On a Darkling Plain (29 page)

Yet Elliott couldn’t help feeling a tingle of wicked amusement at the way Gunter’s mouth fell open and his eyes bugged out. The actor suspected that his fellow lieutenant had asked Duane to nominate him, and that the prince of Miami had agreed. But now that Gunter had denounced the present government of Sarasota as vehemently as possible, now that his usefulness was over, Duane had stabbed him in the back, passing him over for the candidate he truly favored.

“This — this isn’t right!” Gunter stammered. “I told you, I opposed Sinclair’s ideas, and I’ve lived in Sarasota for more than a century. I should be the new master!”

“I’m sorry,” Duane said. “But if you w'ere any great shakes as a leader, you’d already be in control. Your views would have prevailed over Sinclair’s. No, I think we’d be better off with someone altogether new.”

“If Sarasota is under siege,” drawled Malachi Jones, exhaling a blue plume of smoke, “perhaps I should point out that Pablo scarcely has an unblemished record as a military commander. He and his brood recently lost a battle to a band of Lupines led by a renegade Kindred, sustaining heavy casualties and ultimately losing their haven.” Elliott suspected that Malachi didn’t like the idea of one of his lieutenants trying to win his own domain without consulting him. Velasquez scowled up at him, and the Ventrue gave him a shrug and a crooked smile.

“That may be,” said Palmer Guice, “but I know Mr. Velasquez, and I’m satisfied that he’s qualified to lead. You must feel the same, or he wouldn’t be a member of your primogen.” Malachi waved a hand, tacitly conceding the point. “I realize that others are qualified as well, but considering the crisis facing Sarasota, I want to keep this simple, and not get bogged down in the long nights of politicking that would inevitably result from a large slate of candidates. Therefore, I’m closing the nominations.”

“May we each make a statement before you call the vote?” Elliott asked. Guice inclined his head, giving permission, whereupon the actor gestured to Velasquez, inviting him to go first.

“Whatever my prince has to say about me,” said Velasquez, shooting another venomous glance at Malachi’s box, “I’m a fighter and a seer. I can defend Sarasota and catch Dracula,
without
breaking the Traditions or bringing trouble down on my neighbors’ heads.”

“Succinctly put,” Elliott said. “Since there are three of us representing the current regime, we’ll try to be brief as well.” He gave Gunter a sunny smile. “You can go first, dear colleague. Would you care to defend our stewardship?”

Still trying to come to terms with Gilbert Duane’s betrayal, with the fact that the vote now threatened to
diminish
his authority, Gunter looked both furious and bewildered. His mouth worked, but no sounds emerged. The audience, many of whom comprehended the Malkavian’s situation as clearly as Elliott did, roared with laughter. When the swell of mirth subsided, Elliott said, “Judy?” The former slave said, “My progeny and I are Brujah. No one tells us where to give our loyalty.” Her fangs slightly extended, she sneered at the crowd. “If you’re smart, you won’t try to stuff a new boss down our throats.” She glared at Velasquez. “And if
you’re
smart, you’ll keep your ass off our turf, no matter how these bozos vote.”

Palmer Guice shook his head as if she were a naughty child. Elliott imagined a
tsk, tsk, tsk.
“I sympathize with your pique, my dear, but no matter what the outcome of this Conclave, I recommend that you abide by its decisions. The Camarilla has the will and the might to ‘stuff them down your throat’ if it needs to.”

“My turn to make a statement,” said Elliott, striving to project all the supernatural charisma at his disposal. “My fellow Kindred, you’ve already heard Judy and me describe and explain our recent actions. You’ve already had a chance to form an impression of our capabilities. I won’t speak to those issues anymore.

“But I will say this. All but the youngest and the most fortunate of our company have struggled to survive in desperate circumstances. We’ve fought Lupines, anarchs, the Sabbat and witch hunters, bending even the Traditions when necessity dictated. Some of us even remember the nightmare of the Inquisition, when the mortals rose against us
en masse.
Before I walked onto this stage tonight, I reflected that the worst thing about such a dark time is that, when trouble threatens to lay a Kindred low, he can always count on his fellow Cainites to rejoice or even to connive at his downfall, either because they hope to profit from it or out of sheer sadism.”

