Words And Meanings
by Bonnie Rutledge
(copyright 2001)Chapter Three So I traveled with them to Lucrece's chateau, D'Asile, her haven. Nearly a week passed before I so much as stepped out of her bedroom. Lucrece, she would come and go, but me, for the first time in my existence I was sleeping on fine linens. I wasn't in a hurry to move. The sheets carried the scent of gold, bergamot and incense, just like the lady. No fleas, no lice, and no rats. Now I was drinking blood out of jeweled chalices and had an equal treasure in my arms. Staying seemed a better idea with each passing day.Lucrece had other passions outside of the bed. She pursued them with almost ritualistic enthusiasm. She would bathe for hours on end, the water scented with exotic perfumes. She preferred company, and it wasn't a stretch for me to oblige her. She introduced me to the extravagance of soaking in hot water.
Her other passion fell into the realm of the mental, rather than physical. She loved words - twisting them, arranging them, constructing them, battling with them. News from Lyon said that Molière was coming to town, and she sighed and enthused over meeting the man. Lucrece loved wit, adored it when applied to flatter her, to flirt with her, and to appease her. I didn't have a problem with that, to a point. I never had trouble thinking fast, making it up as I went along. As long as I kept talking, the illusion that no separation existed between who she was and who I was remained strong.
The problem came in the form of poetry. Poetry addicted Lucrece. She had volumes in French, Spanish, Italian, even Latin, some of these inscribed by men she had known, some created in her honor. The strength of her fascination for those books threw me at first. I didn't see the point of her reading the same lines aloud. "Did you hear that?" she would ask, then dreamily repeat the same phrase.
One recital was enough for me. I'd stare off into space as she spoke. I'd make her call impatiently for my attention, pretending my thoughts had been captured by something far more fascinating than the scribbling of some dead poet. On the surface, I displayed my disinterest as boredom, but that wasn't the entire issue.
I struggled to read a line of Spanish, much less one in a sister tongue. I didn't know how to write any more than my birth name, and, since I wasn't using that - let's face it - I was illiterate. I didn't come from a background that expected me to use my mind. I was supposed to use my hands. I was supposed to fight. Yeah, I was supposed to live by my wits, but only so that they would get me out of scrapes and win whatever I was fighting for at the time. And what would I have written about? 'Dear Diary: Fought The Inka again, got away, flying out of town tonight ... ' No, I didn't need to know how to write. Didn't care. Not until then.
Reading and writing joined the luxuries that Lucrece offered me, but they weren't things I could just slip into casually like her bed or her bath. They took work. They took effort. As things stood, I knew I would fail to meet her expectations. She wanted a lover who would write poems in her honor, and the best I could offer was impromptu whispers in her ear. Nothing permanent. I feigned disinterest to avoid her disappointment.
See, it only took a handful of days for Lucrece to change me. I've gone without hot water and clean sheets over the years, but it wasn't until I met her that I understood how it felt to miss them. Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge teaches you what you don't have.
Every shred of learning I'd accomplished up until then had derived from my own experience. Meeting Lucrece made me want more. She made me want information: pointless things, trivial things, and scholarly things. Things that wouldn't do me a damn bit of good fighting The Inka or helping my chances of survival. Knowledge for the hell of it.
And expectations. I'd spent over a hundred years running from expectations, thumbing my nose at them. Suddenly, I was assuming a role, dancing to a tune that wasn't all mine.
I know it probably sounds out of character. After all, what kind of existence was I contemplating? Playing courtier to some wealthy seductress for my meal ticket? Why would I do that? What did she have that was so tempting that I would act for her?
You forget - it hadn't been so long since I'd been a conquistador. Sure, I'd been in it for the adventure, the honor of starvation and sickness aboard a ship filled with horses and men. Half the time we didn't even know where we were going, and once we knew where we were going, we were marching through country where we needed the locals to hold off slaughtering us all until we could manage a strategy to turn the tables and slaughter them instead.
The reason I, or any one of Pizarro's men, faced danger and death had nothing to do with honor. I wasn't there for the Crown, for the glory of Spain. I certainly wasn't there for God. Hell, I was in it for the money. We were all in it so that we could go back to Spain as rich men - men who slept on fine linens and drank from golden chalices.
Conquering a new world would give us wealth and power, the two things we needed to make all our dreams come true. We were tempted, and we acted on that temptation. Look what became of it - many men died, many more were murdered, but a few of them got what they wished for all along. Me, well, becoming a vampire did give me freedom, the power to explore more of the world than I'd ever imagined possible, the power to do things I hadn't believed possible, but it hadn't made me rich.
