The Slum Orphanage - Chapter 30 (Patreon)

What am I supposed to do?

Don’t believe it. Absolutely do not believe that mangy bastard. If the girl is with Brute, she’s as good as dead. I won’t be able to save her myself, the clan’s fighters are unavailable. I can’t tell Harry, he’ll lock me in a cupboard and go to Mo’s himself, and Ellie will be killed. If I go to the meeting alone, she’ll die anyway, along with me. Or won’t she? Won’t we? Why does the brute need me? For betrayal, or blackmail? Bryce can handle blackmail, his nerves are stronger than mine. He won’t rise to provocation, but putting him in that position would be downright rotten. Which means I need to act.

How much time has passed? A minute? Two? Harry did say I might make a decent craftsman.

I dashed into the workshop, to my stones, grabbed the longest slate plates within reach, a box of earth reservoirs, and froze. I’d learned to make primitive grenades back in the Gratch cellar, but those rocks had burst because of unstable spellwork. Now that I had properly mastered Explosion, my ability to make stone bombs had improved considerably. The question was — what exactly did I need?

And what I needed was… something that would send me to the other side quickly, with no chance of coming back as one of those damned creatures. Brute was a werewolf, apparently, but we’d already established they worked with the bloodsuckers, so no risks. The bomb had to guarantee destruction of my brain. Hang it round my neck? A stone collar? And what about the blast? I wouldn’t mind taking a couple of those things with me, but what if there were innocents there? Mo’s would certainly be full of coppers. I didn’t want to harm them.

Right. A contained blast.

I quickly melted the plates, shaping them into a broken ring so I could slip my neck through the gap. I stripped off my shirt and softened the stone again so it moulded to my body, then swiftly inscribed the formula for Explosion, projecting it strictly upwards. With the reservoirs I was loading into it, my head should be turned to mince, and if I angled myself so my neck faced the enemy, it might take them with me. Besides, all the reservoirs were earth-aspected; I could still use that magic for a shield and stone flesh.

Once the suicide collar settled around my neck, I joined the ends with another piece of stone and crammed every reservoir I had into it. Knuckles caught me in the final moments of preparation.

“What’s that?”

“It’s… stand here,” I said. “Lean on the table.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Something happened? We were meant to continue,” he said, doing as I asked.

And I, rather underhandedly, took a book, pulled Petrification from it, and cast it at Knuckles. At home he didn’t wear the combat gear Harry had made for him, so he couldn’t resist.

“It’s a suicide amulet. Brute called. Said if I don’t get to Mo’s in half an hour, he’ll kill Ellie.”

I pulled my shirt back on, holding the collar to hide the amulet in case Cap or Harry crossed my path, and shut the workshop door. Ten minutes had already passed. With luck, Knuckles wouldn’t be found in the remaining twenty, and no one but me would leave the Anvil within the allotted time. I’d have to drive hard to make it.

I changed into a clean shirt, but didn’t bother fastening it, skipped the waistcoat and tie, though I did sling on the shoulder holster with the pistol. Jacket over the top, satchel already packed. I set off. Hopefully Harry was busy and wouldn’t notice the haste of my departure.

On the way, I swallowed potions one after another, preparing for a fight. I considered stopping at the nearest telephone box, but I was already late.

I arrived three minutes past.

I was putting myself into some semblance of order in the street, on the move, and just before the door I activated the collar, letting the magic from the reservoirs feed into the spellwork. Good thing I’d had the sense to separate the activation runes into their own block, now I could trigger them with a thought, without holding the entire spell in mind. Losing concentration could have cost me my head ahead of schedule.

I stepped into the cafe and looked around. As usual, there were constables inside: a familiar pair were quickly working through bowls of oatmeal with dripping by the window, while a sergeant slept in the corner, head resting against the wall. A man in a blue check suit raised a hand holding a table knife, drawing my attention.

The face was unfamiliar, but it suited the name: coarse, angular, as though carved from stone, with grey eyes as cold as ice. The appearance was, of course, false. Beneath the thin haze of mist magic and black blotches of darkness hid Eustace Oates, de Camp’s secretary. His aura remained just as inert and uniform, as if painted on, and now I was certain it had never been real. Perhaps the array of fire amulets covering his subtle body was just as false. But the cane resting on the neighbouring chair, enchanted with fire and steel, topped with a heavy knob, was most likely real.

I approached the table and took the seat opposite. Eustace, Brute, cut himself a piece of the black pudding I usually ordered here and put it into his mouth.

“Excellent choice,” I said, approving his gastronomic taste.

“I’m not so sure,” he replied, and I noticed waves of mist and darkness spreading from Oates, enclosing the table in a dome. “I’ve never cared for cooked blood. Seems a waste of the product to me.”

“Are you a werewolf or a vampire?” I asked. The flea-ridden lot are indifferent to blood, they prefer meat.

“You don’t know?” my companion said, surprised. “That’s good news. Though I thought you’d nearly stared your eyes out during dinner on the day of the meeting.”

