Chapter XIV: The Naming of Reinette
The River Danube, 5:25 pm
For a day and a half, they were in the pitch, the river taking them forward, up and down, over and under, stillness becoming a concept of memory. Below deck, Lucian sat at his desk, one hand wrapped around his pen, the other folding a sheet of paper. He was listening to the sound of footsteps, mortal sailors moving on deck while the unseen captain lurked in his quarters.
Like the Charon of Greek mythology, Vasili was the ferryman between the two worlds, vampire and lycan, his ship carrying exiles instead of souls. Certainly, before his stint in the underworld, the vampire had fathered enough children to make his crew share the same name. They knew he was a vampire…their parents' parents knew…and their parents before that. But how an Imperial Russian frigate-captain came to accept immortality for the price of a river, only Lucian knew. It made him trust Vasili only for the measure that it took them to reach Vienna.
As he worked, the only real sense of time passing was the dull scratch of his pen. It made him miss the presence of his watch, the constant ticking that reminded him how much closer he was getting to his goal: the death of Amelia
A century after raising the question, the vampire council had made its decision to split the coven. Let it never be said that they were slow to change. As the youngest of three Elders, Amelia was the one slated to rule in the Americas. She would only make it as far as the Awakening Chamber. Once Viktor was safely beneath the ground, she and her successor, Dmitri, would be found in pieces. The gap in power would force a crisis and the council would have to act. None among them would risk waking Marcus…and Viktor would not survive an Awakening so soon after his sleep began. According to coven rules, Kraven would become sole successor with the Elder's seal…
…and then he would make history by becoming the first vampire to propose peace with the lycans. An iron-clad treaty that would end the war.
Five hundred years of continuous war.
Unconsciously, his fingers reached out for the bottle again…it was almost time for his next dose. Every morning and evening, he allowed himself a single drop of laudanum. Far too small to affect his guard, but enough to ease the pain in his head. It was a boon having it in his system again. It would be so simple to take his dose sooner than later, but that would be giving in. His was a controlled addiction that he knew he could stop. He knew he could throw the bottle overboard like the seer's meal and never think twice on it. He was sure of it.
Purposefully, he drew his hand back, aware that two sets of eyes were watching his back.
Raze and the bloodseer. Neither of them had spoken a word since yesterday. Stone-faced and restraining his anger, the first was lying on the upper bunk, still carving away at that scarab, an unlikely gift for his mate, Allegra. The second, the blood-seer, feigned sleep, perhaps content with the unwashed odour coming from her berth. She had slept little in the last twenty-four hours. He had instructed Raze to take her above deck, but she would not leave the room. Her face was wet, her eyes swollen. Crying… sorrow… tears… …what did such things remind him of?
After a spell, he laughed softly and touched his pen to the new sheet of paper.
Gunpowder…
…they reminded him of gunpowder.
The London den would need several barrels, smokeless, white, and three times more volatile than regular powder. For this order, he must be careful in his wording, though it would be difficult for any but the master of arms to make sense of his code.
"Mme. Durand…" he wrote, undisturbed by the constant movement of his desk. "…It is with great sincerity that I again caution you to steer clear of old techniques. Those among us who find the darker colours…"
He paused, chewing on his pen, mulling over the next word. Remotely, he could hear steps creeping towards the door. Similarly in tune with his surroundings, Raze sat up and placed his carving on the side of the bed. Such a simple act, yet it disguised an unparalleled readiness for tearing limbs. The seer only scuffed herself closer to the wall, useless in her weakened state.
Lucian blinked. Not useless, but… He finished the sentence. "…deficient for a new century might balk at the prospect of accepting one of your paintings. Recall upon yourself the critics we wish to impress. Consider the use of white instead."
Outside the door, the footsteps stopped, the stranger listening rather than signalling his presence. How ill-mannered. Frowning, Lucian reread his letter silently, his pen held in mid-air.
"Mme. Durand, it is with great sincerity. …etc. etc. Old techniques…etc… Consider the use of white instead." He skimmed to the last part, adding the final touch. "I am certain it will make a bold statement in this new era of…" He penned the word in, mouthing it silently as his hand flowed across the page.
"…impressionism."
Finished.
Without signing, he laid the pen down and with the same motion, slid the laudanum bottle off the table. It landed in his open bag, dropping out of sight among the folded clothing. He looked up to see the bloodseer's eyes watching him apathetically. He did not smile. True, he had lost much of his charm once on the ship, but his patience for crying was wearing thin.
"What do you want, Andreev?" he asked, unceremoniously raising his voice enough that it could be heard through the ship's walls. His tone was not inviting, but the door opened, admitting the old ship captain. Again, Lucian did not smile. In exchange for his three-night delay, his party had been reduced to sleeping in a bunkhole rather than a proper cabin. Had the man come to gloat? They could not be in Vienna yet.
