The walk seemed long as they trod over frozen sand. Rod paced to keep up with Sol who was effortlessly strolling at twice the speed of any natural pedestrian. Following Sol took Rod from beach to field and finally to a village.
The village was small, there were only a dozen houses and an old stone church. Towards the boundary leading out to rolling fields was a small brick building. Industrial era smooth red bricks, heavy wooden door and a slate roof. It looked like an old telegraph station or utility building. Sol keyed in through the dark green door, it was empty but for allot of dust.
In one corner there was a large metal box, sol moved to it and reached down the crevice between the wall and the box. A loud clunk lifted the top and Sol lifted it the rest of the way. The box was disguising a shaft down with steel rungs leading to a dim yellow light. The pair descended, Sol first, to the bottom. The walls were built of engineering bricks,it felt like an old sewer. Boards were laid above murky water at the bottom, they creaked and groaned under the weight of Rod and Sol. Candles were set in recesses around a Gothic style door covered in decades of the same green paint. Sol knocked.
"Entrée Sol." called a voice from within.
Sol led Rod in through the awkward pointed arch of the doorway. The ceiling inside was low, barely six inches above Rod's head. The space was divided by bookcases filled with books of all ages. The first section was a comfortable seating area, behind that was a kitchen and study area. In a leather wing back armchair sat the Prince of Calais. He too was deformed by the same curse as Sol he wore loose silk pyjamas under a maroon smoking jacket. Sitting back with his legs crossed he gestured to two seats opposite him.
Sol spoke first. "My prince, I would like to introduce Rod."
"Welcome Rod, je suis Prince Jaques." Said the prince. "You are here to make tribute, non?"
"I suppose so sir." Agreed Rod.
The prince turned to Sol. "While I was in Paris, my sheriff was killed by a pack of sabat, I need them gone soon. I will tidy afterwards, so just clear the way. S'il vous plait."
Sol's tone turned flat and he spoke in clear English. "How many, which clans and what location?"
"Cinq… five. The location is marked on this map." Said the prince handing Sol said map.
"What kind of pack is it?" Sol asked.
"The usual rabble of enfant terribles, uncontrolled and untrained. They have taken a family home for their own and will continue to draw attention to Calais. They killed my sheriff so they must be gone!" Demanded the prince.
Sol relaxed and nodded. "Not much of a sheriff then, good job me n' Rod are here now eh. It'll be done by mornin' so you can clean up tomorrow night. I hope I'll see you soon Jackie, my prince."
Sol stood abruptly and beckoned Rod to do the same. He stopped at the doorway as Rod caught up.
"Au revoir Sol, Rod." The prince nodded goodbye to both.
"Au revoir my prince." Said Rod politely.
They climbed back to the surface world and out of the shed. A van was parked across the road by then and the driver was leaning at his door smoking. Rod froze, the driver was a slim man somewhere in his late thirties.
The driver waved. "Alright boss, ready to go home?"
Sol responded. "Not yet Trev', we've got a spot of work on."
"Where to then?" Trevor asked.
Sol handed him the map and moved to the back of the van. "You done all your drop-offs for tonight?"
"All done Sol."
Sol popped his head round the door. "Good man. This is Rod by the way."
Trevor was unphased by Rod's appearance. "Alright Rod, I'm Trevor Sol's assistant."
Rod replied. "I'm Rod, Sol's victim."
Trevor laughed and slapped Rod on the back before climbing in to his van. It was a Mercedes sprinter in metallic dark blue. There was an array of warning labels for every imaginable hazard stuck to the van. In the back was storage racks with sealed containers filling the shelves, at the end were four small fold down seats. The pair sat and strapped in as the engine started. Once on the move Sol began to brief Rod.
"Right, you need to keep your shit about you now." Sol began. "Try to keep aware of what's behind you, if there is a door behind you assume some prick is behind it. Body shots are pretty much worthless, you wont tire these lot out. You need to go for the brain or the neck and go hard."
Sol reached in to his coat and pulled out a brand new hatchet, complete with price tag. Rod took the weapon and removed the label. He gripped the handle firmly and looked at Sol.
"I've never killed anyone before." He squeaked.
"Killin' people always leads down a dark, shitty hole son. Killin' rabid kindred however is the work of holy warriors. You won't be harming the world by removing them from it." Assured Sol.
Rod fell silent in thought, he stared at the hatchet blade. "The brain or the neck."
"That's right. Some of them will be strong as you and me, some will be tough like stone. Use your advantages against theirs. If they are too fast to see then don't let them see you at all. If they are too tough to cut in one go then keep on cutting. Strike fast then disappear and strike again. Be careful though, just 'cos you think that you can't be seen, doesn't mean that you're not being observed."
