Words And Meanings
by Bonnie Rutledge
(copyright 2001)Chapter Fifteen Bourbon, now that he'd decided to join the group, tackled his duties seriously. "We should find Screed. There could be more Enforcers roaming the town."I had to grin at the way he declared it. He made the idea sound like his royal command, as if Screed had been running with him for decades, and I was the one allowed to tag along for the ride, not vice versa. "We find him if he's here. He was supposed to leave two nights ago. I don't know what would have held him up, unless - " My eyes widened as I saw a sudden flash of movement behind Bourbon. I clasped the Frenchman's shoulders, attempting to jerk him aside. "Move!"
The Enforcer I'd left for dust had recovered and had returned obstinately with a one-track mind of staking someone. He'd had a good target in Bourbon's undefended back. If I hadn't been looking at that moment, it would have been bad news for the Frenchman. As it stood, he'd only shifted a couple of inches before the stake pierced him.
I felt him tense, then weaken, as the wood ripped into his flesh, and I swung Bourbon around, regrouping. I withdrew the Frenchman's sword while I balanced to keep him propped on his feet. The Enforcer was no longer armed with anything dangerous, seeing as the stake was buried in Bourbon, so I took advantage, hacking at the vampire the old-fashioned way. I skewered his side and twisted the blade, then kicked out at him with my boot when he moved to grab my weapon, knocking him over a table.
I wanted to finish the Enforcer, but Bourbon leaned against me, on the verge of falling. Getting him somewhere defendable became a more important desire than my need to win, just in case there were Code-loving reinforcements on the way.
I knew the inn had a kitchen. I'd never been in it, but I'd seen the tavern serve meals off and on to passing travelers while I'd been in residence. I hefted Bourbon's body over the bar, offering a brisk 'sorry' when the end of the stake caught on the edge and he grunted in pain. Pulling him in front of me, I remained on the lookout for the Enforcer following us as I backed through the flap of leather barring the passage connecting to the kitchen.
The innkeeper's red-faced wife was there, stringing a chain of sausages overhead. She took one look at the color of my eyes and tripped off her stepstool, running out the other side of the room with a gasp. I set Bourbon on the stool, bending him at the waist to survey the damage. The stake hadn't split his heart, but it looked like it had come close enough to scratch it. Anything less, he'd have been rumbling regardless. Anything more, he'd have been a potential goner. "That's got to hurt," I offered in simpatico as I pulled the wood free. He straightened with a hiss, his eyes blood red. "Hold that feeling," I suggested. "Our death-resistant acquaintance should catch up with us momentarily."
I scouted the kitchen. Its hearth boasted a healthy fire, nursing a cauldron of fragrant liquid into rolling steam. I stoked the stake in the firewood, then used the hook propped against the flagstones to lift the pot away from the heat.
I didn't need to feel the Enforcer coming; he crashed over the bar like a clumsy ox, telegraphing his approach. I glanced down at the boiling cauldron swinging awkwardly from the end of the hook. Bourbon had taken a bad one for the team; I figured my turn had come. I gritted my teeth as I grasped the searing rim of the iron pot, swinging its contents toward the kitchen entry as our opponent appeared. The stock splashed across the Enforcer's face and chest, swelling his skin in angry ripples.
I always say you get back on the horse that threw you. As the Enforcer scratched at his scalding clothes, I tossed the cauldron aside and returned to the hearth, pulling the stake out of the fire for another try.
The sharpened end of the wood bristled like a torch, and I plunged it decisively into the Enforcer's heart again - the same spot as before, with the same enthusiasm. He didn't pass out or stiffen with surprise. Instead, he began to claw at the dry nub jutting from his chest. No, the stake in the heart wasn't going to destroy him. The fire - that's what took him out. I stepped back as I watched. The Enforcer seemed to incinerate from the inside, his face and hands turning gray, then darker, flaking in layers as his features collapsed. He exhaled in a whiff of smoke, then he ended, leaving behind only the wet clothes and ashes.
I found Bourbon alert, but looking a little gray about the edges himself. "Didn't you kill that one once already?" he muttered snidely.
"Yeah. Apparently nobody told him stakes were bad for his heart. He got the briefing on fire, though."
Bourbon flexed his shoulders, wincing at the pull on his injury. "If stakes cannot kill Enforcers, this must mean I am not eligible."
"You're not dead yet," I said glibly, then frowned as I studied the half-closed hole in his chest. "You haven't healed completely?"