"Good evening…" said Vasili Andreev. His voice resembled the sluggish nature of the river they were on. He showed no surprise at Lucian's knowledge of his presence, largely because there was no supernatural gift involved here. Andreev had a distinctive walk, barely placing weight on his left leg. They both knew how he had come by that. Searching for a chair, the captain's gaze slid once over the bloodseer. Twice over the bucket with the fish carcass in it. Lucian had kept his promise to her. Never another rat, though she did not thank him for the fish-blood.
Acerbically, Lucian gestured to the floor. "Please…" he said. "…take a seat." The vampire had already been paid for his silence. They would speak English until it was certain this conversation was suitable for the bloodseer's ears. Nodding without complaint, the man closed the door and then ambled slowly to the wall, leaning against it. Once there, he merely stood, saying nothing, acclimatising himself to the room before drawing out conversation. When he finally did speak, it seemed that every word carried a hidden weight.
"Mr. Itzhak…" he said quietly. "…we are friends, yes?"
So began the lengthy business of Russian etiquette.
Exhaling comfortably, Lucian turned his chair around and leaned back so that it balanced on only two legs. He had used Andreev for so long now, it had become a question whether the vampire worked for Kraven or himself. But there was a limit to how far he was willing to go for an allied merchant. Particularly one that had stuck him in a bunkhole for the journey. He crossed his arms behind his head, making sure he was sprawled appropriately, the sole of his boot facing Andreev. Across from him, the bloodseer's eyes widened suddenly, her pupils trained on the heel of his boot. Clearly, her memories of Russian business culture were not so shot.
"Skip the pleasantries, Andreev. What are you offering me?"
Reserved in the face of this insult, the captain only shrugged, his glance now fixing on the documents on the table. Sharp eyes. Andreev was still under the impression that Aleksey Itzhak was a middle-man. "I am thinking I offer you silence, Mr. Itzhak." He smiled. "You take acquaintance of mine as far as the border, and I keep peace for your lady friend."
So much for paying for silence.
"I do not work in pairs," Lucian said bluntly. That was a lie. He had taken exiles across the border in the past…the gamble always paying in the end for him, if not the exiles. But he did not believe in accepting a deal unless he got something good out of it. Really good. "…and your offer of silence is clearly void as we are out of Budapest."
"Bah!" It was as if a match had dropped. Lightning fast, Andreev pointed his hand, gnarled and wrinkled, at the bloodseer. "Her blood is old. The youth…he is stronger. Faster. He will not slow you." Scowling dramatically, the vampire pulled a pipe from his coat. The way he said it, he made it sound as if it had been decided already. "If you take one…you take another. I throw in transport as well."
Lucian smiled cruelly. "What other?"
"Vampire without port. Fifty-seven years old, wanted for execution."
"Relation?"
"Yes."
"Elaborate."
"He is from my sister's line, my great-grand-nephew. Two years among Kraven's deathdealers, but…they are not wanting him. I keep him on-board but…" The vampire gestured vaguely with the pipe, searching for the right word. "…it is not good for business. Vampires are hunting him. Lycans are killing him." He stressed his point. "Not good for business."
Out of the blue, Raze snapped from above. "…if Aleksey says there is no room, Vasili, then you had best leave while your leg allows for it."
Well that settles it.
Lucian let his chair drop to the ground with a bang. "How much?"
Raze's head whipped around to stare. The bloodseer said nothing, maintaining the bored look of apathy she now directed between the two men. She appeared to have swallowed her moment of shock at his lack of manners.
"Twelve years," the captain said, recovering quickly, using his hands to indicate the measure of time.
"No one is that hungry."
"Ten…"
"Three months."
"Aleksey…" There was a hint of rebuke in the way the captain said his name. "…this man, he is a good man. He needs years."
"The good men in your fleet are dead," Lucian said, crooking his head to look sideways at the captain. This was the world of commerce rippling beneath the Underworld. Exiles bartering for years of safety. "…and this vampire, the most he will get is half a year. More than enough to settle his accounts. In exchange, I require a dozen rounds of annual transport over the next five years."
Perhaps he was risking much, but there was another side to this as well. He would give Vasili more than he deserved, and the generosity would pay in two years. They would need transport for more than just gunpowder.
Immediately, Vasili signalled his acceptance, holding his hand out to shake. He believed he had orchestrated an excellent deal for his great-grand-nephew. Six months…an excellent deal compared to the usual six days granted to exiles. Little did Vasili know, he had already made his decision the moment the man said 'execution.' Any vampire up for execution was therefore expendable…and the bloodseer would grow hungry over the coming days. She would need to be fed, being in no condition to hunt for herself. Another exile could prove…
…fruitful.
Lucian nodded in passing, ignoring the hand. To his left, the woman was unashamedly staring at him…not the dull cataracts of an old woman, but the youthful creature trapped inside. He did not tarry long on her eyes. "What did he do?" he said in Russian, returning his attention to Andreev. The deal had been made, so there was no need to retain English.
