The Strain: Another Season
Episode 8

Four Nervous Vendors
Chapter Two

Île Seguin, Paris 1709
Gabriel Nicolas de la Reynie's Library

A hooded figure stands in the doorway watching de la Reynie poring over the Occido Lumen. When the old man becomes aware of the other's presence, he starts and recoils, using his body to shield and protect the silver book.

'You…!' he whispers in horror. 'I know what you are.'

He glances back at the open page for confirmation. 'You are the Born!'

The apparition says nothing.

The old man draws something shiny from inside his jacket and waves it inexpertly at the figure.

A pale (but not strigoi-white) hand flicks out from the robes and grasps the silver dagger by its blade. Wresting it easily from the wrinkled hand, the figure steps forward and offers it back to de la Reynie - handle first. The pale flesh is unmarked and unharmed by the touch of the silver blade.

'I have not come to hurt you,' says a pleasant voice. 'Or the Silver Codex.'

Two elegant hands remove the hood revealing an unmistakably feminine face. Ever so pale, yet still pink enough to pass as human but with absolutely no hair. The same unearthly blue eyes that watched de la Reynie's flight from the vampire-priest's unholy ritual now regard him silently.

'My name is Hostia,' she says eventually.

The old man looks puzzled. 'As in "victim"?' he asks. 'Or "sacrifice"?'

Hostia grunts and doesn't answer the question, saying only, 'I am not "Born" as you understand it.'

'How did you cross the river?' he asks.

'Water presents no impediment to me,' she says simply.

He looks at her again. Now he's over the initial shock of the unashamed baldness, her face strikes him as really quite pretty. Beautiful, actually. If only she would wear a wig like the fashionable ladies…

She sighs at his scrutiny and continues. 'You chose your retirement home wisely, monsieur,' she concedes. 'However, the river is no longer sufficient security for the Codex. The enemy is making alliances with humans. You must take it overseas – secretly. Head west, across the Atlantic.'

'To America?' quavers de la Reynie. 'But the journey would kill me. I'm a very old man.'

'I can give you something to sustain you,' she reassures him. 'But you must not take the Book to the mainland. You must go to the West Indies. The climate will agree with you.'

'It has been a very long, cold winter...' mutters de la Reynie to himself.

'The Huguenots are fleeing France,' says Hostia. 'Go as one of them. But not to a French colony. Live as a stranger among the English in Jamaica. Your foreignness will be obscurity and thus safety for you and your charge.'

'Deny my faith?' he protests, outraged.

'Only the name of it, monsieur,' she assures him. 'Your God will know the truth in your soul.'

'But my home? My possessions? My library?'

'Must be burnt, monsieur,' she says into his dissent. 'I will fake your death. And that of the Codex. There is no other option.'

'My notes on the Lumen…' frets the old man finally.

'They will survive,' she soothes him. 'But they must be kept separate from the Codex itself. I will see to it.'

Berlin 1990
Eichhorst's feeding room the next morning

The room is new and the door swings open soundlessly to admit Eichhorst bearing a tray of food. He smiles to see the two lovers asleep in each other's arms. They have washed the vomitus down the drain and pushed the mattress up against the block to allow the boy more ease of movement against the chain.

Eichhorst slightly raises his head as if scenting and the smile fades but doesn't disappear completely. He advances to the girl's side of the bed and crouches down, placing the tray on the floor. The sound of Italian leather on concrete wakes them both.

'I anticipated some token resistance,' he tells her, offering her some white blood from his finger.

'We're not going to perform for your satisfaction, you nauseating pervert,' snarls Sandra, disentangling herself and pushing the hand away. Corey leaps up and throws himself at Eichhorst but he is dodged and easily batted away behind the vampire and lands heavily against the wall.

Sandra yells, 'No!' and moves to go to the young man. Eichhorst steps in her way and recaptures her attention.

'You think I watch somehow?' he says.

'Or listen,' she accuses, taking a step forward and trying to pass him again.

'I have better things to do than eavesdrop on your mammalian fumblings,' he says.

He pauses and watches her, enjoying her embarrassment and waiting to see if she will reveal anything in front of Corey.

'You mean you're not going to…?' she whispers, fully focussed on Eichhorst once again.

He smiles broadly. 'Oh no,' he says with a chuckle. 'Be assured, you have complete privacy.'

He turns to Corey who is struggling to his feet. 'But I shall know when you have coupled and when you conceive.'

He then dismissively turns his back on the young man and exclusively addresses a disgusted Sandra.

'You, as the brood mare, are the important one here. If you don't persuade him to service you...' he jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Corey, who is readying himself for another assault. '…then I will find another stallion. Somebody less to your fancy,' he smiles reasonably and shrugs. 'Maybe even violent.' And at the last minute Eichhorst steps out of the way of Corey's flying leap so that the attacker lands on top of Sandra, bearing her to the mattress beneath him.

'That's the spirit,' nods Eichhorst as he leaves.

Jamaica 1710

Gabriel Nicholas de la Reynie is teaching his slaves to read English. In the library of his plantation house, a huge Bible is perched on a lectern in the beautiful Caribbean sunlight. Behind it, in a darker, more intimate corner is de la Reynie's desk with the Occido Lumen open on the writing slope.

