like to talk about my feelings and I am sure she would not have insisted, but the gentle tone of her question made me overcome my natural introversion in an attempt to give her an answer.
"I thought that for our lifestyle, even just for what we did tonight, that it is the treatment we deserve in accordance with the law of men. I don't like execution venues, I always try to keep away from them, and I really don't get those people who attend the killings as if they were watching a performance. They give me the creeps, that's all.”
She was silent for a moment, thoughtful, and then said with conviction: "That's because you haven't met Vincent yet. He'll give you the real creeps!"
I threw a pillow at her face, squeezed her beneath me, and loved her a little more.
8 - A BAD START
The next night, I was literally extracted by force from my trunk by what seemed to be a kind of tornado swirling about my room yelling instructions. "Get up, hurry, we cannot make Vincent wait, come on, get dressed, fix yourself, you're not wearing that jack
et, are you kidding me?! Lawrence, why haven't the Master’s boots been polished, yet?! "
It was like dealing with an insane poltergeist woken up on the wrong side of the bed.
My level of nervousness for the meeting would have been zero but, thanks to her hysteria, when we left I was ready to kill someone. In fact, that's how I had started the evening, deaf to Shibeen's appeals, which forebode death and destruction if we arrived even ten seconds late. I didn’t care about anything, I was thirsty and wanted to have dinner. Then, as usual, the devil in me was having a lot of fun making her angry.
I chose my victim more accurately than usual, rejecting a couple of possibilities for trivial reasons just to make her upset. A few minutes more and she would have started to stamp her feet and scream like a whimsical little girl.
"Dutchman, if you don't get a move on in 3 seconds I'm going back to London and leave you here after kicking you out of my home, I swear! He is waiting for us. He is not any one; he has given you the privilege of meeting him because of our past! Do you think he personally tests all the vampires who submit their candidacy to the Clan?
I avoided reminding her that I, personally, did not submit any application. First, I wanted to see how all the stuff had worked and whether it was just a bunch of lunatics seeing enemies in every corner. I surrendered and climbed in the carriage.
On the way, Shibeen explained to me we were heading to just one of Vincent's homes in Paris and the only one she knew; actually the Master moved from one house to the other all the time to limit the danger of an ambush. The same fate awaited the core members of his military hierarchy, a fate I didn't envy at all, without knowing that within a few decades it would have befallen me as the Supreme General of the House Mother Army. What a mouthful!
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