He shook his head, then tried to push to his feet. "We still need to locate your friend Screed." Bourbon wobbled in place as he searched dazedly for the door.
And Lucrece. We still needed to discover what had happened to her. I agreed both items on the agenda were urgent, but daylight acted as a hindrance in whatever we wanted to do. I directed him back onto the stool. "The good news is your stubbornness is in perfect health. The bad news is you're having trouble fighting gravity, much less additional Enforcers. You need blood."
"I won't find any here. You chased away all the mortals with your face," he countered, straining to stand again, and stubbornly moving with stiff steps.
Bourbon's always been full of charm like that. He made steady progress for the back exit, so I didn't try to stop him. I just mentioned, "How far can we get with the traboules?" He gave an indeterminate grunt, but I had a feeling that this was the first he'd thought of the sunrise.
When we were sheltered outside the inn, he stopped and leaned against the wall. "These trail throughout the quarter. Do you know any places Screed might go to hide for the day?"
"He liked to hang out in the stables here, but we can't get to them without a dash through the sunlight." I weighed the idea for a minute, then began to move in that direction. "Wait here," I told Bourbon.
"You can't go out there!" he protested.
"I'm not planning to take a nap and try for a tan. It's just around the corner," I called over my shoulder. "It's worth it if Screed's there, and I can practically jump the distance."
True enough, if you added the detail that getting to the stables felt like a jump through a cloud of acid. My face stung as I reached the first stall, and the smoke from my own burning flesh clogged my nostrils. The horses caught a whiff of me, too. They began to buck and whinny, bringing out the groom with a shout, who demanded to know what I was doing to his charges. I knocked him out rather than discuss my implosion issues, then continued on to the last stall, Screed's favorite. I found it deserted, just like he'd left it. Frustrated by the discovery, I glanced pointlessly around the stable. I had no idea where Screed might wander, and he might not even know the Enforcers were after him. We'd have to cover as much of the town as we could, building by building, and since the maze that was Lyon encompassed more than one level, it wouldn't be a straightforward search. At least any other Enforcers trolling the town would have the same problems.
I hitched the ostler's unconscious form over my back, using his body to shield my head as I rejoined Bourbon under the shelter of the walkway. I set the man down, giving the Frenchman the option to drink first. The irony hit me as I watched Bourbon feed. This was the same mortal I'd protected when Bourbon had come riding hell-bent into town the night we met. Now I took his life without regret. We needed our strength - we needed the mortal's strength - to heal our wounds. That's the way it goes - fates turn, shit happens, you get hungry.
We left the body in an alley near our starting place and began our search across Saint Jean. Our progress turned out less than methodical: we saw a turn, we took it; we saw stairs, we climbed them. In the first hour alone, we concluded we'd backtracked twice, repeating ground accidentally.
In the second hour, we made a discovery that changed everything. We were traveling a passage on the upper level when we saw the body. It was another man in black, his head smashed to a pulp. I studied his wounds, noting they weren't fresh, and asked, "Another Enforcer?" but Bourbon had focused on another item.
He picked up an abandoned rapier from the stone tiles. "I recognize this. It came from D'Asile."
I remembered that Screed had lifted a few items on his way out of the castle the night of the banquet; this sword could have been one of them. That was easy to believe. Harder to accept was the idea of Screed leaving something with gold and jewels embedded in the pommel carelessly behind him. Hard to believe anyone would, for that matter. We had to have been in a place that received low foot traffic for such a valuable piece to remain without a new owner until our arrival.
"Screed wouldn't have left it if it was in his possession," I said aloud. "If he had the opportunity, he would have kept it until he had a chance to sell it. He wouldn't have forgotten it."
"Screed wouldn't have," Bourbon reasoned, "but Lucrece would."
"Lucrece," I repeated, my voice breathy. Of course. She was a princess. That would make a fortune in steel garbage. That would also make her alive. I felt a kick in my chest. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was just the thrill of the chase.
Bourbon held the sword, judging its weight between both hands. "She's used this when I've given her lessons. She's not very good," he commented as an aside. "She always drops her guard."
I stepped over the body, tapping a mottled block of masonry lying to the side with my boot. "Maybe that explains the brick." My eyes followed the trail of broken rail, moving on toward the fountain in the middle of the lit square. Floating in the water, I saw dark clothing, no owner. "There," I said, pointing toward what I'd found. "Do you recognize the clothes?" I asked in a curt tone.
