Secret History of Elizabeth Tudor, Vampire Slayer (12 page)

“Why so dear?” I ask, hoping he will infer that I do not reimburse unnecessary expenses.

He gestures at the little vial. “Do you know what that is, Majesty?”

When I reluctantly confess that I do not, he explains, “It is the most prized creation of the alchemist Paracelsus, a tincture of milk of poppy combined with alcohol and various other substances, crushed pearls, amber, musk, and the like. It is called laudanum.”

“From the Latin
laudare,
to praise?”

“Indeed. Paracelsus praised its ability to relieve pain of every sort while exalting the spirit. It has become the fashion in certain quarters on the Continent, and now it has appeared here.”

“Paracelsus,” Dee snorts, making of the name his own comment on the matter.

I suppose a degree of professional jealousy is understandable. Dee is a great man in many ways, although perhaps not so great as he assumes. But Paracelsus … dead only a handful of years, the brilliant Swiss alchemist is heralded as a genius for the ages. His name attached to any substance would make it instantly appealing. And if it actually does what is claimed—

“It is what draws people to this place?”

Walsingham nods. “Up until a few months ago this was no more than an ordinary tavern popular with the sort of men you saw in front. But recently, this back room was added on, exclusively for the use of laudanum takers.” A bit abashed, he adds, “I apologize for the expense, but if we did not purchase at least one vial, our presence here would be instantly suspect.”

I nod and, from beneath my hood, look more closely at our fellow patrons. A man of middle years, his dark beard sporting a few strands of silver, lolls back in his chair with an expression of utter contentment on his face. Nearby, another, younger man hums quietly to himself while studying his own hand with apparent fascination. They are by no means exceptional. Everywhere
I look, men of substance and means appear transformed into creatures of blissful self-absorption. Their state might be considered enviable were it not so unnatural.

“All laudanum users?” I ask.

The schoolmaster nods. “Cast into such a state, I believe, at the design of those who would prey on them. If I am right, laudanum has reached our shores through the vampires themselves. They are using it as a lure.”

The idea horrifies me but it is not without logic. If the tincture does as it is said to, it must render any intended victim docile in the extreme.

“Then you expect them to appear here?” I ask.

Silently, Walsingham inclines his head once more.

Robin, who has been listening intently, takes a long swallow of his ale. Under the table, he clasps my hand. I allow Dee to tempt me with the Rhenish wine, which proves surprisingly drinkable. Walsingham, who seems most in his element, goes so far as to try the sausage but puts it down after a couple of bites. We wait. I am thinking that we should move on and try another place when a solitary man pale in complexion strolls into the back room. He glances at us but only in passing before he takes a seat in the shadows.

I am reminded at once of Mordred; though the new arrival is not so beautiful, he possesses the same ethereal beauty that attracts me viscerally. He wears the garb of a gentleman, but I have never seen him before—for surely I would remember. If I did not recognize him to be a vampire, I would guess that he was in his early twenties. As it is, I wonder how old he truly is, how much of life he has seen if his can be called life, and what he will do if he realizes who I am.

What I am.

Morgaine Le Fey slew many vampires, so Dee claims. Mordred escaped her but how many others fell? Can those of the same kind sense the danger I represent, if danger I truly am to them? That remains to be determined.

“Watch,” Walsingham murmurs, following my gaze.

The boy approaches the vampire with obvious reluctance, remaining several feet from the table and keeping his gaze averted. The moment the order is completed, he darts away.

I lean closer to Walsingham. “Do they eat and drink as we do?”

“I have observed them to do so but I cannot say whether they derive sustenance or merely pleasure from it.”

The curtain to the front room parts. A trio of young men enter, all outfitted in the particolor hose and garishly lined short cloaks that were the style a year or two ago. They have the look of second and third sons such as the country gentry send up to London in hope that they will find advancement in the mercantile houses or the law courts. Judging by their wide-eyed stares and vapid expressions, I surmise that all three will be back whence they came in short order, assuming they survive their brush with debauchery.

They take their seats amid much nervous glancing about and murmuring to one another. The boy in black approaches. A small debate ensues that I gather has to do with finances, but eventually two of the crystal vials are set before them.

Debauched and bankrupt. Truly, their families will be proud.

We wait, pretending interest in our refreshments, in each other, in anything other than the pale man and the hapless youths. I watch him watching them and my stomach churns. Having partaken of the contents of the vials, they slump in their chairs, empty smiles plastered on their faces, eyes rolling
here, there, and everywhere. One of them expounds some garbled point of philosophy as though it contains all of revealed wisdom, while another giggles and the third pays no attention at all, being occupied in studying his fingers, which he flutters before his face.

I wonder how much longer I can keep my scantily padded rump on the hard wood seat. My newfound power stirs restlessly.

“Perhaps we should look elsewhere,” I say, but just then Dee flicks a finger, drawing my notice back to the trio. The philosopher has risen to announce that he needs to take a piss. He staggers over to the back door and disappears out it.

Unnoticed by his companions but not by us, the pale man also stands and slips away after him.

“Now.” I rise from my seat, filled with urgency, resolute and, I hope, indomitable.

The back door gives onto a narrow, fetid alley framed by the tavern on one side and a high wall on the other. Even in winter’s chill, the alley reeks of urine and refuse. Heedless of the stench, I look in both directions at once but see no one. The drugged youth has vanished, as has his pursuer.

I pick a direction on instinct alone and turn in it. “They can’t have gone far.” Please God let that be so. If Mordred’s ability to bend time is common among the vampires—

But it seems that it is not for scarcely do I get beyond the alley than I see, on a small path leading down to the river, the shapes of two men. Or a man and something that masquerades as one.