“You couldn’t have seen my gaze,” I objected. I’d been using a spell, and he’d mostly had his back to me.

“I felt it. And working you out was a matter of technique and common sense. One little test, and here we are… Awful dish, by the way,” Oates pushed the plate aside, “far too much garlic.”

“Seemed just right to me… Where’s Ellie?” I asked. “If you please.”

“In a safe place. We could take a drive.”

“Do I look like an idiot?”

“You came,” Oates said, making it clear that hadn’t been the wisest decision.

“I can still turn around and leave.”

“And who’s going to let you?” the vampire smiled. “Let me relieve you of your illusions. Watch.”

His subtle body shuddered with “mist” and rippled, and behind it spread a sea of darkness. The spiritual heart shrank to a tiny spark of blood, a flicker of aether burned in his brow, and below, in the elemental source, there yawned a devouring abyss of hunger. At the sight of that twisted energy node, only one phrase came to mind — one I had never truly understood before: darker than black.

I had seen the auras of masters, and they were nothing beside the riot of darkness this bloodsucker concealed. In Kate’s case, for instance, only the elemental source had been completely swallowed by darkness, the rest of her subtle body was tainted, diluted by it, but it did not dominate so absolutely, and her aura remained translucent. With Eustace, only the limbs showed through at all, and even the head, only if you looked closely.

My throat went dry. Oates was a grandmaster, or as near to that level as one could be. Quite possibly, I was sitting across from a prince of the bloodsuckers. An ancient creature, one even my uncle would hesitate to face alone. Five centuries old, at least. The experience he must have…

“You’re mine,” the vampire sneered, and that snapped me back to myself.

And why should I care about his experience? The clan is older still, and in all that time the Bremor people have sent plenty of ancients to the grave… Damn it, Duncan, get a grip. However powerful and dangerous he is, you’re the hunter here.

I gave a short huff, undid the top buttons of my shirt, and showed him the stone collar.

The smile faded from his face, though he didn’t grasp what he was seeing.

“That little toy is meant to protect you?”

“That ‘toy’ makes taking me pointless. The blast will be strong enough to turn my head to mince. I won’t be able to answer questions, and I won’t be turned into a vampire.”

The bloodsucker frowned, glancing towards the constables.

“And what about collateral victims?”

“I didn’t have much time to make it,” I said, “but I think I managed. They’re not in danger.”

“Suicide is rather un-Christian,” the vampire prodded.

“I prefer to think of it as a sacrifice…” A very convenient lie came to mind, and I seized it. “Besides, I’ll be back.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“A vengeful spirit,” I explained. “Fought one last year, nearly did me in. If it had controlled its rage and not charged in blindly, it might actually have had its revenge. I hope I’ll keep enough sense not to be so straightforward.”

Oates nodded and beckoned the waiter. The dome enclosing us thinned and dispersed.

“I expected a response,” he said to me, then to the waiter: “What pies have you got?”

“Strawberry and custard, raspberry, blackberry.”

“Strawberry, then, and tea. What will you have?” he asked me.

I merely raised an eyebrow in distaste and said through my teeth, “I’ll pass.” Who knew, perhaps the bloodsuckers were running the kitchen today. Slip something into the food, and the collar wouldn’t save me… wouldn’t kill me, rather. “If that’s all, I’ll be off.” I even stood.

“Sit down!” Oates barked, dropping the deferential secretary’s tone for the commanding voice befitting the Rat King’s right hand. The waiter, however, noticed nothing, though he stood barely two paces away. He took the order and went off. Something told me that even Bryan McLilly couldn’t have pulled off a trick like that.

“You make me,” I said.

“If you don’t sit, I’ll tear your little whore to pieces myself, after I’ve had her properly in every hole.”

He knew exactly where to strike. It felt like a sledgehammer to the ribs, wind knocked out, bones splintered. But in my nineteen years, he wasn’t the first. Not the first bastard, not the first bloodsucker, though, to their credit, they were particularly inventive when it came to revenge and the infliction of pain. For some reason, I recalled Valentine instructing Feron on the best ways to torture me.

Not my first time.

My composure cracked, but I held my face. Inside, everything seethed: boiling, raging, straining to burst out. For a moment I considered stepping up to the creature, bowing low, and triggering Explosion, if only to flay the skin from that smug skull. I doubted my makeshift amulet could truly kill a vampire grandmaster.

But I held back, shook my head, and did my best to show that Ellie didn’t matter to me as much as he thought: “First, we’ve parted ways…” I reminded him.

“And yet the moment I mentioned her, your heart quickened,” Brute countered.

“That was anger,” I said. “This whole situation irritates me. Second, I’m not even sure you have the girl. And third…” I nudged the plate with the sausages so they rocked slightly and gave him the nastiest smile I could manage…“even those would be firmer than yours. I’m Bremorian, I know your anatomy, and how your circulation works. Or rather, doesn’t.”

Oh yes, I knew where to strike as well. And it felt good.

