Chapter 37: 1812, Overture. (1/2)

I open my eyes to an embroidered canopy. In the distance, the pops and hisses of the hearth’s fire welcome me. I know where I am. This is my mind fortress in all its slumbering glory.

I hear a deep sigh coming from outside. I walk down a flight of stairs to the grand entrance. The gates open as I pass.

Under the serene gaze of the Watcher, flowerbeds extend on manicured lawn according to a bizarre pattern. I make my way to the nearest wall of towering thorn trees and they part before me.

The clouds of the in-between flow past all around before resolving into a familiar sight. Nashoba is leaning against the shell of his giant turtle. He holds his head between two hands, his knees close against his chest. He looks more vulnerable than I have ever seen. I walk to him and sit on the ground.

“Why the sorrow, shaman?”

“Ah, Daughter of Thorn and Hunger. I did not mean to interrupt your torpor tonight.”

“Think nothing of it. Are you in danger?”

Nashoba is one of my favorite humans. I would be displeased if he were to die before his time.

“No. It is not that. Do you remember what I said about planting and weeding seeds?”

“You remove threats before they do too much harm?”

He smiles sadly.

“It is so much like you to forget the growing part, though you cannot be blamed. What matters is that I failed.”

“Perhaps it is not too late?”

“It is. The winds of war are blowing, Ariane. I see crimson clubs raised high to the North. Nothing will stop it now. It is inevitable.”

“North means the Muskogee. If they seek war, it will not be against you, no?”

“You miss the point. Every year more of your kind spills on the shore in search of fortune and every year the newcomers head west to look for land. They find us. This conflict will give your chiefs the cause they need to impose yet another treaty, ancestral land swapped for a few crates of goods. Ah, look at me, trying to hold back a river with two twigs and my bare hands.”

Nashoba sighs heavily once more.

“Never mind that, Ariane. There is more to discuss since you are already here. Yes. Let me worry about what I can still change.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The tortoise behind him rumbles lightly.

“Death is coming, of a scale that this land has not seen before. We must stop it. You must seek a key that breaks.”

I remain silent for a moment, expecting him to go on. He does not.

“How unusually cryptic of you.”

“I know. The foe only started moving its pieces and something obscures my sight. You must pull on the threads of fate, Ariane. Whack the bushes and see what comes out. If you uncover enough, a pattern will emerge.”

“I appreciate the trust, old friend. I only fear that you overestimate my reach.”

“I do not. This much I know: you will be instrumental in this struggle. Should you fail, this evil will run its course. Test the limits of your hunting grounds, daughter of Thorn. Do not leave the initiative to our foe.”

Nashoba stands up and stretches, looking slightly better than before.

“I must leave you now, we will speak again later.”

The man moves his hand, the tortoise opens one blind eye and I fall backwards into slumber.

17th of July, 1812, Higginsville, Georgia.

It has been nine years since I became a vampire.

I cannot agree with my kind’s way of measuring age. I am twenty-eight, with all the experience and knowledge I gained during that time. I draw as much from my human years as I do from what happened after.

I lift the top of the sarcophagus. Soft blue light shines on my bedroom. I lift an arm and look at the black nails that end it.

If I had not gone to the ball on that fateful night, my body would be different now, marked by childbirth and the passage of time. Instead, it appears exactly the same as the night I died, to the last strand of hair.

Appearances are deceiving, however. The human Ariane could not eviscerate werewolves.

What has visibly changed is my room. I used to think it spacious, back when I had three items and a broken backpack to my name. It is now cluttered with books and trophies representing my various pursuits. I stuck my best works on the wall: portraits of Dalton I draw every year, as well as one of Margaret Mitchell I made before she died, a Muskogee on his farm, a black child asleep outside of his house, a Choctaw dance. All of those are painted as seen by my vampire eyes, colorful and vivid even in the dead of night.

In the middle, I placed my most ambitious work, a partial rendition of the Silent Watcher.

Drawing the vampire aster is difficult. When I look up, I reach a state of serenity that is not conducive to the observation of physical objects. Rather, I can focus on parts of it but never the whole. After three days of fruitless attempts I reached the conclusion that it simply does not obey the laws of physics. I will never be able to draw it as it is, for even if my brain could comprehend what it perceives, my tools would not allow me to do it justice. And so I tried to draw a feeling instead of an image. I found a set of colors between purple and red and after almost a month of frantic efforts, I finally succeeded in capturing a glimpse of what it feels like to be in its presence.