He looked inconclusive. "Not for certain, from this distance. It looks like breeches, though. More black clothing. Perhaps another Enforcer?" Bourbon shook his head. "It's difficult to imagine Lucrece fighting two of them. And why? They made no mention of the mob or D'Asile at the inn. They're hunting a carouche."
I walked further down the passage as he mulled the possibility, pausing to examine the damage at the corner, noting the gaps in the mortar. "Maybe she's not alone."
Bourbon scoffed. "She wouldn't have anything to do with Screed. I wouldn't be surprised if she was the one who informed the Enforcers where to find him."
I had a hand on his jacket, ready to slam him against the wall in defense of her honor before I caught myself and reconsidered. I slowly loosened my grip, saying, "Unfortunately, that does sound more realistic. Still ... that's not enough reason to stop looking. Come on, you're slowing me down."
Predictably, he rushed to stay ahead of me.
It took the entire morning before we found anything else of interest. Passing the same square for what seemed the tenth time, we were contemplating giving up until nightfall. We hadn't seen signs of any more Enforcers, and, while we wondered if we'd locate any members of the mob that had burned D'Asile when they recognized us as residents, we hadn't had a confrontation for hours.
As we started discussing places to lay low, I noticed a matronly woman across the courtyard, stringing out laundry to dry in the sun. What caught my eye was that the garments she hung were black, and didn't resemble the standard peasant wardrobe. "Give me the sword we found," I told Bourbon.
He handed it over, but he wanted an explanation. "What are you going to do?"
"Talk."
I walked to the edge of the shadows and called the woman over. "I'll trade you this for the suit in black," I promised, holding up the sword.
She looked avidly at the glitter of the rapier's pommel, but I saw a wave of conscience drift over her round features. "Yes, yes. I would, but I should warn you. The clothes aren't fully mine to trade. I found them. They don't belong to anybody around here, but you never know when someone might come stomping around expecting them back. Then again, who's to say the owners are in any shape to raise a fuss? These aren't the only clothes I found, " she confided. "The others - the armholes were missing. The breeches - someone had cut off one of the legs, neat as you please! Now, I ask you, what good is a suit like that?"
"Depends on where you found it," I murmured.
"Oh, right over there," she supplied quickly, pointing a work-reddened finger toward a sunny spot between her laundry and us. "There they were, just lying on the ground without a care, all dusty."
"Excellent." I handed her the sword. "You've been very informative. Take this. Never mind the suit."
She looked amazed at the prospect. "You can't do that ... It must be worth - " Suddenly her eyes narrowed reprovingly, and she propped a fist on one broad hip. "It's not stolen, is it, young man?"
I had to smile at the way she said 'young man.' "It's not stolen," I assured her, giving the woman a small salute as I stepped deeper into the shadows. "It's your lucky day."
"Someone's been here," I told Bourbon as soon as we were in the alley. "Two more Enforcers, their bodies left in the sun."
"You gave that woman the sword for that information? How does that help us?"
"Think - what direction would you head from here? We've covered parts south. That leaves heading out of the quarter, or ... " My voice trailed off, and I gestured toward a grate at the opposite end of the passage. "Where does that go?"
"Probably the sewers," Bourbon theorized. "They run underneath the town, with outlets at the Saône and Rhone."
"If you'd taken on four Enforcers in one morning, with the sun as a fifth unfriendly shadow, wouldn't you head underground for a change of scenery?" I reasoned, pulling the iron cover aside.
Sewers - it's a good thing they don't make them like they used to. Ducking my head inside the opening, I glanced around the tunnel to get an impression of the layout. The rank scent of sewage hit me, suggesting an abyss of odor and filth. There are times when a heightened sense of smell is a real bitch. "On second thought," I mumbled, "Screed's a stickler for keeping his dumps clean, and Lucrece ... " I gave Bourbon a satirical look. " ... Like she'd jump at the chance to skip through Lyon's chamber pot."
Bourbon checked below to satisfy his curiosity, almost immediately withdrawing, his face infused with every ounce of revulsion he could muster. "That's disgusting!"
I continued to stare through the sewer entrance, keeping my nose at a decent distance. I caught sight of an interesting mound almost directly below the outlet, discordant with its bilgy surroundings. A faint hint of blood teased my perception among the flood of unwelcome stench. "There's something down there," I announced. "I'm going in."
"Ugh." Bourbon was less than thrilled with my judgment, but he refused to miss the opportunity to mock it first-hand if I was wrong. He swung down into the dark tunnel right behind me, holding his nose.
