The Geomancer (7 page)

She was reminded of their long journey north to Scotland in a boat half this cutter's size and a fraction of its seaworthiness. It seemed so long ago, although it was barely two years. Greyfriar had been just what he appeared—a masked adventurer from a storybook, a silent scythe among the vampire hordes of the north. Now she could see the man beneath his disguise. And yet, here with the creaking planks and cracking black sails, with the stars reflected in his glasses, he seemed to be no more than the fairy tale again. For a moment they were back to the days of flying headlong from the merciless pursuit of Cesare's war chief, Flay. Only Adele would describe those days as a more carefree time.

She and Greyfriar were together with a mystery, a mission, and a goal. Where it would lead, she had no idea. For the time being, no matter how dire their task, they could at least focus on that and work toward something together. She could forget her long unsettling walks through Greyfriars kirkyard searching for photographic evidence, some truth. She could ignore his manuscript lying unfinished and hated. Adele took his gloved hand and squeezed it.

Adele thought she saw a wave blotting out low stars on the horizon, but it proved to be the coast of Europe. Greyfriar rose to his feet, steadying himself in the rocking boat. The closer they drew to land, the more likely they would fall under the sharp eyes of hunting vampires.

Water slapped the gunwales, accompanied by the sound of crashing surf. One sailor wrestled in most of the sail. The cutter rolled in the waves and Adele took a line in hand, enjoying the wild motion. The instant the bottom scraped stones, Greyfriar vaulted the side, splashing into the knee-deep water. He took two heavy packs from the helmsman and looped them over his shoulders. Then he reached out for Adele.

“It's not deep,” she gently chided his unremitting chivalry. “I can make it.”

“I don't want you any wetter. We may be hours from a fire.”

Adele felt silly but slipped into his powerful arms. He waded to the beach carrying her high against his chest. She clutched a rucksack, careful to protect it from the water since it contained one of her prized possessions, her mother's notebook on geomancy. Adele needed to study quickly and learn more about her science. She had once thought herself an expert, but the specter of the Witchfinder forced her to face her own limitations.

Once on dry land, Greyfriar set her down, dropped the packs, and returned to the surf to push the boat off. The two sailors poled out through the breakers before giving a quick silent gesture of farewell and setting sail for the open sea.

Adele reached into her pocket and retrieved a small clear stone. The uncanny sense of the Earth filled her body. She felt the strange vibrations of its twin that rested in the possession of Captain Hariri aboard her airship over the Channel. When she and Greyfriar needed retrieval, she would shatter Hariri's stone and he would send the cutter, or the airship itself if necessary.

Greyfriar strode out of the water and snatched up the packs. Adele hefted her rucksack, following him off the stony beach to the grassy dunes. Both of them stayed silent and scanned the skies. They walked for hours through the soft marshy terrain until Greyfriar spotted a dark blot on the landscape and pointed. Then Adele saw it was a small cabin. No light. No scent of smoke. It was clearly abandoned, which she preferred. Too many of Greyfriar's friends and allies had died helping her in the past.

Greyfriar moved toward the roughhewn home. The door was unlocked. Once they were inside, he paused, pulling the scarf from his nose and sniffing the air. “This place is one of my safe houses. No one has been here for a long time.”

“Is that bad?”

He shrugged. “The house is open to all. But it's not uncommon for it to be empty. Set your pack down. We'll rest.”

Adele remembered she was still lugging the heavy rucksack, so she dropped it with a sigh of relief. Greyfriar slid an old chair across the floor to her and pulled open one of the packs. He removed a block of cheese and some crusty bread. Jamming his dagger into the cheese, he handed it to Adele who had sunk into the damp chair. She was so tired the foul fabric didn't alarm her.

“I can start a fire.” He unbuckled his sword and gunbelt. He proceeded to doff his cloak and tunic, beginning the transformation from Greyfriar to Gareth.

“Don't risk it.” Adele scrabbled in her pack and pulled out a leather bottle. “Morgana sent along some Edinburgh whisky. Should warm me up.”

Gareth raised an eyebrow. “I'll fetch water. I smelled a fresh stream nearby.”

“You're better than a camel.”

“Thank you.” He found an old bucket in the corner and headed out into the night. “I think.”

So much of northern Europe was sparsely populated, with no industrial activity to speak of, that the streams and lakes were often clear and fresh. Adele wouldn't dream of drinking from any body of water in her Egyptian homeland. She ate a few bites of cheese, preferring to wait for Gareth to return out of politeness even though he didn't eat. She dozed until an odd sound slipped into her fuzzy thoughts. It was an ill-defined, distant whisper as of laundry on a line in a faint breeze. But it was insistent.

She sprang up and drew Greyfriar's rapier and her own revolver. Easing back the door, she paused in the frigid air. Her breath misted as she stepped onto the frost-covered grass. She looked up. The sky was lightening with faint sun seeping up in the east. Against the dying blue night sky, a swarm of dark figures floated over the far side of a hillock.

A whisper of movement behind her gave an ambush away. She spun around and took aim at four plummeting shadows. Thunderously loud shots punched bullets into two of the plunging vampires, sending them cartwheeling through the air. The other two creatures dove toward her. One hissed in its language, cursing her as a human. She fired again, but missed. The vampires dropped lightly in front of her, content in their ability to cow a mere woman, even an armed one.

Adele eyed the vampires with an expectant smile. The creatures paused, confused by strange sensations that suddenly pierced their body. She dropped her pistol and reached out. Laying her hand on the face of one vampire, smoke rose with a sizzling roar. The creature screeched. Adele focused on her glowing fingers, driving more power into the vampire and she actually felt its flesh melting under her touch. She pulled her hand back in disgust and the creature flailed to the ground. The second vampire stared at its stricken companion and, realizing it was alone, backed away.