Dalton and Loth did not like that, not one bit. Merely looking made them extremely uncomfortable, they said. I count that as a major success.

On either side of the wall, I placed bookshelves. They are filled with copies of Loth’s own books, as well as quite a few others I managed to acquire courtesy of the Rosenthal consortium. I am now well versed in several mage traditions and systems although it is still completely beyond me to work anything myself. I also purchased books on hidden history as well as magical fauna and flora. I also have my own notebooks, packed with references and observations on subjects as varied as shamanic magic and gun smithing.

Finally, the center of the wall is occupied by a desk containing my current subject of study as well as important letters. The most precious one is written in the tongue of Akkad by a steady and refined hand. It reads like this:

Ariane of clan Nirari,

Your request to join our community as an independent House under the Accords has been approved. You will present yourself as well as all relevant witnesses at the 1820 conclave taking place in Boston, Massachusetts, where you will be given the opportunity to argue your case.

I wish you good fortune in this endeavor.

With regards,

Constantine.

This specific letter is currently my most precious possession. It is the hope that soon, I may come across one of my kind without having to fear slavery or death. I owe it to Jimena, who submitted my request at the previous gathering two years ago. It is unfortunate that such events only occur every decade, and yet it perfectly reflects the laissez-faire attitude of the current Speaker, the same attitude that may allow a Devourer reject to reach legal status. The wait is a small price to pay, all things considered.

Next to it are the correspondence with my father, Jimena, Isaac who is back in Geneva as well as a few business contacts and even a scholar or two.

The table holds a single fiction, a work by one Cecil R. Bingle titled: “In the clutches of the Blood Cult.”, with an engraving of the man himself on the cover. He looks dashing and holds in his arms a fawning woman thankfully inspired by Rose. It does star as a side character the ‘sensual and mysterious Adrienne, beset by an evil curse because of the sins of her father.’

Loth still laughs about it sometimes, although he slowed down on the “Oh ye sensual and mysterious lass, pass me the number three wrench” since I “accidentally” dropped it on his foot.

Bingle, the mark of your passage still haunts me eight years after.

With a sigh, I get dressed and leave the vault. Loth has dropped two letters in a small basket by my door. I grab them and head up. I reach the smoking room and sit next to the man himself, busy snacking on a handful of nuts.

“Good evening Loth.”

“Evening lass, any good news?”

“We shall see in a moment.”

I open the first letter and read its content. Our good Bingle is well in Sussex, and Rose is expecting their third child. He takes a moment to mention something I was not aware of.

“Loth, why is Bingle lamenting the unfortunate state of affairs between our two great nations?”

“Ah, yes, we are at war with the Great Britain.”

“WHAT?! Since when?!”

”June. I just got the news. Something about illegal trade restrictions, arming the Indians and abducting sailors.”

“War! How are you not worried? This country has no real standing army!”

“This country, as you say, is not our worry lass. Its citizens will kill us if they learn of what we are anyway.”

“And this mindset will be of little help if a regiment of dragoons turns this entire town into a pile of cinders now, will it? Not to mention the Lancaster may want a larger piece of the pie if their home nation takes over.”

“Ye worry too much, they’re busy in Europe right now. And broke. We’ll talk again if they make landfall.”

I do not reply. Loth is right, I do not have a squadron of ships of the line handy so right now my ability to contribute to the war effort is laughable. I turn my attention to the second letter. I do not recognize the writing style and there is no return address. How peculiar. Well, let us see what this is about.

“Miss Delaney, if you are reading this, then I am dead.”

Well, we are off to a great start.

“I set an arrangement, so that if I were to fall, you would receive this letter as a measure of security. My name is captain Alexander Jenkins. A few years back, you set me on the trail of the Brotherhood of the New Light, after revealing to me that my superior at the time, Captain Lannes, was a member of this most sinister organization.”

Lannes... Lannes...

Impossible. The Tillerson estate party! Is this act giving dividends after so many years? This is incredible!