Nowadays, I don't give wealth much thought. I still like my fine linens. I still like having hot water. I can sneak into a library whenever I feel the yearning to read, and, yeah, I've come to appreciate means for transportation other than flying. The rest - I can take it or leave it. But then, when I was still young and inexperienced enough, I would have taken the thirty pieces of silver and shaken hands with the devil just to try something I'd never had before. Just to live like a rich man. Just to love like a rich man. Just to die like a rich man.
The type of people I had known all my mortal years, the kind I'd lingered with and hunted for the whole of my vampire existence - soldiers, farmers, seamen, their wives, whores, and wenches - I was greedy for a change from them. That's what I'd been hungry for, and that's why I was restless hanging in the taverns with Screed. Lucrece fell into my lap, and I took advantage.
After eight languorous days and nights at D'Asile. Lucrece announced that she was in the mood for an entertainment. The entourages arrived for the next two nights, as did actors, jugglers and musicians. Surveying the banquet hall filled with her guests, I estimated that she had to have invited every vampire within France's borders. LaCroix was there, with some redhead called Francesca du Montagne on his arm. You, I guess you were occupied somewhere else.
Lucrece introduced me to them all. She did didn't give them any name, not even my initials. She thought it was a game - treating me like a man of mystery. I didn't mind. I got off on it, watching them wonder, always imagining in my favor because I was by Lucrece's side. Most of the guests were vampires, but some were mortal. Lucrece had a few men and women that she considered part of her 'court' in addition to Bourbon, mortals who'd had plenty of idle time on their hands since my arrival. They interspersed the vampires at the table, and, if they were aware that blood flowed just as freely into our goblets as wine entered theirs, they didn't appear remotely cautious. The bottles came and went in a steady procession, the liquid heady and rich. Each was different, yet each carried the same subtle, foreign sweetness I couldn't place.
The table was full except for one chair to the left of the hostess. It was the usual place of her companion, Marie, who had lingered weakened in her sickbed since their journey south, and Lucrece had purposefully demanded that it remain vacant. I was seated to her right, the advantageous spot. Lucrece had shipped Bourbon to the opposite end of the table, ostensibly to play host. That didn't stop him from scowling when I raised my glass in a toast with a smirk in his direction.
As the evening wore on, the performers and songs grew raunchier, as did the guests. The musicians that remained on hand had all been blindfolded for discretion. I noticed that there were some who sat back and observed the proceedings with watchful eyes. Voyeuristic, maybe. LaCroix was one of them.
Lucrece was an enthusiastic dancer. It didn't take much encouragement for her to push away from the table and dive into the steps of a Spanish song. She could surprise me like that.
As much as I've dwelled on how I felt the need to satisfy the role she'd devised for me in her ornate world, I was just as guilty of expecting her to be something foreign, someone poles apart from me just because she'd grown up wealthy while I had been poor. When she'd suddenly move into a dance I'd known since I was a child, the way she grew sentimental for Valencia when she first heard me playing the guitar - moments like these made me start to wonder if I was really loitering at her castle because of the fancy accommodations, because of the temptation to conquer a rich New World. I began to believe I was there because of the woman, because of love. Because she made me start to imagine that I actually was noble.
I loved dancing with Lucrece. We clapped and spun and brushed against each other to the tune. I felt her body beneath my hands, and she laughed. I was free, free from caring what her watchful guests calculated about me, free from wondering if I had fooled her into believing that I was what she wanted when she could have anything. I saw what I chose to in her luminescent face, heard enough to satisfy me in her lyrical voice, and drank the promises I needed from her plump lips.
We danced for hours. I was attentive to Lucrece, but on the periphery, I began to notice little things about the event, how everyone was increasingly intoxicated, including the servants. How they grew careless, splashing wine and blood in sporadic paths on the table, floor, and the guests. How they began to slip into different masks, how some now brandished the red, gold and white of death. I frowned as a vampire guest openly sank his teeth into the exposed shoulder of one of Lucrece's mortal ladies. The woman wriggled against him in almost a pantomime, but I couldn't tell if it represented pain or pleasure. That's what had me frowning, that and the gratuity of it. We'd been drinking blood all night; draining a mortal wasn't a necessity.
Lucrece's hand cupped my jaw as she drew my attention back to her. "Have you forgotten me so quickly?" she said with mock sternness.
"Hardly." I relaxed, twirled her about until she let out a rowdy whoop, then held her against my chest as I murmured. "Just between us, I don't think I'm likely to forget you."
One instant Lucrece smiled, the next, she uttered a furious objection. Over my shoulder, her eyes had caught the scene at the table. "That revolting Thomas is feeding on one of my dressers! As if I haven't provided sufficient refreshments - how rude! Excuse me while I sort this out?"