“There!”

I trust that the others are following me but I do not wait to be sure. Skirts flapping, I run as the light takes flight within me.
My cloak having flown open, my ivory skirt and bodice glow like the moon, my pulse keeps time with a wild, feral tune.

I will have him, I will! And he will tell me all I need to know. All of Mordred and the rest. What I must do to defeat them so that I will prevail. Will live. Will rule. Queen regnant until in the fullness of mortal time, as it please God, I die.

Does my step falter? Surely not for my resolve is firm. There is no question of what I must do. The temptation Mordred poses, vastly greater than any the crystal vials can provide, is no temptation at all. So I tell myself. I know my purpose, I will not shirk it. For the sake of my immortal soul, I cannot.

What good really is an immortal soul when an immortal body is to be preferred? Young, strong, and beautiful forever.

No! By God, I will not be tempted! The man is limp in the other’s arms. The pale one bends over him, the tender flesh of his victim’s neck exposed, and I…

I leap, through air and time, the light pouring through me, out of me, ready in an instant to strike.

He who I suspect of being all manner of unholy things lifts his head, and in that instant, I see, in the light I am suddenly made from, the carmine stain of blood on his bared teeth, his stretched lips, his furious, beastly beauty.

This vampire snarls and, raising both arms to shield his eyes, drops the hapless youth. Power coils within me. I take a breath, gathering all my will, and hurl a lance of blinding white light directly at the creature. My only intent is to render him sufficiently insensible to secure him in the silver chains that Robin carries. I have no notion of what power I yet command, no thought at all that I could actually kill him.

A wild howl rends the night. His back arches, his head thrown up to the sky, as the light pierces him. I only just
manage to skitter to a stop scant yards away, staring at what I have wrought.

For a moment, the vampire appears to glow more brightly than any moon. The light is so intense that I am forced to look away. When I manage to glance back, this creature stands transformed. A web of dark fractures appears in the center of his chest, near where the lance of light struck, and spreads quickly, expanding into a mosaic of tiny pieces that for a heartbeat hang together, then fly apart and vanish like so much dust into the night.

Before I can begin to grasp what has happened, a clamor from the road above alerts me that we are not alone.

“You there, halt! In the name of the Queen!”

For pity’s sake, the watch, so often libeled as lazy and ineffectual, or worse, has stumbled upon us. Not one man but two armed with cudgels have spotted us from the High Street and are sprinting toward the footpath. In another moment, they will be upon us.

“We must go,” Robin says as he seizes my arm.

“Indeed,” Walsingham agrees, and turns to lead the way back to where we must hope that the wherryman, well bribed, awaits.

But it is too late. My stalwart servants, determined to do their civic duty, are almost close enough to make out our features. I am frantically calculating if they can be bribed into silence or will have to be executed when Dee steps forward, draws from beneath his cloak a small, dark object, and tosses it toward the oncoming men.

It lands with a soft thump and instantly explodes. Incandescent white light, almost as intense as my own, flares strongly enough to temporarily blind the pair. Robin seizes my hand and together we flee into the mist rising from the river. My heart is pounding, my breath coming in gasps, when we near the bridge
and—thanks be to God—find the well-bought wherryman just where we left him.

“Draw oar!” Walsingham shouts as we tumble into the boat. “Put your back to it, man!”

Robin pushes me down against him so that no one pursuing us will see my face. The warmth and strength of his dear, familiar body provide me with some comfort, but I can still feel running through me the fierce energy like summer lightning that consumed me at the moment I took the vampire’s life. In its wake, a dark yearning stirs within me. I have a sudden urge to press my mouth to Robin’s throat and savor there the hot beat of his life’s blood. The very notion freezes me. I remain motionless against him until we are in the midst of the river. Only then do I trust myself enough to stir. Raising my head, I look back from whence we have come, seeing through the tendrils of mist the watchmen standing, defeated, on the shore. Their curses reach me faintly on the still night air.

Not until we reach the Whitehall water steps do I allow myself to acknowledge that I have taken an irrevocable step in slaying a vampire. In some way I cannot yet understand, the act has changed me utterly.

I felt it happen, although I had no notion at first what it was, so long had it been since a vampire had died by any hand but mine. Yet experience it I did for all my kind are linked to me, who made them. The death shocked me from the sea of dreams in which I floated. I sat up abruptly and howled.

At once, the door to the chamber flew open and Blanche appeared beside my bier. She flung her arms around me as she cried out in alarm.

“What has happened, my lord? What is wrong?”

Her eyes were wide with fear but with excitement, too. She relished anything she thought would make me need her more.

“Get away!” Truly, I could not abide her touch or that of any other. I knew, even then, what Elizabeth had done and what the consequences of it would be. In killing, she had grown stronger. How long before she realized that? How long before she sought out more of us to slay?

Snarling, I turned away from Blanche, but she was not dissuaded. Again, she approached me.

“It’s her, isn’t it, the Queen? She’s done something.”

I cupped moonlight in my hands and rubbed my face, struggling to regain my senses. The chamber, spacious though it was, seemed to constrict around me. I could not bear to remain there any longer.

“I hope you weren’t too fond of Ambrose,” I said on my way to the door. “He’s dead.”
Blanche frowned and smoothed the gown that clung to her like a second skin. “I don’t understand. Why would you—?”

“Kill him? I didn’t.”

“But then who—?”

I did not bother to answer but went out quickly, knowing what needed to be done and anxious to get to it. Behind me, I heard her fearful whisper.