Rod looked up from the hatchet blade and deep in to Sol's eyes. He saw the monster which had hunted him, he could taste the salt in the air once more. He had not had a clear mind when it came to Sol, but the bond was fading. In spite of his growing doubts he just nodded to Sol and returned his attention to his hatchet.
Sol continued. "Remember that hungry beast in you, he can guide you through the kill. It's easier than you think, the real trick is not getting hooked. When you unleash the little bugger be mindful of the fact you need to get that leash back on."
A bump in the road stopped Sol's lecture on violence. The van came to a stop and knuckles rapped on the partition to the cab. Sol stood and opened the doors. Rod followed out in to an empty car park somewhere inland.
"Disappear Rod." Sol ordered.
Rod focused and was gone. Sol took the form of the plain man Rod had first seen him as. He approached Trevor's window and the map was passed back to Sol without a word. Sol immediately walked off, past the van and on to a footpath. He walked with purpose and made no indication to Rod what he should do. Fortunately he remembered Sol could not see him, so he realised he was supposed to follow.
Without looking back Sol paced along the path. He knew the way without referencing the map more than once. In a stretch of woodland he veered off the path. He carved a path through the undergrowth and Rod followed in his wake. They arrived at a clearing, it was a modern style home. A long glass wall displayed a living and dining space ruined by vandals. Light fixtures hung loose from their fittings, Furniture was toppled and broken and dark stains were splashed up the walls and glass. A patio overlooked the sloping lawn which blended in to woodland.
Sol stopped before the lawn. "You'd better be right fucking next to me son." He whispered.
Rod moved in close and crouched next to Sol before reappearing. Sol pointed to the patio, held up two fingers then pointed to Rod. Next he pointed to the house, gave three fingers then thumbed his own chest. Again without warning he was gone.
Not quite sure what to do, Rod tried to remember his crash course from the van. Out of all sight He crept up the lawn to see his prey. There were two pale men, one slightly hunched over in dirty cheap clothes, the other was in clean jeans and a leather jacket. They spoke in what sounded like Spanish and were oblivious to Rod's presence. Creeping closer he ended up within reach of both victims.
The scruffy one suddenly sniffed the air then whispered to his leather clad partner. He was twitchy and was glaring around with glowing red eyes. His ears elongated and his mouth and nose formed an animal snout. His skin turned to fur as he settled his gaze directly at Rod and growled. Rod knew he had to act, instinct caused him to swing his axe at the still unaware victim in leather. Expecting to hit bone and flesh caused Rod to lose balance when nothing obstructed his swing. A clap of air filled the vacuum where Rod had swung his axe, a blur of leather drew away towards the surrounding woods.
Rod had no time to turn or regain balance before he was pushed against a wall by the canine monster. Turning to face his attacker led to him being held aloft with a claw around his throat. With one free claw the beast tore at his abdomen cutting through clothes in to Rod's gut. Raw pain rose a beast within Rod, so with fury he raised his hatchet and slammed it down hard enough to split a log. The blow barely split the beasts fur so he struck again and again until he felt the skull give way. The final strike was fatal, as an axe wound to the brain often is. The body fell limp on to Rod and it began to feel hot, too hot so Rod pushed it away in panic. As it hit the floor the body disintegrated in to ash and burnt scraps of cloth.
The second target was missing, By instinct Rod pictured its escape. He felt certain his prey was still watching so he decided not to be seen. Sooner than he had expected a blur of leather whipped across the lawn. The prey was now in reach, it was pressed against the wall looking frantically from side to side. Rod felt an explosion of chemical rewards through his body as he stalked straight to it unseen. He pulled his arm back and swung an impossibly hard blow to the neck. Through skin, wind pipe, arteries and spine the steel edge lodged deep in to the cladded wall behind.
Shining eyes faded to burnt grey as the body blew away leaving only the axe in the wall. Rod wanted to howl with pride but resisted for the sake of the task at hand. He wiped off his hatchet and stalked around the house. His abdomen felt wet but the pain had begun to settle. The front door was open so he moved to a position where he could see in. A woman tumbled down the stairs, she stood and ran out of the door without hesitation. Her eyes glowed and she looked straight at Rod, clearly seeing him even though she shouldn't have. She ran in the opposite direction and gained speed quickly. Half way to the shelter of the woods she stopped dead. Her ashes drifted around a patch of empty space as Sol revealed himself in it.
Rod reappeared and crept towards Sol. He nodded to Sol who shook his head. Sol held up one finger and shrugged, so the pair re-entered the house to search. Sol was about to climb the stairs but was stopped by Rod clicking his fingers. Rod pointed down and stamped his heel twice. The wooden floor gave a hollow sound. A mutual nod led to the search for the cellar. After lifting rugs and tables they finally found a small door in the back of the pantry. Concrete stairs led down to an echoey space, Sol moved down a step and vanished. Rod counted to three in his head then did the same.