The lump turned out to be another corpse. The body smelled of smoke and iron, and he was dressed like your average laborer. Some vampire had broken his neck after taking a bite. It seemed to point toward Lucrece preying on a mortal for sustenance, except for the post we found staking his chest. The wood hadn't pierced on target, so we agreed the dead man hadn't been a vampire.
"He was caught in the crossfire," Bourbon believed.
I closed my eyes, sifting the flavors of our surroundings, willing the perfume of incense, gold and bergamot to waft among the mix. Realizing I was caught in the trap of wishful thinking, my eyes snapped open and I moved deeper into the tunnel. "Close the grate, will you?" I called to Bourbon.
We started walking, looking for any signs of a path she could have taken. "What makes you think Lucrece took this direction?" Bourbon said after a while, growing less impressed with the sewers with every step.
"It's the opposite of where she came from," I reasoned, then paused. "Maybe you're right. She might have chosen to hang underneath Saint Jean until sundown rather than leave it."
I started to turn around, but Bourbon called for me to halt. He gingerly picked up a well-chewed rat from the refuse lining the passage. "Perhaps your whim that she might be traveling with the carouche isn't so incredible."
I gave him a steady look. "The question is ... Since when?"
We continued in the direction of the rat. When we passed a narrow arch with a flight of steps winding upward, I definitely felt that I sensed a familiar presence. Glancing at Bourbon, he must have agreed, for he'd stopped to stare at the same doorway. Silently, we climbed the rough stairs, emerging in a crypt connecting to yet another flight of stairs. My gaze immediately focused on the cross hanging over the threshold. "Great. A church. If we keep dropping in these places," I said sardonically, "I might get the idea to move into one."
Bourbon showed a little more enthusiasm. "What better place to elude vampires hunting you?"
"It's not perfect," I countered as we ascended the steps. "We're searching here, aren't we?"
Our exchange withered as we moved upward, closer to the heart of the cathedral. The quiet loomed, no sounds of life, but both of us could feel the spectre of company swelling. After another flight of stairs, I detected a faint cacophony of heartbeats competing in anxious throbs. The church wasn't deserted of mortal life, after all. I rushed through the last doorway, then froze.
Screed stood in front of me, wearing what looked like a cleric's surplice over his normal clothes. He had his hands wrapped in cloth to protect them from the burn of the enormous, gold crucifix he held up to ward off any vampire invaders. Behind him, I saw Lucrece, incongruously dressed in one of her ornate gowns while poised to do some damage with an axe.
Screed looked disappointed that I wasn't a fresh Enforcer hoping to kill him. His fierce expression deflated into an annoyed frown, as though my arrival spelled an end to the party. "Bah, h'it's you! Took ya bloody time showin' h'up, V-Man!" he grouched as he tossed the crucifix out of sight.
I didn't answer him. I had my attention focused on Lucrece. She looked just as I'd left her: her hair a little wild, her mouth giving away nothing of her thoughts, her body drawing me to sample a touch. But, no, Lucrece didn't look exactly as I had left her. She looked better, because she wasn't lost.
As Screed talked, her posture relaxed, and she lowered her guard with both the weapon and her expression. Suddenly, her features filled with delight. Maybe she could tell what I was thinking without my saying a word. Maybe she had no idea, but she was past the care of rejection. Lucrece absently handed the axe to Screed as she moved to stand before me. I took her hands, and I lost track of time and place. We could have stood there for an instant, or we could have exchanged drunken smiles for an hour, I don't know.
I felt like I should say something, to lay my heart out on my sleeve, or repent for walking away, or simply thank her for staying alive. Words, vows, and promises paled beside the welcome in her eyes, so I drank in the silence as I pulled her into my arms. Instead of speaking, I kissed her, and that expressed everything.
The first kiss is never the best. It's a new world and discovery, but it's killing a stranger. It's trying on a coat for size or dipping your foot in the lake to see how warm the water really is. A first kiss can be good and hot and make you beg for more. It can touch you and leave you solemn and reflective of the definition of love. A first kiss can also knowingly be the last kiss. That's its crime.
The last kiss is never the sweetest. I think I've said it already - I don't like to savor an ending. Final kiss - last chance. It's like an ultimatum and a dare to torture yourself for fun all at once. Take the last kiss, and keep a picture of what you'll never have again. I hate the sound of doors closing. I refuse to accept defeat. Give me a choice between one last kiss and walking away, and I'll walk every time.