Certain members of the Assembly growled as if the Toreador had offended them. He kept talking, gazing at them steadily, willing them to fall silent. They did. “And yet, as I look at you now, marking the faces of a host of friends I’ve cherished over the years, 1 can’t believe that my grim perspective is true. Surely the Beast doesn’t rule in each and every one of our hearts. Surely we aren’t quite the devils the humans have always deemed us. Surely the existence of the Camarilla itself, with its covenants and accords to preserve the peace, proves that we’re capable of brotherhood, honor and charity, not just greed and blood lust. If so, then I dare to hope that you won’t turn against a community of your fellows in their hour of need. You won’t force them to accept a new master, an outsider they can’t support and behind whom they cannot rally. You’ll trust them to manage their affairs as best they can, as you’d wish to be trusted yourselves in the same situation. Even when the stakes are high, when they’ve carelessly given offense, and the fool Toreador” — he gave the crowd a self-deprecating smile — “giving orders is, as Gunter has attested, a man of distinctly impeachable character and judgment. You’ll do it because that’s the noble and the generous thing to do.”

For a moment the theater was silent. Then Malachi Jones said, “Hear, hear.” A number of the assembled vampires began to clap enthusiastically - but not all of them. Elliott had no way of telling whether he’d swayed enough of them for it to matter.

He supposed he’d know in a moment. Turning back toward Guice, he said, “All right, we’ve all spoken our pieces. Would you care to call the vote?”

“Yes, and I’d like to do it with a simple show of hands, unless someone has an objection,” the Justicar said. He looked out at the crowd, none of whom spoke out against the proposed procedure. “Very well, then. How many want to see Pablo Velasquez take over as regent of Sarasota?”

Elliott reflexively held his breath while he looked around the hall. Only about a third of the Assembly had raised their pallid hands. It was encouraging, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. If a large number of those present abstained from the plebiscite, then he, Judy and Gunter might receive even fewer votes.

“And how many wish to see Prince Roger’s primogen remain in control?” asked Guice.

About half of the assembled vampires signaled their support.

The Toreador. Brujah, and even some of the Malkavians of Sarasota applauded and cheered. Bounding out of her chair, Judy whooped and threw her arms around Elliott. Lifting him up, she whirled him in a circle, hugging him so tightly that his ribs ached and he was glad that the undead didn’t need to breathe.

Guice gavelled insistently for order. Finally the noise subsided and Judy put Elliott down. The Justicar cleared his throat. “This is a little awkward,” he said.

Elliott felt a pang of apprehension. “And why is that?”

“I always try to determine the will of the Conclave,” said Guice, “and I almost always follow it. But I trust you all do understand that ultimately an Assembly is only an advisory body. It’s the Justicar who makes the decisions, and in this case, noting that the majority of our wise elders and princes supported the idea of change, I feel obliged to act on the basis of my own conscience and my own misgivings. I hereby declare Pablo Velasquez the acting sovereign of Sarasota.”

“You bastard!” Judy screamed. Faster than any mortal, she hurled herself forward. More agile still, Elliott lunged after her and grabbed her. Using her Herculean strength, she tore herself free instantly. The Archons flanking the bench hastily reached inside their coats.

“Calm down!” Elliott rapped, using his charismatic powers on the Brujah leader. “This isn’t helping!” He gripped her chill, bare forearm. Shuddering, fangs bared, Judy allowed him to drag her back a step.

Elliott looked up at the bench. When he beheld Guice’s smug, sanctimonious expression, he nearly went berserk himself. He was now certain that either the Ventrue was one of the enemies of Sarasota, or someone had bribed him. Either way, the outcome of the Conclave had been fixed from the start. And he didn’t know what to do about it. The Justicar, damn him, was right. Elliott and his friends couldn’t fight the entire Camarilla by themselves. “I request that you reconsider,” the actor said.

“As do I,” said Catherine. Many others shouted the same sentiment.

“I’m sorry,” said Guice. “I’ve made my decision, and no one here is empowered to gainsay me.”

“You’re wrong,” said a deep voice from the back of the auditorium.

NINETEEN:
TH E ORDEAL

Indescribable, O queen, is the grief you bid me to renew.

— Virgil,
Aeneid

As Elliott turned to peer out into the audience, a huge Kindred, whose bushy brown beard, wild mane of hair and barbaric gold earring contrasted oddly with his conservative suit and tie, rose from his seat and headed down the aisle.