The cellar was almost the entire floor plan of the house. The family's stored belongings were piled up at the far end. Steel posts held up the floor in two rows making an aisle along the length of the building. Half way down the aisle tied to two opposite posts were two beating hearts. Rod moved closer to see two people naked and tied to the posts with wire. One was a man the other a woman, their hearts were barely beating but they were still alive. Their bodies were covered in lacerations and burns. They had sheets of skin sewn to their faces with eye holes roughly cut out. Between them sat a pile of flesh, organs and bone. It was difficult to identify exactly what the fleshy mound was, except for a very small hand with the remains of a denim sleeve.
Rod felt some truths settle in; monsters turning to ash is one thing, but this should horrify him. He felt nothing of the sort. He knew he should run and cry and scream, but he was not scared or filled with sorrow. Only the ethics of his mind remained, he knew life was precious but felt nothing. At the end of the cellar, beyond the ruins of life some unlife cowered. Rod crept up but glowing eyes spotted him.
It whimpered. "Please, is this a test from the bishop?"
Rod let it see his form, "No, you have already failed."
"Please I don't understand, we did as he said. We followed our urges, we walk towards the new truth."
"Yes, you do." Said Rod.
Rod continued to move cautiously towards it. it seemed confused and scared but not a threat. Rods hatchet easily split it's head giving an undeserved quick, merciful death.
Sol reappeared without warning. "And that's five."
Rod relaxed a little, he felt like he was just waking from a dream. Reality hit and he regained control of his thoughts and instincts. Events had played out very quickly so he was not sure how much of it was even real. What was real was the two real victims, rod moved to free them. He pulled at the wires binding them but they only cut in to his own hands.
"What are you doing?" Asked Sol calmly.
"Need something to cut the wire." Said rod frantically searching through a pile of tools.
"No you don't, we need to clear the house. That's what we said we'd do." Said Sol flatly.
"Even them, why?" Rod asked halting his search.
"Think it through. What life have they got now? How much have they seen? How much do they remember? No parent wants to live after this, death is sometimes kinder."
"what about therapy?" Rod insisted.
"What, medicate them and tell them they're crazy. Lock them up in some facility with other child murderers? No this is our job and our duty so, man or woman?"
Rod shook his head in disapproval but stood by the man and bore his axe. He looked Sol in the eyes for a few seconds then raised his weapon. The man was hanging forward with his head lulling downwards. Rod hit in to the base of his scull and cut deep enough to sever all vital connections between body and brain. Unlike all the others though the body stayed hanging where it was. A few pumps then a slow ooze drained the life from him over the stained concrete floor. Rod would have liked to have thought well of the man as he died, but his final thought was about all the wasted blood. Sol unceremoniously drew an oversized cleaver from his coat and professionally decapitated the woman then coldly wiped his blade clean on his sleeve. Before the blood had stopped flowing Sol dropped to his knees and began mumbling with his hands clasped together. At first Rod was not sure what Sol was doing so he stood watching.
"You're never praying, not here?" Rod interrupted.
"Amen. Where better to pray than where you sin." Said Sol as he got to his feet.
"You're having me on." Said Rod. "Why would God, if he even exists, listen to you?"
"I believe he does exist and even though he rejects us he can still hear us. After I pray if feel more peace, more in control than I ever am otherwise. We all need something to keep us grounded, so you don't get too far up your own arse."
Rod smiled crookedly. "I don't think its working mate, you've got a long way to pray before you get out of your own arse."
Sol chuckled. "Seriously though son, you need to keep yourself from enjoying all the blood and violence too much. When its on and you've got to fight that's just fine, you can indulge a little. Make sure you don't indulge too hard though, or you will loose control and all that trouble will come back tenfold."
Rod felt fine, calm but alert. The beast felt shackled and back in his kennel. Even so Sol's words stuck with him as they jogged back to the van. He knew that situation should be harder to overcome so he decided to dwell on the memory, to remember it as a benchmark for his soul. The sky was fading from absolute black to a subtle navy in the east as they reached the van. Once they had climbed in, the engine started and they were soon back on the road.
They came off the winding country roads and back on main highways by the time Rod could feel the sun. He could feel it creeping up the sky pressing in to the van, trying to consume him in light. He could not relax until they were closed in the dark hull of the ferry. Trevor must have had all of his paperwork and bribes in order because they got through customs checks with ease. By mid day the van was stopping and starting through the streets of London. Eventually they descended sharply down before swooping to a stop somewhere cool and safe.
Sol exited the van first and Rod followed in to an underground depot. There were several vans similar to the one Trevor drove, no branding but lots of warning labels. The depot was clean and the vans were well kept. There was a small office with a window looking towards the vans, metal stairs led to a walkway leading to the ground floor. Sol took Rod through a blue steel door, it led to a huge store room with shelving and several refrigerated cool rooms installed. Near the door was a compressor bolted to the floor. Sol grabbed the handle attached to the compressor and pulled up the slab which it was mounted to. The slab was bolted to six heavy hinges and beneath there was a steep stairway down.