The perfect kiss comes when you think you have forever. When no barriers remain, when love has tied an invisible band between two souls, and they come together without fear or question, that is the perfect kiss. It's the first of eternity. It's the end of loneliness. It's freedom. What's more perfect than that?
Her mouth tasted of temptation and magic, wicked and clean, profane and redeeming - woman, seductress, home. The sweetness of our mingled breaths beat a heady refrain: This is real. This is true. This is love.
We broke apart as Screed issued a sound of protest. "Fine bit o' thanks, that. Ol' Screed saves 'Er Fanciness h'at least twice - h'at h'intensive personal risk, mindja - 'n don' get tha' first pinch h'on tha' cheek. Wot? H'all V-Man 'as ta do h'is show h'up 'n 'e gets tha' snoggin' credit!"
"He almost sounds jealous," I said softly in her ear. "Have you been making friends?"
"Mmm," she whispered back playfully. "Screed and I have decided to run away to Venice - care to join us?"
"Yes, but you'll have to make room for a fourth."
Her expression brightened. "Bourbon?" She stepped around me, turning eager eyes toward the Frenchman. He'd been watching us with an almost formal interest, but as she drew closer, he pulled Lucrece into an embrace, swinging her in a circle until she laughed.
He slipped into the realm of words, murmuring an apology, asking forgiveness for his mistake with Dumarchais. It was the first and only time I ever saw humility in Bourbon. I looked away from their communion toward Screed and gave him a silent salute. He nodded, appeared a little embarrassed by the wealth of emotion going around, and waved my attention away from him.
When I turned back to Lucrece and Bourbon, she was speaking Italian in a soothing tone, "Penso che siate diventato un uomo migliore che i vostri nonni. You did what I did not have the honor to do. Don't apologize. You should be proud."
I rolled my eyes. Like Bourbon needed another excuse to feed his pride.
Chapter Sixteen We took the time to exchange stories of our adventures, starting with Thérèse's rescue and ending with Screed and Lucrece's arrival at the cathedral. Bourbon and Screed did almost all the talking, while Lucrece and I sat together, exchanging speaking looks, only injecting audible comments when it suited us.The number of mortals bound, gagged, and lined against the far wall of the sanctuary had grown to include a number of the townspeople, ironically members of the mob that had sieged D'Asile. They'd trickled in gradually during the day, alone or in pairs, seeking burial services for their dead using a share of the purse Lucrece had left at the makeshift graves for that purpose.
She was brusque about revisiting three of her victims, insisting that she would not kill the mortals escorting the bodies. The townspeople stared at her with murder in their eyes, but she shrugged away the threat as a pointless snit. These people were incapacitated; they could do no harm, and we'd be gone come nightfall. She didn't see any advantage now in killing them just for the sake of it. Bourbon and I saw it a little differently. We still had the desire to take revenge on the people who had attacked the castle, but we accepted her decision. She was the one they'd struck, and if Lucrece didn't choose to draw their blood, who were we to supersede?
Screed, however, didn't hesitate to quibble with her over reclaiming the burial money. "H'iffen h'a jangle deducted from me bribe turns h'up like h'a bad penny, h'it's welcome 'ome ta poppa mine."
"No. Nothing has changed in that respect. Get your hands out of their pockets, Screed," Lucrece insisted.
They settled the debate with a roll of the dice. Lucrece won. Muttering about rigged bones and sharps, he continued to send covetous looks at the helpless townspeople. The thought of their gold brought a gleam to his eyes, but Screed kept his hands off after that.
Lucrece and I left Bourbon and Screed to manage the lookout, slipping into a smaller, private chapel branching off of the sanctuary. Stations of the cross, statues of saints - with Lucrece in my hands, the icons filling the chamber became transparent. I felt her, craved her, filled myself with her. I imagined that no power existed stronger than that, nothing more pleasurable, nothing more complete.
The chapel had small stained glass panels beyond its altar. Streams of tinted sun angled to strike the floor with a mosaic of light beyond our feet. I found the sight strangely peaceful as we lay entwined there, my face buried in her hair, the scent of gold, incense and bergamot flooding my senses. Then the idea hit me. "I know what you smell like," I murmured. "A church."
"That's a heavy scent for anyone to carry," she said musingly. "Should I be adorned?"
"Adored," I corrected.
"Beatific?"
"Beautiful."
"Deconsecrated?"
"Deflowered."
Lucrece chuckled, pleased with the direction our verbal sparring had taken. "Communion?" she said hopefully.
I didn't plan to disappoint her. "Consummation."
She nodded slowly as she hunted for her next offering. "A martyr?"