I nodded, my desire growing because she had no more appreciation for killing for its own sake than I did. "I thought you might be offended."
"Exactly! He hasn't the right to drink her," she said fiercely, then sighed. "It is tedious, this constant struggle to keep everyone in their place and not interfering with mine. If only -" She broke off, her eyes suddenly wistful.
"If only what?" I prompted.
Lucrece shook her head. "Nothing possible." Her eyes flickered back to the table, and she scowled. "Nothing I should squander seconds on while Thomas drinks Thérèse like a fish!"
As she whipped across the room to intervene, my senses flickered. I noticed one of the wall hangings twitch near the doors. A familiar profile came into view, then ducked out of sight. I tracked down a spare goblet and moved to investigate.
Leaning against the wall, I punched the prominent mound underneath the brocade tapestry with the back of one fist. "Come out, Screed."
The lump started, then made a bumpy path under the fabric as his face, nose to eyebrows, poked out to confirm my identity. The eyebrows narrowed. The nose wrinkled. "Paint me yellow, 'ave this chatterbox while we dangle from tha' chand'lier fer h'a bit more notice, why don'cha?"
He scrambled from behind the hanging, making a small clatter as he shooed out the door. I glanced over my shoulder and found no confirmation of Screed's paranoia. Everyone in the room was too occupied to notice his subterfuge, such as it was. I shrugged and followed him outside.
Once in the hallway, Screed lightened up his guard, humming as he commenced a jaunty stroll. He'd tied a makeshift bundle around his waist, giving him a newly rotund figure, but the burlap caused him to frequently scratch at his middle. At some point, he'd also lifted a jongleur's cap, and the tails jingled as he walked. "Should 'ave known tha' V-Man's 'ere, shakin' tha' tree. Nev-a' be Mr. Un-Visible when there's h'a Midas ta touch!" He paused as we passed over the threshold to the terrace and jogged the pull of one of the open doors. He had it unfastened in seconds, blew on the shiny handle, and polished it even more against his shirtfront before tucking it into his pack.
I set down my cup, caught his arm and searched his haul amid his protests. Pulling out three gold chargers etched with a bull motif, I shook my head. "Screed, you can't take these."
He snatched them back and hugged the plates possessively to his chest. "Finders kippers. Get ya h'own cut!" He replaced them in his sack with emphatic motions, gingerly patting the burlap when he had them secure. "Regular trove h'in this chatty-toe. 'X' marks tha' spot. Lost ten ta h'a trapeze h'artiste wot listenin' ta 'is yam 'bout tha' razzle-dazzle comin' ta call. Where there's smoke, there's wood, Aye say. Aye was right - verified diet o' tha' h'upper crust, tha' type wit' tha' teeth."
"I know. I'm one of them."
Screed snorted. "Roight, an' Aye'm Louis tha' Cat-whore's treasurer!"
"No, I made a few new acquaintances. I've been here all week. That's why you have to put back the stuff you stole. It's bad manners to rob your hostess." I retrieved my goblet and handed it to him. Screed spent a moment prying at one of the jewels on the bowl with his thumbnail, but then, after a thoughtful sniff, took a sip.
"Nice," he nodded. "Stickin' me nose h'inna 'ouse tour, reconnaissanced tha' juice farm h'in tha' dungeon. Didn' sample, seein' h'as they were h'empties. Racket, yer lot's got. Like ta get me h'a setup double wot wit' tha' bubble 'n squeak. Store some fer tha' winter, ya know?"
In ten days, I'd gotten out of the habit of listening to Screed. Things might have turned out differently if I'd paid attention to his absent, hungry comment. Instead, my mind had drifted back to the supper, wondering if Lucrece was searching for me. "Come on," I said, gesturing him inside again. "I'll introduce you."
Screed shook his head. "Didn' git h'an h'invitation."
"But I did, and we're running as a crew. Come on," I repeated, putting my arm around his shoulder and urging him to follow me.
Hesitantly, he did. I made him dump the contents of his sack in one of the rooms we passed, then listened to him evaluate how much coin he could score on the black market for the goblet. "Melt h'it down, ingot tha' shiny, hawk tha' sparkly - finance h'a bloke's h'expenses roight nice, h'it does."
I could spot Lucrece standing across the banquet room, her head tilted up to ask Bourbon a question. I saw him shake his head, and her eyes traveled from one end of the table to another, resting on each jovial face, each scarlet-tinted pair of lips. She turned and gave the dancers the same treatment, her chin bobbing slightly as her gaze followed the spinning figures. Her eyes drifted next, focusing on nothing. It took me a moment to identify her expression, and it threw me when I finally recognized it. With Bourbon at her side, in a room full of people she knew, she looked lost.