"Bad blood among the youth," the old captain muttered in his native tongue. His wording was more fluid now that he spoke his own language. He moved his leg, scuffing the dark wood where it was clear an accident had happened. "No sense of tradition."
"Clearly I am not enjoying your story yet," said Lucian, turning around and reaching among the papers, searching for an envelope. It was like dragging teeth from a six-week-old pup.
"He stole…something important…from a council member."
"Better. What did he steal?"
"A head."
"Metaphorically or physically?" All business, Lucian found the envelope and carefully penned the recipient's name on the back. The boy would likely regret having his great-grand-sire arrange safe passage into lycan territory. Most exiles did not make it in the end.
"Physically," the vampire shrugged, speaking as if all things in life did not matter one way or another. He was staring at the bloodseer again. "…though she was not worth it in the end."
Typical.
Lucian dropped the finished envelope on the table. "He will do his own hunting. If he is caught by mortals or vampires, he is left behind. We will not wait on him. If he is as fast and strong as you say, then he can hunt for two. Make him ready for when the ship docks."
"That is good, Aleksey. He will be grateful…"
"Andreev…"
Almost at the door, the captain slowed in his tracks.
Lucian remained seated where he was…and then carefully folded the letter in half, running his finger along the edge, making the crease with his nail. "His past may be of no consequence to you, but I will not suffer a murderer twice." His tone suggested that this too was one of the things in life that did not matter one way or the other. "If he moves against either myself or my party, I swear I will burn him alive for the next century, finger by finger, piece by piece." He smiled at the captain. "Have him understand that."
Andreev squinted…and then smiled warmly, ducking his head. "I will tell him."
The door closed behind him, leaving them in silence save for the retreating steps. Though it did not take long for some commentary to arise from his dealings.
"You bartered for a murderer?" It was the first the blood-seer had spoken since the night before, and now that she did, there was a haggard note on the end of her sentence. Calmly, he looked up to see her staring at the ceiling, randomly tracing lines on the dusty linens of her bed. Really, there was not much else to do in this room.
"Think of him as a main course for the journey." Allowing her to interpret that as she would, he placed the letter in its envelope and left it on the table. Among the twelve letters he had written, only four would be sent. Only one of them would receive the appropriate seal.
Time for a fix.
Reaching a hand down into the bag, he found the laudanum again and drank what he needed, returning the bottle to its hiding place when he was finished. Standing, he stretched his neck and arms, letting out a casual yawn before sauntering over to the lower bunk. Immediately her finger stopped in its tracing. She looked at him sideways, edgy as a flightless bird, and then sat up on her elbows, squinting at him. For a moment, her mask of apathy slipped.
"What?" The word had a bite to it.
In answer, he lowered himself into an informal crouch, letting his head rest on his fists and arms, which in turn rested on his knees. It was odd coming up with a name for someone. Marie-Therese. Jeanne-Marie. There were too many Marie-Antoinettes running around, but…
"How does Jeanne-Antoinette sound?"
"For what?"
"You," he said. "Or would you prefer fish-crone? Not quite the appropriate ring, I think."
Her nose wrinkled. "Fish-crone?"
"Reinette it is. Now shove off. I need sleep."
To his surprise, she surveyed him for a moment…and then said the name, as if trying it out. Rei. Rei-nette. Zhahn. Zhahn-antoi-nette. Her pronounciation was unforgivable. Still squinting, she finally shook her head and scrambled off the bed, bare feet padding to the corner of the room where Theophrastus had been chucked all this time. Picking up the book, she moved to the chair he had just vacated and drew her legs up, folding herself into a comfortable position for reading. Her face was as dry as winter ice.
Watching with a half-intrigued smirk, Lucian clambered onto the mattress. The moon be praised, she had given up crying. She was still far too skinny, but that would be remedied. In seconds, he was drifting off to sleep. Jeanne-Antoinette… he mused, almost on the verge of dreaming. …it was a good name. A good history. A good beginning for someone who must adapt herself to a new world.
A/N: Finally found some time to write (apologies, I accidentally got a job, boyfriend, and violin lessons.) Hope people enjoy the new name and the prospect of a murdering exile in our midst. Thank you to Sheen, ThranduilsDaughter, Epilachna, L.M. Frick, Mackenzie, xo-harlequin girl-xo, and clear skye for the latest reviews and favourites! On that note, please feel free to read and review.
Epilachna: Lucian's notes will definitely come to light (I started writing them in another document.) Once again, so glad you pointed out the zipper (we're using brass buckles now, I believe...)
Everyone: Yup, he's totally an addict. Lucian is 100% stuck-on-laudanum like a bee on honey. He might quit in the coming months, but I'm going to bet he won't be a pretty sight when he does it. (Or when someone else does it for him...)
Important note: Minor changes have been made in Chapter 7 and 13. For Chapter 7, the changes are largely in tone. For Chapter 13, Lucian's threat has been significantly altered.