“Do you know
¹
who that is?” Judy whispered excitedly, shrugging off Elliott’s grip.

“Of course,” murmured the Toreador, half-dazed with astonishment. “Angus, the Gangrel Justicar.”

“What’s he doing here? Is he on our side?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll tell you one thing. Now that I’ve heard him speak, I’m all but certain that it was him giving me Dracula’s description on the phone the other night.” The audience murmured. Looking as surprised as Elliott felt, Guice stared at the giant approaching the stage. “This is, ah, unexpected,” the Ventrue Justicar said. “I had no idea you’d even returned to your duties, let alone that you were present tonight.”

Angus bounded lightly onto the stage. “But I have and I am,” he rumbled. “And I dispute your ruling. As far as I’m concerned, the government of Sarasota should stay the way it is.”

Much of the crowd cheered. Scowding, Guice pounded with his gavel until the din subsided. The exertion caused his curly white wig to slip slightly askew. “May I point out,” the Ventrue magistrate said, “that
I
called this Conclave.”

Angus shrugged his immense shoulders. “You may, if I can point out that it doesn’t matter. According to the letter of the law, I still wield as much authority as you.”

“If you two can’t agree,” called Otis McNamara, light glinting on the gray iron ring in his septum, “then there’s no decision. If there’s no decision, then things stay the way they are.”

Guice’s mouth twisted. “Rest assured, we
will
come to a judgment,” he said.

“Considering your deep respect for the opinions of the Assembly,” said Malachi Jones dryly, the air in his box now hazy with rum-scented tobacco smoke, “why not let the vote you just conducted break the deadlock?”

“Because I don’t consider that appropriate in this situation,” Guice replied.

Ang;us smiled unpleasantly. “Shall we fight it out then, you and I? Provide the gory spectacle so many of them” — he nodded at the audience — “crave?” Though struggling to retain his composure, Guice looked somewhat taken aback.    .

“Surely,” said a male vampire, rising from his seat, “we ought to try to resolve this matter in a more rational manner than that.” Elliott recognized the speaker as Sebastian Durrell. Durrell was a Tremere elder from Louisville, a tall, well-dressed, fortyish and somewhat prim-looking vampire with a high, bony forehead, deep-set eyes, and a pronounced widow’s peak.

Arching a shaggy eyebrow, Angus said, “I’m guessing that you have a suggestion.”

“Not to minimize Ms. Morgan’s or Mr. Schmidt’s importance to their city,” said Durrell, giving the vampires in question an apologetic smile, “but on the basis of what I’ve heard here tonight, it seems that the heart of this matter is Mr.
Sinclair’s
fitness to lead. His mental stability, that is. Well, matters deadlocked in Conclave are occasionally decided by an ordeal, are they not? As it happens, using my magic, I can subject him to high levels of psychological stress.”

“How?” Judy demanded.

“You’ll see,” the Warlock replied. “Rest assured, it does no physical harm, and it will work. If he doesn’t crack under the strain, then perhaps we
can
trust him to serve as Roger Phillips’ steward."

“Ordinarily,” said Angus slowly, “we use ordeal to determine an alleged criminal’s guilt or innocence, not to decide questions of praxis.”

“What about the invasion of my domain?” said Gilbert Duane. “If breaking the Fifth Tradition isn’t a crime, what is?”

Elliott drew a breath to say that he’d submit to the ordeal. Evidently sensing his intent, Judy gripped his forearm with crushing force. “Don’t do it,” she whispered. “You don’t know what Durrell’s really talking about. He could be one of our enemies. Maybe the whole point of the Conclave was to set you up for this. To do the same thing to you that they did to Roger!”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Toreador murmured in reply. “Durrell’s right. One way or another, this has all turned out to be about me. Perhaps if I prove myself, Guice will feel obliged to let us alone.” He raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be happy to let Mr. Durrell read to me from the complete works of Bulwer-Lytton, subject me to easy-listening music” — the audience laughed — “or whatever he intends.” He gave Guice a level stare. “Provided, of course, that you first guarantee that my performance will settle the issue before the Assembly.”

Guice gazed out at Durrell for a moment, then looked back at Elliott. “Agreed.”

Angus shrugged. “It’s your sanity and your position on the line, Toreador. If you’re willing, I won’t object. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”