I tapped Screed's arm. "I want to introduce you to somebody."
He followed the direction of my stare. "Tha' skirt h'or tha' gent?"
"The skirt," I said with certainty, then slowly reconsidered. "Him, too, I guess."
I noticed the change in the room as we were walking toward her. The laughter ebbed. Speech hovered. That's when I first heard the word.
"He's a carouche," someone whispered. "I can smell him."
'Carouche.' I didn't know what it meant, but I could tell the significance wasn't meant to be pleasant.
Every eye suddenly seemed trained upon us. Lucrece flicked her gaze toward the table. Then, she found me. Her stare began unsure. Soon enough, her shoulders stiffened as someone hissed that word again, "Carouche." Her features became questioning, then accusing.
My progress faltered. I paused, glancing at Screed to check his reaction to the shift in atmosphere.
He was, as usual, blithe. He nudged me with a knowing wink. "Don' be shy, V-Man. Sunshine's waitin'. Mebbe she's got h'a sister?"
I answered him absently, turning my focus back to Lucrece's expression. "I don't think so, Screed." My feet started moving again.
Standing before her, I took Lucrece's hand. I didn't kiss her fingers, but squeezed them. Maybe I wanted some reassurance. I felt her nails against my palm, a brief pressure, then her hand jerked slightly, as though she wanted to snatch the moment back. I didn't let go.
Lucrece swallowed a mouthful of air, then said breathlessly, "I was beginning to wonder if you would return." She gave a feeble smile. "You brought someone with you."
"I recognized a familiar face," I replied calmly and gestured toward the man at my side. "This is Screed. We travel together. Screed, allow me to introduce Milady Lucrece de Valentinois and Philippe de Bourbon. You could say I've been living off their hospitality the past week."
Screed chose this moment to scrape the jongleur's cap off his head, spit in his palm, and give his forehead a shine. Replacing his cap, he grabbed one of Bourbon's hands and jogged it thoroughly. Pulling his arm back, Bourbon examined the skin Screed had touched with repulsion.
Now Screed took the time to wipe his palms off onto his dusty jacket. The jongleur's cap cleared his scalp again, and he pressed it to his side as he snatched Lucrece's fingers from my grip. He bussed her knuckles enthusiastically and announced, "Gracias ta meet'cha, Lady Jane."
Lucrece didn't react with the outright rejection displayed by Bourbon. She appeared more perplexed than anything. She looked to me, doubt flushing her cheeks. "Why does he call me 'Jane'?"
"That's what Screed calls most women," I explained.
He tapped his temple. "Saves h'on tha' mem'ry ta no se llamo. Ol' Screed kin tell you're not jes' h'a Jane, eh? My mistake. Lady Sunshine, she h'is," he said, prodding me with an elbow. Suddenly Screed straightened one arm and pawed a generous lock of her golden hair. "This lot real?"
Bourbon pushed him away. "Of course, it is real. You overstep yourself, carouche!"
Dazed, Lucrece twirled the lock of her hair around one long finger. "Lady Sunshine ... " she repeated, the corner of her mouth tilting upward slightly. "His speech winds like a maze."
For that one moment, she appeared amused, and I felt immune to the continued stares and mumblings that pulsed in the background. Who cared what they thought? What was a carouche? Just another word. Her smile was the only jury I wanted for guidance.
Another slithered comment erupted among the guests, followed by petty chuckles and a few outraged murmurs. Lucrece seemed to snap from her dream, her smile crumbling as she looked to her surroundings. A glance at the vampires huddled around table, another at those standing dumbly on the dance floor, and the light in her eyes died. She looked at Screed again, her pretty mouth twisted, and her attention returned to me. Her tone was abrupt. "I need to speak with you. Alone."
"I'll be back," I told Screed. He was finally picking up on the vibe in the room. His pupils began to dart defensively between the strangers' faces. His shoulders hunched suspiciously. I shouldn't have left him. I should have stood by him.
I turned away from Screed and allowed Lucrece to lead me out of the room. She walked silently, staring straight ahead. Not a hint that her emotions were raging escaped until she fumbled at the doors leading outside. Finding the pock in the hardware where Screed had stolen the doorknob, she hit the paneling with an open hand in frustration before stumbling through the other side.
"How could you bring him here? What were you thinking?" She lifted the hem of her skirts as she reached the edge of the terrace and began descending the stairs to the lawn.
Rebellion rushed through me on instinct at her accusation. "I don't know what the problem is. You're going to have to spell it out."
"He's a carouche. That's the problem."
Her path led to an arbor. I moved ahead and closed my hands around the frame on either side, blocking her steps. "What is a carouche?"
