The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith (14 page)

Stoddard shook the offered hand, nodded warmly, and then turned
his attention back to his commanding officer, already well ahead of them.

"What's the boy's condition?" Clark asked no one in particular.

"He is quite well, sir," Mayor Comblain offered eagerly, struggling
to keep pace with the long-legged American. "We have made him comfortable and offered-"

"What were the losses?"

Mayor Comblain opened his mouth to speak, but it was Anhalt who
replied. "HMS Ptolemy, Khartoum, and Cape Town were lost. HMS Mandalay and Giza are missing. A recovery team is still at the crash site, but
we expect at least fifty percent casualties. Something on the order of
eight hundred men: army, navy, and imperial staff. Air Lord Admiral
Kurtiz was killed in the fighting."

"How many vampires?"

"We estimate the attacking force at two thousand. It was a-"

"No. I mean how many did you kill?"

Anhalt paused, embarrassed but unbent. "I ... don't know. We've
recovered nearly two hundred bodies and destroyed them."

Clark whistled with disdain. "Eight hundred men dead, one battleship
and four frigates lost, in exchange for a couple hundred enemy? That's what
I call an extravagant battle plan. So you saw Adele taken alive, Colonel?"

Anhalt bristled at the American's familiarity with Her Highness's
name. "No, Senator. I did not. But we believe His Highness Prince
Simon was the last to see her. He deems she is alive. He was-"

"Then let me talk to the boy. He seems to be the only one who
knows anything."

Anhalt wouldn't slow his pace despite the ache from the gash on his
leg. The wound reopened, and he noticed a sliver of blood soaking
through his uniform on his thigh. The edges of his vision greyed as Clark mounted the broad marble steps to the finest house on the Marseilles
waterfront. He desperately hoped he wouldn't pass out from the pain.

The senator threw back the doors-he never merely opened a door
if he could throw it back. When he threw back the final mahogany door
to the upstairs bedroom, he announced, "Prince Simon! I've come to
bring you home."

Prince Simon looked up from a book and furrowed his brow.
"Where's Colonel Anhalt?"

Clark maintained his heroic grin. "I'm Senator Clark."

"I know. Where's Colonel Anhalt?"

"I have a gift for you from home." Clark stretched out a hand, and
one of his officers gave him a package wrapped in colored paper and tied
with string. The American paused with annoyance as Anhalt stepped
into view in the doorway. Then he handed the gift to Simon, who waited
for the colonel to nod before tearing open the paper. The boy looked at
the box beneath without much interest.

"Candy," Clark said. "I'm told they're your favorites."

"Yes." Simon put the box on the floor next to his chair.

The American spun on his heel. "I'd like a word with the lad." He
slammed the door shut in Colonel Anhalt's face. Then Clark clasped his
hands behind his back. "So we're alone now. How are you, son? You can
tell me."

"Fine."

"Any pain?"

"No. I'm fine."

The Senator watched the sullen boy. "So I'll bet you were scared out
there."

Simon glared.

"No shame in that," Clark said hurriedly. "Vampires can be
frightening."

The boy stayed quiet.

Clark went to one knee next to the boy's overstuffed chair in an awkward pantomime of concern. "Don't worry, Simon. I'm going to see you
safely home."

"My name is Prince Simon. Or Your Highness."

Clark rose and stepped back, resisting a powerful urge to cuff the
young lad. He was about to inform Simon that in America children
don't speak so to their elders when Simon continued, "My sister is still
alive. And Colonel Anhalt will save her."

"Colonel Anhalt will return to Alexandria." Clark leaned back with
a sneer. "I will mount a force to save your sister."

"Colonel Anhalt rescued me," Simon responded defensively.

"You think much of him."

"Yes." Simon lifted his head with pride and confidence that exceeded
his age. The boy turned up the hem of his corduroy jacket to reveal the
dagger hilt at his belt. "He gave me this."

Clark smiled in a patronizing way. "How nice. He could've used you
in the battle. Maybe he could've killed a few more vampires then."