I shook my head. "Mine." I cut off the game, repeating the word against her lips in every language that I knew.
"Yours, then," she murmured, her breath against my jaw. "If you are possessed by this desire, by all means, let me smell like a church." Her nose twitched whimsically. "Though my first guess, after today, would be that I reeked a bit of the sewer."
"I was being gallant. Thought it better to not mention that part."
"Ah." Lucrece shifted in my arms, raising her head so that she could look me in the eyes. "There was something that Screed didn't mention earlier regarding the Enforcers. Actually, I am surprised that he didn't seize the perfect opportunity to complain."
I squeezed her waist lightly, urging her to give details, sensing an impending truth. "Complain about what?"
"I knew the Enforcers were coming for him days ago," she confessed.
"Bourbon and I guessed," I said sardonically, giving her a look that promised she was a book I was enjoying learning how to read. "But you warned Screed at the last minute?"
Lucrece grimaced. "Yes, but it did not make any difference in the outcome."
"You don't know that," I told her with confidence and broke into a thoughtful grin. "How did old Screed take the news? I'm surprised Bourbon and I didn't hear him scream and cuss a hundred miles away."
"He demonstrated remarkable restraint," she assured me. "He only threw me into the river once. Had our situations been reversed ... Well, when they were, I allowed his location to leak to the Enforcers. He behaved much better. It's true what Screed said - he saved me. When we encountered the first pair of Enforcers, he could have fled, could have thought only of saving himself, but he didn't. Carouche or not, he's better toward his friends and more tolerant than most vampires. Screed may be odd, and a greedy fiend, but I like him, Vachon."
I grunted with approval. I felt like, as Screed would say, all my ships had come in, and with bonus cargo. I'd hoped that she would learn to tolerate Screed with time, and overnight she was speaking of him indulgently, as if she was the one defending her carouche friend to me. Much more of that and I'd be the jealous one. I shifted the subject to focus away from Screed on principle. "By the way, I chose a first name."
She wriggled with pleasure, tapping my chest as she said, "In between rescues and fights to the death? Very assiduous. What name did you pick?"
"Javier."
She tried it out, her voice meditative. "Javier Vachon ... Hmm ... why 'Javier'?"
What could I say? 'Because I'm reckless, and I thought you were dead?' The reasons seemed hollow, devoid of importance now that we were together. I gave a careless shrug. "It just seemed to fit me."
"You mean it fits this moment," she countered as she caressed my cheek, then threw my own words back at me. "'A name is a moment. You are who you are.' Names are all just words. They hold no meaning or power unless we give it. I suppose, just as I will choose to put the name of 'Valentinois' to rest very soon, you'll remain 'Javier Vachon' as long as you believe you are 'Javier Vachon,'" Lucrece said softly, then gave me a light kiss, her breath dancing over my lips as she added, "And when it no longer suits you, you will move on to another name, and it will be just as perfect."
My arms tightened around her reflexively, and I hugged her tightly. "Not if it means letting go of this moment," I told her seriously. "Not if it means letting go of this."
Was it unreasonable of us to resent the dark for interrupting our idyll? The sun inevitably set, and the four of us gathered to wipe the memories of our prisoners clean of all they had seen and heard during the day before we left town.
The night was flawlessly cloudless, the moon on the wane. We remained cautious until we reached Screed's beloved ship, but we had confidence because the shadows equaled our territory. No mortals would notice as we drifted past unless we wanted them to catch a glimpse. When no Enforcers dropped into our path on the way out of Lyon, we began to relax. As the boat made distance from the dock, a good wind picked up from the east.
Screed and I did all the work raising the sail, but Lucrece studied every move we made. She reduced our progress with her attentive inquiries about the rigging, wanting names and explanations of the various hitches, blinds and loops we tied. We promptly responded to each question by undoing whatever knot we'd just finished and repeating the process slowly to impress her with our knowledge.
Bourbon was uninterested in a shipmate's lesson, so he watched half-heartedly, his gaze drifting as boredom demanded. By the time he'd sensed our attackers' presence, we'd already drawn even with their position. Before he'd called out an alarm, the ship had begun to float away from the danger, but it was already too late.
We all heard the whistling sounds moving high and fast, birds with explosive wings cutting swiftly through the air. I recognized the advent of arrows, an excellent weapon for anyone wanting to avoid face-to-face combat.
I shouted for Lucrece to take cover, but she started to fall before her name escaped my tongue. I stopped her from hitting the deck, dropping to my knees and leaning protectively over her still form, not comprehending that a shield could make no difference at that point.
