old.'
Winthrop had been born in 18%, after the Terror. To him, vampires were as natural a part of the world as Dutchmen or deer. From his father, he understood what every Englishman of Beauregard's generation had lived through, the mental adjustments everyone was forced to make during the Terror.
'I remember a time when Lord Ruthven wasn't Prime Minister and Edward Albert Victor wasn't King. Since neither gentleman shows any intention of dying, it may b£ that they will hold their positions well beyond my lifetime. And yours, should you not take the opportunity to turn.'
'Turn? Become a thing like that>'
He nodded back at the Raoul Privache, thinking of Isolde's blood-veined eyes as she sucked herself stupid.
'Not all vampires are of her line. They are not a race apart, Edwin. Not all demons and monsters. They're simply ourselves expanded. From birth, we change in a million ways. Vampires are more changed than the warm.'
Winthrop had, of course, thought of turning. Shortly after his father's death, his mother tried to persuade him to seek the Dark Kiss, to preserve himself from mortality. At seventeen, he had not been ready. Now, he was no surer. Besides, he knew it was not a simple decision: there was the question of bloodline.
'The best woman I ever knew was a vampire,' Beauregard said, 'and the worst man.'
Miles away, there was an explosion. Tongues of flame licked the sky, outlining the whale-shape of a Zeppelin. There had been more air raids in the last month. Parisians had taken to calling the incendiary devices that fell 'Valentines from the Kaiser'. Zeppelins had to fly at such altitudes that it was impossible to drop bombs on precise targets, so anyone and anything could be destroyed. There was no real military purpose to the raids; Dracula had decreed a policy of Schrecklichkeit, 'frightfulness', to batter the morale of the Allies.
'Before we next talk, I want you to read this,' Beauregard said, handing over an envelope. 'You might call it a deathbed confession. A woman who was shot this morning told me her story and I've done my best to set it down in her own words. It's a trick worth cultivating, to remember exactly what people say. Often, you will find they have told you things they themselves are not aware of.'
Winthrop slipped the envelope into his pocket. Firebells clanged in the distance. There were bursts of Archie, too low to hurt the Zep. The dirigible drifted higher, pushing up into the clouds. There were usually five or six ships in a raiding party. If the Hun actually wanted to destroy something specific, they would send one of the big long-range Gotha bombers.
I’d like to see one of those beasts brought down in flames,' Winthrop said.
Beauregard looked up to the skies, snowflakes brushing his eyelashes like tears.
'I’m tired now and I must go. Read Madame Zelle's confession carefully. Perhaps you will find something I've missed.'
The old man turned and walked smartly away, cane clipping the pavement. Drunken Americans courteously made way for him. In his day, Charles Beauregard must have been quite someone. Even now, he was the single most impressive individual Winthrop had come across in the service of the King.
Winthrop looked around for Dravot, and saw him after a few moments. The sergeant stood calmly in the shadows under an awning. Each time he played this game, he found Dravot more swiftly. He supposed he was learning something.
10
In Lofty Circles
For all the magnificently painted ceilings and leather couches, this was another waiting room. He would pass the rest of his life in such places, hoping unconcerned dignitaries might conclude important business with time enough to spare for Edgar Poe. From terms in the army and at West Point, he was familiar with the ancient martial dictum 'hurry up and wait'. At the heart of the world's supreme military power, the rule was enshrined in national law. Prague was merely an outlying fiefdom of Berlin; this was the metropolis of
Winthrop had been born in 18%, after the Terror. To him, vampires were as natural a part of the world as Dutchmen or deer. From his father, he understood what every Englishman of Beauregard's generation had lived through, the mental adjustments everyone was forced to make during the Terror.
'I remember a time when Lord Ruthven wasn't Prime Minister and Edward Albert Victor wasn't King. Since neither gentleman shows any intention of dying, it may b£ that they will hold their positions well beyond my lifetime. And yours, should you not take the opportunity to turn.'
'Turn? Become a thing like that>'
He nodded back at the Raoul Privache, thinking of Isolde's blood-veined eyes as she sucked herself stupid.
'Not all vampires are of her line. They are not a race apart, Edwin. Not all demons and monsters. They're simply ourselves expanded. From birth, we change in a million ways. Vampires are more changed than the warm.'
Winthrop had, of course, thought of turning. Shortly after his father's death, his mother tried to persuade him to seek the Dark Kiss, to preserve himself from mortality. At seventeen, he had not been ready. Now, he was no surer. Besides, he knew it was not a simple decision: there was the question of bloodline.
'The best woman I ever knew was a vampire,' Beauregard said, 'and the worst man.'
Miles away, there was an explosion. Tongues of flame licked the sky, outlining the whale-shape of a Zeppelin. There had been more air raids in the last month. Parisians had taken to calling the incendiary devices that fell 'Valentines from the Kaiser'. Zeppelins had to fly at such altitudes that it was impossible to drop bombs on precise targets, so anyone and anything could be destroyed. There was no real military purpose to the raids; Dracula had decreed a policy of Schrecklichkeit, 'frightfulness', to batter the morale of the Allies.
'Before we next talk, I want you to read this,' Beauregard said, handing over an envelope. 'You might call it a deathbed confession. A woman who was shot this morning told me her story and I've done my best to set it down in her own words. It's a trick worth cultivating, to remember exactly what people say. Often, you will find they have told you things they themselves are not aware of.'
Winthrop slipped the envelope into his pocket. Firebells clanged in the distance. There were bursts of Archie, too low to hurt the Zep. The dirigible drifted higher, pushing up into the clouds. There were usually five or six ships in a raiding party. If the Hun actually wanted to destroy something specific, they would send one of the big long-range Gotha bombers.
I’d like to see one of those beasts brought down in flames,' Winthrop said.
Beauregard looked up to the skies, snowflakes brushing his eyelashes like tears.
'I’m tired now and I must go. Read Madame Zelle's confession carefully. Perhaps you will find something I've missed.'
The old man turned and walked smartly away, cane clipping the pavement. Drunken Americans courteously made way for him. In his day, Charles Beauregard must have been quite someone. Even now, he was the single most impressive individual Winthrop had come across in the service of the King.
Winthrop looked around for Dravot, and saw him after a few moments. The sergeant stood calmly in the shadows under an awning. Each time he played this game, he found Dravot more swiftly. He supposed he was learning something.
10
In Lofty Circles
For all the magnificently painted ceilings and leather couches, this was another waiting room. He would pass the rest of his life in such places, hoping unconcerned dignitaries might conclude important business with time enough to spare for Edgar Poe. From terms in the army and at West Point, he was familiar with the ancient martial dictum 'hurry up and wait'. At the heart of the world's supreme military power, the rule was enshrined in national law. Prague was merely an outlying fiefdom of Berlin; this was the metropolis of
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