"You weren't there!" Simon retorted.

The American snapped back, "You might wish I had been! I've
killed more vampires than you can count, my lad! I know a success from
a failure. And this was a failure. Now, pack! You're going back to
Alexandria on Ranger before the sun sets. And after I deliver you to your
father's waiting arms, I will rescue my future wife, and get this war back
on schedule."

Clark threw back the bedroom door and said to Anhalt, as if the
colonel were a footman, "Get him ready. I'll be back in four hours. I will
take your prince to Alexandria. I want your people to see the love I have
for the royal family, and they need to see it as fast as possible. Your
humiliation has distressed your capital. They need confidence restored."
With that, the American cruised down the corridor with his entourage
in his wake, leaving Anhalt grimacing in the corridor.

Major Stoddard paused in front of Anhalt, about to say something
to ease the man's humiliation, but chose instead to exchange merely a
sorrowful glance with the Gurkha officer before following after Clark.

A slender man walked down a gangplank over the greasy black water of
the Nile. Smoke from the steamer swirled around him. It was a warm night in Giza, and the dockhands were busy even this late. Passengers
departing the steamer paused to harangue the army of porters for being
slow with their luggage. Travelers were met by friends or loved ones
with embraces and handshakes. And a few wandered lonely to one of the
many pubs or coffeehouses nearby. Herds of longshoremen moved under
bright chemical lights, shifting containers of grain and fruit onto boats
for the short jaunt to the coast or onto rail cars bound for Port Said. Steel
and machine parts forged in the belching factories of Alexandria waited
to head inland via river or rail to the booming cities of Luxor, Aswan,
and Khartoum.

The man who left the steamer did not wait for luggage nor meet
friends nor go for a drink. His plain black suit topped by a modest homburg attracted no attention. He was Japanese, but it was not incredible
to see Far Easterners in any imperial city. His walking stick tapped the
wooden planks as he slipped through the crowd.

Outside the port gates, he searched for a horse-drawn cab, but without
luck. He settled for a steam hansom and settled into a leather seat that
smelled of sweat and oranges. The man removed his hat and ran a gloved
hand over his close-cropped black hair. He watched the town roll past, but
the cab's rocking motion, the sauna of steam and mist, as well as the
clacking of the cab's steel wheels along the macadam street was hardly
relaxing. Technology for its own sake. It made no improvement on the
horse and, in fact, was a distinct regression in the man's opinion.

After only a few minutes, he banged the roof with his stick and paid
the soot-faced cabbie. A dry desert breeze accompanied him along the
sidewalk as a few after-dinner strollers greeted him with friendly nods,
taps on hat brims, or fingers to lips and heart. He returned their kindnesses but kept his head down. His stoic blankness did not betray the
thrill he felt every time he glimpsed the Great Pyramid of Khufu
through the gaps between the fashionable brick townhouses.

The man took a fifteen-minute ramble to ensure he hadn't been followed; then he climbed three steps to a portico and pulled the bell. The
door was opened promptly by an Egyptian butler who took the visitor's
hat and stick.

The Japanese man crossed the cool foyer with its lovely inlaid cypress floor and entered the dim library. He didn't pause to peruse the
many volumes rising twenty feet to the ceiling. Instead he went quickly
to a large golden sarcophagus against the wall and opened it. He gave an
empty smile at Sir Godfrey's little conceit. A secret passage hidden in
the mummy case. Such typical playfulness.

Inside the sarcophagus he entered another world, descending one
hundred narrow steps into a very long, hot gallery carved during the Old
Kingdom. The passage was so narrow both of his shoulders nearly
brushed stone. Hissing gas lamps bracketed high on the walls provided
faint ghostly light.

After ten minutes, a small rectangle of pale light appeared far above.
He took a shallow breath and climbed worn stone steps. He tried to keep
his footfalls quiet, but when he finally reached the doorway three figures
were already watching for him. Two women and one man. Black, and
brown, and white. No matter their gender or color, their faces were stern
and agitated.