“That problem is easily solved,” the vampire returned smoothly. “All it takes is draining a few of your dim-witted relatives. You’ve plenty of them.”

I could have said his reach wasn’t long enough, but that wouldn’t have cut deep. I wanted to grind his pride into dust.

“I may not know all the finer details,” I said, “but it seems it’s not so simple, if your women prefer real men to leeches.”

For a moment, I thought he would kill me. My hand even twitched towards triggering Explosion. There are many ways to die, and God forbid they brought me back. But, as I had a moment before, Oates restrained himself, and even offered something like praise: “Strong,” he said. “You’d have made an excellent vampire. I’d have welcomed a son like you. A pity you’ll have to die. Sit down, or I’ll kill everyone in this miserable little dive.”

I glanced around. During our exchange, the two junior constables had finished their porridge and left. Only the softly snoring sergeant remained by the wall, along with the waiter, and perhaps someone in the kitchen. Shoving morality aside, I coldly weighed what their lives were worth against the future of the clan, and, to my own surprise, realised I wouldn’t give a farthing for them here and now. So much for being a good man.

More than the coppers, I worried about Ellie, but I saw no way to save her. The only thing I could do for her was die, so she wouldn’t suffer. No me — no need for Ellie.

But for the clan, I had to live. My uncle had hammered that into me only yesterday. And I still had no proof she was even with them. Oates was right, I was an idiot. Coming here hadn’t been a mistake, it had been monumental stupidity. But it was too late now: the cards were dealt, and I’d been handed utter rubbish. All that remained was to bluff.

Perhaps not all was lost. Perhaps I could still warn my own, slip away, do something — anything. I had no idea what. But perhaps…

“If I stay, far more people I care about will die. So I either leave, or I try.”

The waiter approached, set down a cup of tea and a slice of pie. My words passed him by, just as the vampire’s did: “You won’t be able to simply walk away. But answer a couple of questions, and I’ll let you go. I’ll answer any question of yours honestly, and you’ll answer mine. Agreed?”

“All right,” I said, sitting back down. “What the hell is this about? Why Bremor?”

“Because we would have had to deal with you sooner or later. Crown Decree Five Hundred and Eighty-Four allowed vampires to settle among humans.”

“With the permission of local lords,” I corrected.

“Quite so, but the Bremor lot would never allow it, nor let their neighbours do so. Formally, Geary, Elphshire, Berkeley, and Genshire fall within the spheres of influence of certain princes, but in practice they’re afraid to set foot there, because of one small, vicious patch of land in the middle of it all.”

He named the four counties surrounding Bremshire. On paper, each of them was larger than ours, but in reality, Elphshire was mostly mountains, Berkeley mostly marshland. I bristled: “That ‘patch of land’ isn’t the smallest county.”

“It’s a thorn in the arse! Because of it, we have eight princes instead of nine.”

“So you’re aiming to become a prince? There are other free counties,” I said.

“And all of them are either on the borders of major vampire territories, too small, or both — like Farnell. Your region is the only sufficiently large unclaimed piece of land where a new prince would be taken seriously, without the neighbours fearing he’d start carving up their domains. And none of them will let me into theirs. You’ve seen it yourself, I’m a step away from grandmaster. A little more, and I’ll become a threat to older, more experienced ancients. And I’ve grown rather fond of staying alive.”

“You think the Crown will allow it?”

“Allow what? I’m not to blame for your little werewolf problem. That same old Five Eighty-Four didn’t produce just one decree. I have every right to revenge. And the fact that the blow will fall just when your clan is weakened by its struggle with the werewolves…” He spread his hands. “I’ll be doing the Crown a favour by clearing the county of mangy curs. After that, the new count and I will come to terms. Not interested in the post?”

“Go to hell. And what revenge?”

“How so?” the vampire smiled. “The Count of Bremor burned my father.”

I tried to recall when Uncle Bryce had managed to kill a vampire prince without anyone hearing of it.

“Not this count, the previous one.”

“My grandfather?”

“I’ve told you enough already,” the vampire said, shaking his head. “If you want more, tell me about Bryan McLilly’s abilities, or why Sean Feron was expelled from the clan.”

“McLilly’s a very capable lad,” I said seriously, “and Feron made a mess of things.”

“I believe you,” the vampire nodded. “Anything to add?”

I shook my head.

“A pity. Then we’ll leave it at that.”

He rose, picking up his cane, which made me tense and ‘find’ the trigger of my suicide amulet. But to my surprise, Oates stepped a couple of paces away, then turned.

“You know, Duncan, I rather think you’ve outplayed yourself this time.”

“How?”

The vampire shrugged, tossed the cane lightly in his hand, then indicated the sergeant and the waiter with its knob: “If they’re not in danger, then neither am I.”

The cane flickered in his hand, lengthening noticeably. I was so used to fighting that I gave in to reflex, instead of triggering the suicide spell, I tried to raise a shield and dodge.

I wasn’t fast enough.

The heavy knob struck my head with a sickening crack.