Her voice was hot, critical. "It's a lesser form of vampire, one that prefers the blood of creatures other than humans." She lifted her chin in a proud angle. "One normal vampire might not stand out from another, but you can always tell a carouche. Some say they begin to smell like their prey. Others say a carouche begins to act like the lower beasts upon which it feeds."
"I've never noticed the difference," I said impatiently.
"So you didn't know." She nodded shortly. "We can use ignorance as an excuse. Maybe they will accept that it was just a mistake."
I didn't want her making excuses for anyone. I wanted her to be honest. She hadn't looked me in the eye since we'd left the entertainment. She seemed tense and restless and had been pacing a track in front of me as she reasoned out her plans aloud. I let go of the arbor, grasping her upper arms to hold her steady. "Screed isn't a mistake. He's my friend."
Her gaze abandoned its evasion. She became very still, meeting my angry stare with a dispassionate expression. "In my world, you aren't allowed to keep every friend that you would like."
I shook her slightly, challenging her cold words. I wanted her to say something that would make the surge of disappointment that I was experiencing go away. "And you liked Screed. I saw it in your face, back in the banquet hall. Word games bring you joy. Screed could keep you laughing for a century. Why are you letting the world change your mind?"
"I'm not!" she protested. "This is the way my world is." She pushed against my chest, so I loosened my grip. She whirled away, out of my range. The distance was like a wall, one of those towers a hero supposedly scales to reach his lady. "There is another kind of vampire," Lucrece said stiffly. "Enforcers. Some of them do nothing but destroy carouche, and the people who would protect them. The popular opinion in the vampire community encourages this hunting. A carouche is an abomination, something that pollutes what we are. I cannot afford to have the Enforcers' scrutiny turned my way by housing one under my roof."
"I guess you're not so wealthy after all, Milady, if you can't afford a little scrutiny." She spoke of fights, of vampires who would hunt you down if you didn't fit their rules. Well, that had always been my world. The prospect loomed with danger. It was my element. I shrugged away any caution. It couldn't touch me. What bothered me was that it mattered to her. "Do you need their approval?" I asked quietly.
She slowly turned back to me, revealing that the lost look had returned. The moonlight shadowed her, muffling what was normally lovely and bright. A pale halo reflected off her hair, giving her the appearance of a dying ember. "It's not a question of popularity. I need them," she said desperately. "I have to placate the people in that room. Their alliance keeps my world from changing." Her upper lip curled slightly. "Or changes it to suit me. I have to have their support to stay where I am." The hesitation in her voice faded. Steely determination took its place. "You forget that you are just another guest, here at my leave. Your opinion has been outvoted. You are outnumbered. Screed has to go. He is not welcome at D'Asile. Get rid of him." She lifted her skirts again and began to walk imperiously back inside. The silent ultimatum hung in the air. I could tell that I'd been dismissed, sent off to do my duty.
I could have kept the argument going. Outvoted, outnumbered - what did I care? She'd shown me the cracks in her armor, the hint that, for all her wealth, she wasn't free. For all that money could buy, it could rob you of what mattered more. I could have balked at the unwanted duty she'd left with me and shown her my back; if Screed had to go, then I had to go with him. Better that we didn't just slink out of town to spare the sensitivity of her associates. Better that Screed and I ram our presence in their faces before we hied out of Lyon. I could have forgotten that I'd ever met her, ever held her, ever tasted her.
I could have. But I didn't.
I stalked past her, crossing the terrace first. So, in a way, I did get the satisfaction of giving Lucrece my back. But I wasn't leaving. I was headed to the banquet hall. I was going to tell Screed to go. I'd bribe him with those gold plates he'd craved, and I'd speed him on his way.
Yeah, I was choosing her over Screed. I'd gotten the idea in my head, though, that I wasn't really letting him down. I'd decided that it was just one act, one night. It didn't have to last forever. I thought I could work on Lucrece, had this image in my head that I was rescuing her from a prison, her island. Once the vampire crowd rolled away, I believed that she would relax on the demand if I persuaded her. Screed would be welcome, and I'd still get the girl. It just wouldn't happen tonight.
That's what temptation promises you - that you can end up with everything you desire.
Bourbon waited by the doors, one of the servants huddled behind him with a peaked countenance. He gave me a superior smirk as I passed, broadcasting in a knowing way that he recognized the exact pattern of my confrontation with Lucrece. "What did you expect?" he murmured. "Spaniards are Milady's hobby, not her obsession."