Sol turned to Rod. "Right, in you pop mate, I've got some business with Trevor. The light is on the left through the door, you can't miss it."
He pushed rod on to the stairs and closed the lid forcing him down. Rod struggled through the doorway and managed to find the light switch, so naturally he pressed it. Nothing happened, there were glowing hands on a small clock face but not enough light to see anything. He turned to climb the stairs and managed to lift the heavy hatch without dropping it. Only knowing one way through he returned to the depot.
Moans were coming from the office, Rod could not help but disappear and peek in. Sol was standing facing the window through which Rod peered. Trevor was on his knees facing Sol and lustfully bobbing his head.
"Oh shit!" Said Rod reappearing accidentally.
Sol pulled away and held his wrist. Trevor stood and turned wiping blood from his mouth and smiled at Rod.
Rod smiled back. "Power's off downstairs."
Trevor spoke with renewed enthusiasm. "I'll flip the breaker mate, sorry I forgot."
Trevor trotted merrily away leaving the two with an awkward silence to be filled.
"C'mon dick 'ed, back downstairs." Said Sol dodging the issue in true British fashion.
They both descended to the sub basement together, this time the lights worked. It was nicer than Sol's place in France. Rod had lived in worse flats than that hole in the ground. There was a kitchen at the entrance with a living space beyond. All of the appliances seemed new and the whole place was immaculately clean and tidy.
"Rest for now son, we'll have a drink before we go out tonight." Said Sol.
"So Trevor?" Rod asked.
"What about him?" Sol asked back.
"Is he your…"
Sol interupted. "Ghoul, we call em' ghouls."
Rod took a second to phrase the sentence clearly. "Is he your slave?"
Sol shook his head. "Let me tell you about Trevor then you decide what you think."
"OK" Said Rod.
He did not think for one second that there would be a good enough story to justify that. He had crossed some terrible thresholds that night but slavery was not something his mind would leave unchallenged.
Sol Began. "Two world wars crushed a generation in Britain. The ones who survived were all broken in some way; either physical, mental or both. Trev' was lucky to have his body intact after fighting in both wars. His home was flattened in the blitz, with his family in it.
"When I first saw him he was homeless and hopeless. He couldn't get a job but he was always clean shaven with his hair cut smart. He had nothing, no reason to live. So he put his service revolver in his mouth." Sol then paused to stare at nothing for a moment.
"Why didn't he pull the trigger?" Asked Rod.
"He did," Explained Sol, "The ammo was ruined, the gun was well kept though. So I appeared to him, he wasn't scared, he didn't care what I was. I offered him a new life and a second chance. He just looked at his revolver then nodded at me. I made a small cut on my wrist and he drank. It's been the same every month since then. He now has three successful businesses and a beautiful home, in this life he lives as something of a playboy. He said he didn't want another family and that's for the best as far as I am concerned.
"Trev' only has to obey me if I give him a direct command. There's not much that would cause me to do that, I've never had to before, not once. He lives his life and helps me with mine. I think he's happy, but I don't really know what that means. Maybe you need to talk to Trevor about this."
"Yeah, I think I fuckin' will." Said Rod defiantly.
"No, Rod come back." Begged Sol
Rod leapt up the stairs shoved the slab aside and was quickly back in the depot standing in front of a concerned looking Trevor.
"Rod mate you'd better get back down, staff will be back from lunch any minute." Trevor warned.
"How are you Trevor?" Asked Rod.
"Fine. What do you mean?" Trevor asked.
"Are you happy? Does Sol ever make you do things you don't want to?" Rod interrogated.
Trevor laughed, "Yeah mate I'm bloody super. You've seen what I do for Sol, he does his own dirty work. Besides I love the ugly cunt."
"Is that your choice though?"
Trevor raised his voice. "Do you choose to get hungry, happy or sad? Do you choose where life goes for you? No I don't think you do. Now fuck off downstairs and don't come back up until after closing time."
Rod shook his head but did what Trevor told him. He got in to the bunker and was greeted by a knowing smile from Sol. Sol was sitting in a recliner chair with his feet up quietly reading, he did not say a word. Rod took the bunk in the corner and lay down, rest was all he could do. He lifted his shirt to inspect his wounds but found it was stuck. After some investigation he found a fold of his clothes had healed in to the lacerations from the fight in France. He pulled at the fabric which tore a strip of flesh from his stomach. Physical pain seemed fleeting to him now. He did not really feel anything; no anxiety or hope and no fear.
He lay his head back with a sigh. "So this is it?" he whispered to himself.