De la Reynie himself is still very elderly but he definitely looks as if the balmy weather is agreeing with him.

He calls each slave in turn to the lectern to read a few lines.

Finally, it is the turn of a neat young woman with intelligent eyes and an aura of dignified calm. He calls her Nanny.

She is slow at first but quickly picks up pace, racing through the story of Sodom and Gomorrah as if keen to find out how it ends.

'Now, now, my dear,' says de la Reynie, a bit flustered. 'Don't tear the paper.'

She drops the pages with a frustrated sound and an older woman comes to hustle her away. 'Come along, Nanny,' she whispers. 'Don't be a burden to our good master. There's not one other on this island cares enough to teach us so. Sorry sir, she's newly bought. She means no harm, I'm sure.'

A glint of silver from the depths of the library catches the girl's eye and she twists out of the older woman's grasp to examine the Occido Lumen.

'And what is this book, Master,' she whispers in awe, reaching out a hand.

De la Reynie rushes to prevent her touching the Lumen but she has seen the pages and is as bewitched as every other reader and he has to bodily restrain her.

'That book is not in English,' he says.

'Is it a holy book like the Bible?' she asks struggling to reach past him.

'In a way,' he concedes as the older woman comes to help him. 'But it is not for you to worry your young head about…'

'It is a book of POWER!' exclaims Nanny and, as de la Reynie hands her over to the older slave, she escapes them both and touches a picture of a winged humanoid creature – not unlike an angel.

Suddenly she is thrown to the floor and convulses, her eyes rolled back in her head so only the whites are showing. She screams and froths at the mouth, resisting all attempts to subdue and control her. Then she starts yelling out in an unintelligible language – again very like the speech of the villagers that Paolo visited when he initially retrieved the tablets of the Occido Lumen.

De la Reynie and his slaves watch in horrified bewilderment.

Berlin 1990
The feeding room

Corey tries to lift himself off Sandra but she pulls him back down and kisses him.

'Please, Corey,' she begs. 'You heard him. He doesn't threaten idly. Please, for my sake.'

She kisses him again, rolls on top and sits astride him to take off her bra. Then she kisses him again and tries to pull his underpants off. He sits up and stops her, pinning both her hands behind her back.

'Wait, Sandra,' he says and has to pause while he fights off another kiss. 'I can't just turn it on like that. We're chained like animals in a cage…' he finishes with a shrug.

'Yeah,' she purrs. 'Hot isn't it?' And she launches herself at him again.

He manages to fight her off again and calm her down enough to reason with her.

She flicks the hair out her eyes and catches her breath. 'Look, I may have a plan for getting us out of here,' she says. 'But we'll need to get pregnant first.' She raises her eyebrows meaningfully. 'It would probably help if you accepted some of his blood next time he offers it. It has healing properties and it might boost our fertility too.'

Corey definitely doesn't like that idea but he stops to think for a bit. Then he glances around the room. 'I'm sorry, Sandra,' he says. 'But I need a bit more romance than this.' He gestures at their surroundings.

'OK,' she concedes. 'Let's have a story, a scenario.' She thinks for a moment. 'OK. How about this – we've been married for twenty five years, the youngest kid has left for University...'

Corey is grinning and lets go of her hands. 'How many do we have?'

'Four,' she says. 'Three boys and a girl. She's the youngest 'cos we kept trying. I really wanted a daughter.'

'I'd like a daughter too,' he says softly.

Sandra smiles adoringly at him for a long moment. 'Well, maybe we will. And when we get out of here we'll raise her on an island somewhere far away from bloody Berlin. Maybe this story starts today, Corey.' She kisses him again and this time he doesn't resist but pulls her down towards him.

She breaks for air and then grins wickedly. 'I haven't finished the story yet,' she teases.

'No?' he says, equally taunting. He rolls her onto her back, pulls her hands above her head and winds her chain around them. 'Please continue,' he says before dropping a slow trail of kisses from shoulder to breast and lazily drawing the tip of his tongue around her nipple.

She screams in delight and gabbles quickly. 'WewereboredsoyoubuiltalovedungeonbutIwastooimpatienttoletyoufinishit.'

He stops and looks at her. 'Yes,' he says, cocking his head in mock thoughtfulness. 'You probably would be, wouldn't you? Hey! Ow! No biting! I'm an old man, remember? I'm at least fifty three, Mrs Henke. You look great for your age, by the w…'

Jamaica 1714

Nanny, Gabriel Nicholas de la Reynie's slave girl, runs through the nighttime jungle. She often stumbles, partly because her flight is lit only by the moon but mostly because she is carrying a heavy sack.

Finally, she arrives at some tall wooden gates. Armed sentries address her from guard towers.

'HALT!' yells one man. 'Who wishes to enter the Maroon stronghold?'

The girl kneels on the ground and pulls the Occido Lumen out of the sack. She holds it above her head.

'My name is Nanny,' she calls out. 'My master was Mister Delarainy but he is dead this day. I am an Obeah woman and skilled in healing and I bring power with me.' She waggles the book for emphasis. 'Let me speak with your leader.'