I strained to hear any sound from her, any word, any whimper, but Lucrece was silent. The only stray signals that met my ears as the volley of missiles subsided were the billowing of the sail and the creak of the mast as the ship began to skim fluidly over the water. I guessed that Screed had kept his ground during the attack. Rather than seeking cover himself, he'd completed the rigging so that we would move quickly out of range.
I began to run my hands over Lucrece's body, searching for the location where she'd been hit. I stilled, swallowing convulsively as my fingers found a wooden bolt embedded in her back, directly over her heart. I snapped off the end of the shaft, then violently pushed it through her chest so that I could pull it out from the front. Lucrece failed to respond with any flicker of reaction. No screams, no sighs, and no tears. She draped limply in my arms, her head rolling in a ragged loop as I turned her over, willing her eyes to look into mine as I worked at her wound.
Bourbon collapsed beside us, hissing as he squeezed his right thigh where he'd been hit in the onslaught. "The bastards! The arrows ... " he cursed, holding up the one he'd taken from his leg. " ... They tipped them with crosses. It burns like the sun under your skin."
That was exactly what it felt like: I grasped the point, ripping the arrow free from Lucrece's heart with my bare hand despite his warning, and I howled. It wasn't because the cross bit into my flesh, trying to punish me into some measure of penitence. It was because I knew she was dead. Extinguished, without a second to think and realize that it was the end.
"Who was it?" I demanded. "Who did this?"
"I saw Thomas ... Francesca ... a few others ... " Bourbon said distantly, his face lined with shock as he stared at the arrow squeezed tightly in my fist. I didn't let it go, because the moment was all about the pain. What was a burning hand compared to the loss I suffered? It was just another reminder of the difference between life and death: life hurts. When you're dead, you feel nothing.
Screed joined us, crouching by my side. "They ditched tha' bank. H'all h'outta sight. Musta got wot they came fer." He stiffened, nudging a lock of Lucrece's hair questioningly as he asked with sudden somberness, "Lady Sunshine?"
I shook my head, my voice catching temporarily. "She's gone," I whispered. "She's gone."
Bourbon was instantly on his feet. "We'll track them down and tear them apart. We'll hunt them like dogs for this!"
Screed added to the rallying cry. "We'll rip h'em damn better than barkies fer this one. Takin' h'out part o' h'our crew - tha' pretty bit h'at that. H'iffen they 'ad ta skewer some droog, why couldn' they take Baron Bosky, 'ere? No mate would give h'em h'a miss." His face wrenched into a knot. "H'alls 'cept tha' chickee they plucked, tha' rottie pussers!" Screed clapped his hands, ready for war. "We 'it tha' shore 'n give h'em tha' business 'afore tha' moon bangs midnight. No slugs h'or snails, roight? We break h'em down ta-night 'n feed wots left ta tha' fishies, h'apologies ta tha' fishies."
"No." My voice didn't ask for a debate. "We keep sailing. We keep moving. We don't stop."
They looked at me as though that was the last thing they expected me to say. Up until then, they would have been right. I'd been ready for a fight after D'Asile, because I still had the faint belief that she had survived. The unknown had been my ally. Now that I carried no such luxury, my fists were slow to react, even when a cross-tipped arrow had eaten halfway through my hand. I was still alive, and she was ...
"But they're so close!" Bourbon's angry protest broke into my scattered awareness. "We must avenge - "
"No!" I cut him off as I finally opened my hand, and the broken arrow clattered forlornly to the deck. "She's dead." To me, that was the complete argument. "Let them go. We can always hunt them later. Later..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * I don't know what perfect moment I thought would come that would mean it was the right time to fight again. Life isn't like a switch, no matter how, in just that type of moment, it feels like someone killed the lights. Life happens, but nothing really changes in an instant. The trick is you don't see the changes coming. Life gradually churns time and space, pushing callously forward. Lucrece was dead, and the world didn't stop. Neither did we.We went to Venice, just like the original plan, and that's where we committed Lucrece's body to the sea one morning before sunrise. Screed was happy about that. He'd have mutinied if we'd followed Bourbon's idea of detouring and placing her body in her family tomb at Ferrara. Screed couldn't stand the thought of a burial within stone walls. It had to be near the water; he's always felt strongly about that.
Me, I wasn't in much of a fit state to have an opinion, but I knew I didn't want to give her back to some kingdom she'd left behind. Lucrece had chosen Venice, so that is where I took her.