I finally gave into an angry urge and shoved him against the door frame as my answer. Bourbon had picked up a habit or two from me by example over the past week and a half. He didn't push back, didn't react as though I'd insulted his person with my low-born Spanish hands. No, he just grinned, grinned like I would have grinned - as though there was nothing I could do to break his spirit. At any other moment, I might have liked him for that. Instead, I stormed away, the calm, polite greeting he gave Lucrece next mocking me in the distance.
I returned to the entertainment. Screed wasn't there. The guests had returned to their festivities, but from their slanted, calculating glances and their frosty smiles, I had a hint why he might have cut out of the place. I wondered for a moment if any of them had had the nerve or the decency to tell him what they thought a carouche was to his face, rather than cowering behind the safety of mean whispers and mass rejection. I could only hope he had called them a couple words of his own in response before he left. I didn't like the image of Screed fading quietly into the night, alone with this bigotry.
More than that, I hated acknowledging that I had anything to do with supporting it.
Chapter Four After spending some time at the table, glaring at one and all, daring any of them to openly challenge me about my friend the carouche, with no results, I decided I'd leave for a while. I'd catch up with Screed to make certain everything was right with him. First instinct: a good instinct.The sound of a woman crying caught me. I've always been a sucker for the tears of the helpless. They make me think twice. Second instinct: not always as good as the first one, but there, regardless. Usually the most difficult instinct to ignore, and the one that changes your life. I hesitated, but I followed the weeping.
The crying led me to a room I'd never entered before. As I drew closer, I recognized the voice flooded with tears - it belonged to Lucrece. First instinct, I wondered if she cried because of what she'd asked me to do - to reject the only friend I'd had in a century because of some status standard of what made an acceptable diet lifestyle for a vampire. Second instinct, I brushed that thought aside as wishful thinking, a product of my own pride and indignation. Her sobs carried something more personal than that. I heard her misery and her shame. I heard grief. I heard Lucrece call for a priest. Bewildered at her request, I entered the room.
I saw Bourbon leaning against the wall, his posture impatient, his expression exasperated. As I closed the door behind me, he glanced my way and dismissed my presence in favor of correcting the other occupants of the room. "Forget Milady's order."
A collection of skirts hovered in the room, their faces weary and distraught. I recognized these women as part of Lucrece's 'ladies-in-waiting,' the ones who hadn't appeared at tonight's spectacle. At the moment, these ladies looked to be waiting for all hell to break loose.
A bed dominated the rest of the room. This tableau answered all my questions. Lucrece crouched on her knees, bent over the body of a dead woman. It was Marie, the mortal who had not traveled well. Contrary to Lucrece's confidence, a week in bed hadn't been enough to cure what ailed Marie. Drained to the point of unconsciousness, not many recover. Marie's fate had proved true to form.
"No!" Lucrece wailed. "I want a priest!"
Fresh bite marks decorated Marie's throat - Lucrece had attempted to bring the woman across without success. I glanced again at her retinue of mortal women. They'd been here, they'd obviously witnessed that Lucrece was a vampire. Why did they stay? Was it the money? Was it love or admiration? Were they hoping to join the undead? Were they afraid to leave?
Living as she did, throwing entertainments as she had tonight, it was unlikely Lucrece could manage such an existence with so many mortals at her side and at her service without someone catching on to her secret. Could this explain why she was so wary of those vampires called Enforcers? If she couldn't bear the scrutiny of the judge and jury because she refused to give up a few luxuries, I found it hard to feel any pity for her.
The second demand for a priest had Bourbon crossing the floor, leaning over the bedside to hiss in Lucrece's ear, "Don't be stupid. Bring a holy man here? Now? It is pointless!"
She whirled around, launching forward in indignation. "And whose fault is that?! I should have been told sooner!" She turned a threatening glare toward her ladies-in-waiting. They gasped, clutching at each other for protection with trembling hands. "And you! What good are you? Your job was to nurse and care for Marie, but you huddled like sheep doing nothing!" One of the women began to cry in earnest at this rebuke, sobbing in the arms of her neighbor.
Bourbon defended them. I didn't expect him to do that. I'd written him off as someone who took mortals for granted, but he found his own reasons for valuing and protecting them. Maybe they weren't identical to mine - Bourbon always had this strange idea of French honor, and I've always had a reputation as a more dishonorable sort - but he had his reasons all the same. Granted, I never stopped thinking of him as an arrogant ass, but at that moment, I started to respect him.
He countered Lucrece's criticism with a sharp shake of his head. "Don't be a hypocrite! They are not at fault for this death. If Marie's life meant anything to you, you wouldn't have spilt her blood because you grew peckish and impatient on the journey here! It is far too late in the evening for weeping, Milady," he mocked.