“What I discovered went beyond anything I ever thought, or even dreamt to be possible. Alas, it is the truth and no matter how strange my claims, how outlandish my accusation, I ask of you that you believe me. Heed my words and heed them well, for we are all in terrible danger. The purpose of this community of people is not to gather wealth and power, nay, it is to achieve eternal life by means most foul! You must find allies you can trust and take up the torch! For if we fail to stop them, I fear that we will witness horrors the likes of which civilization should have left behind.”

How very ominous. Nashoba, and now the dearly departed officer warning me of some impending doom? This is no coincidence.

“Please find in this enveloppe the key and deed to a safe box in the first South Carolina bank in Charleston, where I secured my latest findings. I am sorry I could do no more. Good luck, and may God be with you.

Yours,

Augustin Alexander Jenkins.”

Here go my plans for the week.

“Something the matter Ari?”

“Somebody died and left me with inheritance.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“The burden of stopping a mysterious and dangerous conspiracy whose monstrous pursuit will leave uncounted victims in its wake should no one step up to face it.”

We ponder this for a few moments.

“I find that leaving money is usually better received.”

“Mmmmmh.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I need to go to Charleston.”

“Ah. Charleston. The third seat of power for vampires in North America. That Charleston. The city Jimena unambiguously told you to avoid. That one, aye?”

“Yes.”

“And what will you do there?”

“I need to retrieve some incriminating documents from a safe.”

“Oh, a heist! I love me some good heist!”

“No, Loth, I have the key.”

“Oh.”

He looks disappointed.

“You know Loth, if you absolutely must commit grand larceny, why don’t you just do it?”

“It’s the stakes. It’s not the same if there are no stakes, ya know?”

This is how I feel about Hunts.

“I do. Now, I need to reach this bank, go in and out and leave with no one the wiser.”

“Ah finally we’re talking! We’ll get to proper planning, right after we celebrate your birthday! Death day! Ah, whatever.”

Loth rings a bell. I hear the sound of something being wheeled to us as well as two heartbeats. An instant later, Dalton rolls in with a trussed-up captive on a sick bed, holding a lit candle in his manacled hands.

Oh, so thoughtful!

“Happy birthday Mistress!”

“Happy birthday lass.”

“Mmgrgnfmmmlf.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have, thank you, thank you!”

July 23rd 1812, abandoned house on the outskirts of Charleston, South Carolina.

I once thought New Orleans imposing. I believed it to be a major trade hub for slaves and agricultural products, a cosmopolitan metropolis to match European towns. How naive I was. Charleston sprawls before me, covering a fang of land nestled between two rivers as wide as a lake. Lines of ships reach and leave its waterfront through a channel heading East, into the ocean.

The city has more than fifteen thousand people in expansive districts, more than half of them black. The rest comes from Scotland, Ireland, France, the Caribbean, Prussia... the list is long. The streets ring with the sounds of a veritable Babel’s worth of language. There is a marketplace made from stone, an exchange and even a bank that was built to be a bank, like on the old continent! Truly, a beacon of civilization. Countless slaves, bales of cotton and other goods pass through it every day.

I wish I could spend more time in it, walking its roads and browsing its stalls. Alas, that would be unwise. As the maps would say, Hic Sunt Dracones, except here the dragons are real and will kill me for trespassing on their territory.

And so, we are reduced to a “smash and grab”, as my friend would say it.

“It’s been a long time since I prepared a heist, feels nostalgic, ya know?”

“It’s not a heist! I have a right to that box. I have the key!”

“We’ve got a plan, disguises, and exit routes. Sure feels like a heist to me, aye?”

“Bah! Nonsense...” I grumble without much conviction.

“Go over the plan one last time, Mistress.”

Dalton is serious tonight, even more so than usual. I have tried to hide my apprehension at coming across a Master or even worse, a Lord. I would not bet on my disguise over whatever Senses they have at their disposal.

“I go to the bank on foot and come in from the front, completely ignore the people keeping an eye on the entrance and get access to the box the normal way. Then I exit from the side entrance and make my way South to the pier. If I am followed, I go through the designated ambush points. I take the rowing boat across the river to James Island and we meet between the two blue lanterns no matter what two hours from now. The most important thing is not to alert the local vampires of my presence, and so I will limit myself to human abilities unless discovered.”

Dalton nods and goes on.

“Is everyone ready?”

“Yes, before ya go, I have something for ya.”