Screed liked the place well enough: it had gondolas and plenty of gambling. He lost the fortune he'd accepted from Lucrece within a month, wagering every bit of it away in ill-advised bets - except for Marie's ring. He never gave into the temptation to risk that piece of silver on a roll of the dice, turn of the cards, or length of a track. You couldn't pry it off him. Look at his left hand. He's still wearing it.
Lucrece was right in what she said about loyalty: it's more powerful than fear, and more persuasive than temptation. It's another form of love, and it's more difficult to kill than an Enforcer. It's not the kind of thing you bring down with arrows. And, sometime during that brief period Screed and Lucrece joined forces, they'd won each other's allegiance. It may sound strange, but then, after what I've told you, maybe it won't. Out of the three of us, Screed was always the one who pushed hardest to get even for Lucrece's death. Bourbon and I wanted payback, but we could still let other fights get in our way. Not so for Screed. Vengeance, he was as greedy for that as any game of chance or trade wind.
"And did you ever find your revenge for Lucrece's death?"
Eventually. Most of the time, with his finger in every pie, Screed tracked down the ones we wanted, and Bourbon and I joined forces for the punishment. Thomas was the exception; we needed a different sort of connection to catch Thomas, but we finally ran him to ground a few years ago. When that was done, we split up as an official crew for the last time.
Right after Lucrece died, though, I wasn't ready for revenge. I needed to mourn. The months in Venice grated on me. Every night felt like she should be there. Every sunset felt like another cut that wouldn't stop bleeding. It was bad, and I slipped into that funk where I only wanted to run away and escape everything that chased me, only this time it was all in my head. I ditched Screed and Bourbon - the first time, the longest time our crew split up. I crossed the Atlantic, returning to the New World where the story all began, I suppose.
While I was running solo in the colonies there, the sting of grief ebbed, but the lessons that Lucrece taught me sank in for good. After scouting in the forest for a week, I'd start to crave a hot bath and a clean bed as much as fresh blood. Whenever I'd stop at a fort or outpost, I'd ask around for any books, but usually there was nothing on hand but a bible or accounting ledgers. I'd found the copy of 'The Odyssey' Lucrece had thought to pack with her things; I brought it with me from Venice. I read it over and over until I could recite every word of the epic by heart. I almost managed to hold onto Homer as long as Screed kept his ring. The copy was pretty much worn thin when I lost it in the plane crash.
Those first years after her death, I thought that I would stay apart from mortals just as I always had. I would forget their faces and never learn their names. I would pick a side in their battles and fight until the sun came up, but I would never call them friends, because there would always be a price. They would die, or I would kill them, and that was one risk that I swore I wouldn't take.
But, I started running with the Northern tribes, and I couldn't remain completely detached. I couldn't avoid the risk anymore, because I'd already become addicted to it. Now I knew there was no safety in making ties and enemies only among my fellow immortals, because I'd learned that none of us are truly immortal. Sooner or later, we all find a battle that we can't win, and it ends. That doesn't mean we stop fighting. That doesn't mean we always turn tail and run when things get a little too intense. No, we keep trying, even when the odds seem impossible.
That was the last thing that Lucrece taught me: love is just a word, a name for something with no meaning until we give it one, until we sacrifice fear or prejudice and risk giving it the power to bring us to our knees. We hold it while we can, and maybe it changes us into a different person, maybe it doesn't. Maybe we never really let it go, but carry the people who have come and gone in our hearts for as long as we walk the earth, however brief or enduring a span that may be. As painful as love felt when Lucrece died, the ache was worth it, because I wouldn't have traded feeling what it meant to love her for anything. No amount of safety, solitude, or even freedom could have matched it.
If life never hurts, then you're not really living. If grief never touches you, then you're a dead man walking.
"And 'carouche' - is that another word without meaning?"
No, I've given it one. It's the name they call my best friend ... my first friend ... my friend who looks like death. His mask is red and white, blood stained lips and innocence lost, but the gold has gone, the fire has left. Look at him lying there ... can you see it? Suddenly he looks his age.
This hurts, this knowing that the odds are impossible, this not knowing what I can fight to make it stop. This hurts, but it's worth it. Oh, yeah. Every moment is worth it.
"Vachon, I'm sorry."
What do you have to be sorry about? Anyway, thanks ... for listening. You should probably get back to the precinct before your partner starts asking uncomfortable questions.
"I'll tell her I was visiting a sick friend."
You do that.
—— END ——
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