"Oh, get out! Get out of my sight!" She made another threatening gesture toward the women, and they swiftly scrambled for the door. Lucrece subsided on the bed again, crying with the dead woman's palm cradled to her cheek.
Bourbon was slower to leave, but leave he did, giving me a knowing glance as I made no move for the door. I sent him a mock salute from my station in return. After all, he'd done me a favor. He'd told Lucrece exactly what I'd been thinking and saved me the infamy of saying it.
Why did I stay? She was still crying. I cared. It mattered. Even if I couldn't see a reason for it, even if I didn't understand her misery, I wanted to comfort her. I hung around. I watched her sorrow, and it pulled at me for no other reason than it was hers.
She knew I was there. She knew but waited to acknowledge me. She remained wrapped in her grief for several more minutes, but gradually her weeping subsided into a chain of fragile sniffs. Her voice followed, small and apologetic. "I didn't mean to hurt her. She was beautiful and bright. I loved her. She was my friend. No one truly means to hurt their friends. But I became hungry, and I lost control."
I didn't say anything. I thought she was still making excuses, trying to justify her actions. She'd killed a mortal for food. That's what vampires did. It seemed incredibly naive to me that she couldn't admit that part of the equation.
No, that wasn't it. I knew that her reticence came from the fact that she imagined this Marie woman to be her friend. By feeding from her, Lucrece had betrayed that friendship. She felt that made her hunger tawdry. Evil, maybe, if she had to bring morals into it. Evil or good, it had happened. One of those hell-and-damnation moments where words like 'right' and 'wrong' slip like change through a hole in your pocket. That kind of stuff happens. The only time the second thoughts matter is before any damage is done. Afterward, there's nothing you can do but learn from it and move on to the next bad choice. Crying about it: that's a waste of time.
Still, I understood her need for denial. No one likes to think of themselves as evil except the masochists.
"You think?"
Nothing personal. Just an observation.
Anyway, I didn't console her. I didn't tell her Marie's death wasn't her fault, because it was. I didn't tell her everything would be all right, because I didn't know if that was the truth. Instead, I moved to the other side of the bed, stretching out in a reflection of Lucrece so that I could see her face. I asked her about what I didn't understand. "Why did you call for a priest?"
She appeared embarrassed. "I know that it was a foolish request. Bringing a member of the Church here ... If my guests found out, they'd make a meal of it," she said, her mouth twisting ironically. Lucrece considered Marie gravely, tucking a curl of stray hair away from the dead woman's face. "Bourbon was right. It's too late for that now. They told me that she was improving, but a sudden fever struck her, and in her weakened condition, her heart could not endure. Her death happened quickly," she whispered. Lucrece nodded to herself, feeding her nice delusion.
The thought came to me again, as it had a dozen times since I'd met her. I had nothing to offer Lucrece. I couldn't pardon her, not when I believed she was at fault. I could only lie so much, and pretending that I was the stuff that courtiers were made of had stretched my capacity for deceit to the limit. The more time I spent with Lucrece, the less I liked living lies. I could learn about wealth from her. I could want her, make love to her, drink her royal blood and figure out exactly what the hell the word 'nobility' was supposed to mean, but these were all just forms of taking.
That's what aggravated me. I took. I didn't give. Lucrece had offered me her entire world. Not all of it was to my liking - I didn't want the intolerance and the lies - but that wasn't the point. She'd offered me all of it. The good. The bad. Everything. All I'd offered her in return summed up to the last vestiges of my mortal greed. That was nothing by comparison.
So why was I there, addressing a rich lady in a dead woman's bed? I realized the truth. I wasn't just giving her my greed, a flirtation or lust. There was more to what I felt for her than that. The reason I stayed, even when her worries and her tears made up some riddle I couldn't solve, some pain I couldn't share, was that the thought of leaving her made me ache. I hadn't felt like that, known the kind of longing that only comes with the promise of the absence of a piece of your heart, since I was a mortal. I didn't want to give that feeling up. I didn't want it to end, even though I knew I was lying in a bed made for regrets.
And Lucrece. I suspected for the first time that all Lucrece wanted to take from me was my open acceptance. Between the two of us, she saw it as a more valuable commodity. The most I could offer was acceptance in the form of silence.