"Good evening." He bowed.

The stone-walled chamber was only twenty by twenty, but the ceiling
was lost high in the darkness. The walls were painted with scenes of death
magic from the Old Kingdom. A red basalt sarcophagus dominated the
floor. It was plain, lidless, and empty. The room deep inside the Great
Pyramid was clearly known to ancient tomb robbers, but it had never been
rediscovered by archaeologists in modern times.

"Well, Mamoru, is Princess Adele dead?" Nzingu Mamenna was the
first to speak. She was a sorceress from Zululand. She wore a fashionable
dress with graceful embroidery and beadwork done with her own hand.
Only a close examination would reveal that the beads were polished bits
of bone.

"Well, Nzingu, let's let Mamoru catch his breath, shan't we?" Sir
Godfrey Randolph stepped forward with a pacifying chuckle bubbling
out from behind his magnificent white mustache. "Here, have a glass of
wine, old boy. It's most excellent, I must say. I've had four myself." The
old gentleman with a beet red face stood in a sweat-stained white linen
suit. Sir Godfrey had a tendency to mutter and dither like the absentminded scientific amateur his social circle in Giza took him to be. He was a retired surgeon, long past practicing, and now most famous as the
eccentric older brother to the empire's richest man, Lord Aden. But
above the bushy mustache, his eyes were piercing and hard. His knowledge of ancient occult texts was unequaled.

Mamoru sipped the offered wine and exchanged a quick glance with
Sanah the Persian. Only Sanah's dark worried eyes were visible over the
edge of her black veil. She had gathered knowledge and practice from
her Persian homeland as well as from Afghanistan and India. She collected arcane religious rituals like butterflies. Her delicate hands, which
were her only visible flesh, were covered with intricate henna tattooing
and festooned with large silver jewelry. She spoke only rarely, but wrote
aching poetry that made men cry.

Mamoru announced, "Obviously you have all heard that Princess
Adele's convoy was attacked in southern France during her tour."

"Tour!" Nzingu the Zulu spat. She never cared to bandy words,
which was why she had fled to Equatoria when the last independent
Zulu king decided to embark on a modernization program including
dispatching witchfinders to root out sorcerers. "It was ridiculous to send
her! How could they do such a thing? So the princess is dead. What do
we do now?"

"No." Mamoru shook his head. "I believe she is still alive. If they
had wanted to kill her, she would've been killed after they forced her airship down. They are not shy about killing."

Mamoru knew Sanah the Persian was waiting to meet his eyes with
sympathy, but he refused to look up. His fists clenched and unclenched
as he struggled to manage his breathing and maintain his calm
demeanor. His distress would be clear to the Persian because she knew
him well enough to know the tragedy of his own wife and daughter at
the hands of vampires. Neither Nzingu nor Sir Godfrey would notice
that Mamoru appeared other than the serene and disassociated magi he
always was. They could not know the psychic toll this tragedy was
taking on him beyond the obvious loss of his young protege.

Mamoru said, "Apparently Princess Adele fell into the hands of the
Greyfriar."

Sir Godfrey hooted. "Well! That's a bit of luck."

"But," Mamoru continued, "I fear this is no longer the case. Information is sparse, but it seems that the Greyfriar was unable to complete
his rescue. And the princess was indeed taken near Riez, resulting in the
complete devastation of that town."

"Greyfriar!" Nzingu snorted. "Is that what this cabal has come to?
Depending on masked lunatics?"

Mamoru went on without reply to Nzingu. "I believe it likely that
Princess Adele is in the hands of the British clan-"

"Good God!" Sir Godfrey blurted out against his will. "Cesare!"

The reaction of the women was stunned silence. Even magicians did
not know how to respond to the unthinkable.

Mamoru continued with calmness admirable given his distress. "I
am currently attempting to find her and determine her condition. Forces
are in motion. There is hope. There is always hope. Prince Simon is well
and should be home soon."