Adele stuck out her hand toward it, with silver smoke curling off her fingertips. The vampire hissed something that might have been her name and vaulted into the air. She left the wounded things wriggling in the dirt; reaching Gareth was more important.

Adele staggered on. Every inch of her ached suddenly and her muscles shook as they protested supporting her. Even such a minor use of her power was draining. She fought against her own weakness because of the sounds of distant fighting. Adele ran through the damp grass and stumbled to the top of the hillock.

The air still swirled with dark shapes. Below her, beside an icy stream, Gareth fought with five vampires, eight already lay dead and gutted on the ground. He was a melee of limbs and feet, smashing against the five things. Adele hardly had time to wonder why they had attacked him; he was unmasked and clearly a vampire to his own kind. She raced down the hill.

“Gareth!” she called and lobbed the rapier toward him.

He slammed a foot into the chest of one of his attackers, ducked a clawed swipe from another, and vaulted into the air. He caught the sword and landed, lunging with the glinting blade. The rapier plunged into a vampire's chest, piercing the heart and causing the creature to seize. Gareth drew the sword free and spun calmly to another.

The black cloud of monsters descended upon them. Now there was little room to maneuver and it was all Adele could do to swing her glowing khukri, cutting with its searing Fahrenheit chemicals. Silver tendrils wreathed her limbs. She grabbed the vampires that came near enough. Her touch burned worse than her blade, raising smoke and the stench of seared flesh. But her endurance was near its end. Already she could barely catch her breath with each strike. Adele knew that they were faltering. Gareth's strength was not unlimited, not against so many.

Their eyes locked for a split second. Adele knew she had the power to destroy this horde. She could fall on her knees and press her hands on the ground. Her arms would sink into the soft soil up to her elbows as she touched the network of green and white. Living tendrils would sing. Adele could bend the dragon spine toward her so she could grasp it. The shadows of the vampires would melt before her gaze, turning to dust and bone.

But then the image of Gareth burning flashed through Adele's brain. She feared the greedy power of the rifts would seize her and drag her deep into its seductive grip, urging her to unleash it all, to unlock the vast system of fiery circulation around the world. She might be unable to resist. She might be unable to save Gareth again.

An arm slammed hard against the side of Adele's head. A vampire reeled away, smoking from even that small touch. Adele collapsed on the ground near Gareth's feet. A constant roar filled her ears and she wasn't sure of anything save her attempt to shake off the encroaching blackness as a horrific dark swarm surrounded them.

Through blurred vision, Adele saw what appeared to be vampires striking their own. Lean wolfish figures, moving with preternatural speed, dug their claws into others of their kind. Wounds opened. Limbs tore. Bodies dropped heavy to the grass all around her. Some of the creatures wore expressions of shock. Others were fierce and brutal.

When Adele's vision cleared she saw that Gareth stood over her, blood dripping from his rapier as well as his wounds. She gained her feet with his help. With an unsteady arm, she raised her pistol at the five last remaining vampires as they stared around searching for more victims, and finally turned to her and Gareth. Something caused her to hold her fire. Gareth stood with sword ready, facing the last vampires. They backed away from him with faces of shock.

“The sword,” Adele said in Arabic. “They're confused you're using a sword.”

Gareth grinned with disdain. “Idiots.”

The five vampires drew in their claws and held out their hands in a sign of supplication. Then they fell to their knees.

Fearful of a ruse, of some sort of ambush, Adele looked around but only saw the bodies of the slain. She exchanged a glance with the bewildered Gareth.

Without lowering his sword, he demanded in Dutch, “What is this? Why are you groveling?”

“Forgive us,” one of the vampires, a young female, said in poor English without raising her eyes. “We couldn't know you would come.”

“Aren't you from here? Why do you speak English?”

She replied, “We speak the tongue of your clan out of respect.”

“What do you mean respect?”

The female looked up. Her eyes glistened with terrified tears. “You are Prince Gareth. You are the way.”

The five vampires, one female and four males, sat in the grass staring at Gareth. They all seemed young to Adele, although age was difficult to determine in vampires. Gareth paced before his audience. He seemed unnerved by the rapt faces following his every move. His sword rested casually on his shoulder.

“Why did you come to my aid?” he asked.

“We had heard the Greyfriar had landed on our shores.”

“And sought to win a name for yourselves by killing him?”

“No! We came here to save him!”

When Gareth regarded them incredulously, the female vampire quickly continued, “Some months ago, a servant of the Greyfriar was taken captive in this area. He was tortured and admitted that this cabin belonged to the Greyfriar, and he would come at some time. So the packs of Bruges have been watching. We could not allow them to harm him. Earlier today, when scouts came into Bruges with news of his arrival on the coast, we followed the pack here. But it was you, not the Greyfriar.”

“What possible reason do you have to help the Greyfriar?”

“We know he often took humans from Europe and brought them to Prince Gareth's realm in Scotland.”

“How do you know that?” Gareth snapped. That was certainly nothing a vampire should know.

She quailed at his tone. “We hoped that the Greyfriar could find a way to let Prince Gareth know about us. But we find you instead. It's a miracle.”

Gareth exchanged a glance at Adele who shrugged in confusion and blew into her frigid hands. He directed his question back at the female prone before him. “How do you know anything about me? How did you know Greyfriar ever brought refugees to Edinburgh?”

The female bit her lip. “You should speak to Kasteel.”

“I'm speaking to you!”

She cowered. One of the males glanced at Adele with concern and then whispered to his female companion. The two of them began a hushed argument in their own unintelligible tongue.