"I thought Marie should receive her last rites," Lucrece confessed softly. "Even I received my last rites. I was so afraid of what would become of me, I kept fighting for my mortal body." She looked to be on the verge of tears again. I found myself reaching out, clasping one of her hands tightly. She sent me a small, appreciative smile. "I prayed. I bought indulgences. I suppose they brought me serenity. I was foolish and ignorant. I didn't realize that Heaven and Hell would not be my only choices in the wake of death. I wish that I could have given Marie some kind of assurance if she was afraid. Poor girl." She shook her head sadly. "The sickbed is no place to die. I should know. I spent enough time in one as a mortal. It's another prison. People ... people with passion in their blood ... People who have fought by their wits, their fists and their hearts all their lives should not spend their last days flat on their backs wasting into shadows. That's a tragedy! I died in a sickroom; so did my father. That's no way to die. We should have died on our feet." Determination laced her voice, as if the universe had insulted her, and she demanded an apology. She darted curious eyes my way. "How did death happen for you?"
I'd been a silent observer for so long that my voice sounded strange to my ears. "In battle against an enemy."
Lucrece erupted in a bright smile. She caressed my cheek then leaned over Marie's body to kiss me. "I envy you that."
I still had a hold on Lucrece's fingers. With her words, I realized that maybe I wasn't so much the poor Spaniard, and she wasn't so much the rich lady. We all have our fortunes. We all have our penalties. I squeezed her hand. "I was clubbed to death in a fight. The experience wasn't painless, and it wasn't that quick," I reminded her.
"Maybe," she said enigmatically, her gaze drifting back to Marie's still features. "How many have you lost over the years?"
I didn't understand what she was asking. "How many what?"
"Mortal friends. How many have you lost?"
I couldn't answer immediately. I thought of the men I'd fought beside across the Channel, the ones I'd seen the Roundheads torture and behead. I just as quickly brushed the memory of them aside. They couldn't count. I hadn't even bothered to learn their names, simply supported their cause while it was convenient and used their argument as a justification for picking meals off the other side of the battlefield. "None."
"None?" She looked surprised, as surprised as when I'd told her that I had no name.
Now that I was thinking about it, the number caught me off guard, too. Hadn't I always insisted that mortals mattered? That even though I might kill them to live, they weren't to be treated just like food? And yet, I'd kept my distance, moving among them, but never allowing myself to really look at them, to really know them. I'd spent more affection and care on Screed's rats. Just as it had been on Screed's ship, I wouldn't let myself work with them, side by side. I wouldn't join their teams or tribes, allowing them to look upon me as one of their kind. I was afraid. Why was I afraid?
Lucrece's tear-streaked face told me exactly what frightened me. I knew that I could slip up, that I could be the one whose hunger or carelessness could kill a mortal that was supposedly my friend. More than that, even if I didn't hurt them, mortal friendships didn't last. They aged. They caught diseases. They could be cut down in an instant. Why should I buy into that when I could remain free and unencumbered?
Maybe Lucrece was selfish and foolish to collect mortal friends. Maybe I was the smart one to only buy into the losing propositions that I could afford. A vampire crew had to be the better deal in the long run.
Maybe I was a coward. I was afraid to run the risk of feeling the pain and grief that tore at Lucrece now. I wondered what it felt like. I recalled the graveyard in Trujillo - the missing name, the ache, the fleeting moment of regret that passed as soon as I left town.
"No mortal friends," Lucrece repeated musingly. "Perhaps that's wiser. I've lost so many people that mattered. It's hard always being the one left behind. Family, friends and lovers gone, and I persevere. I endure." She lifted one of the dead woman's hands, thumbing where a plain band of silver gleamed around the index finger. Transferring the ring from Marie's to her own hand, Lucrece's tears returned. She wiped them away impatiently with the heel of her palm, then she kissed each of Marie's cheeks, solemnly bidding her farewell. "I am sorry. I wish that I'd never met her, so that I wouldn't be forced to carry this hurt now."
I could tell that she was lying. She was feeding into another delusion. The truth was in the way she lingered over pulling up the linens so that they rested over Marie's features and how she backed away, reluctant to let her eyes leave the body. The truth was in how she held on to the mortal's ring.
I finally figured out how to comfort her. I moved to stand between Lucrece and the bed, blocking her view of the dead body. "What was her family called?"
She looked up at me with bewildered eyes. "Marie's?"
I nodded.
"Vachon. Her name was Marie Vachon."
I tried it out. "Vachon." I didn't make the second syllable float up in my nose like Lucrece did, but let it rest more in my throat like a purring cat. I liked it. "Now that's my name, too."
Lucrece caught her breath, staring at me as if I'd just spouted a sonnet declaring how much I was in love with her. On second thought, in my own style, I guess I had.
She spoke judiciously for the rest of the night. She broke up her party, sent her vampire guests on their way, and filled the pockets of the musicians and artists. She made peace with Bourbon and gifted the women she'd cursed earlier with trinkets of her jewelry. I was the last one she spoke to before sunrise. Her words were simple, whispered.
"Thank you, Vachon."
In her own words, Lucrece had confessed that she was in love with me right back.
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