The Iscariot Sanction (53 page)

The forest of gravestones thinned, giving way to wild thickets of gorse and bramble. John saw ahead a boundary wall, and a large iron gate near the cliff’s edge, beside which de Montfort now stopped, gazing across the cove towards the castle. John circled as wide as he could, reaching the wall further inland and creeping along it, keeping in the shadows even though he was quite sure the vampires could see perfectly well in darkness. It made him feel better nevertheless. As he drew nearer, he heard the snorting of horses beyond the gate—a carriage. Was de Montfort stealing away like a thief in the night?

De Montfort was speaking to the hunter, who stood straight and tall like an enormous statue. He gesticulated towards the castle, and John crept closer to eavesdrop.

‘Do not be down-heartened, Ezekiel,’ de Montfort was saying. ‘It is a shame about the prince, though it is of little consequence. After all, what kingdom will the humans have to rule when all is said and done? Though even the Artist could not have foreseen such destruction, it is merely a symbol of rebirth. The old order will be cleansed, and the new shall rise from its ashes. By the time we have finished, there will not be a cabal of elders left who do not pay fealty to us, and give their very life-blood to the cause of progress. Know that your freedom is assured, and that none shall ever suffer as you have. The new seat of kings shall be Montfort Hall. The next time our people celebrate All Hallows, you shall sit by my right hand, and the feasting table shall be filled with new highborns, created from stock of our choosing. We have taken a bold step here, my old friend. We have rejected degeneracy, and embraced the future!’

The hunter made some low, keening sound.

‘There, there, Ezekiel. There is nothing good that can come without first paying a price. It is apt that when I visited the Artist, he recited to me lines from Tennyson’s “Locksley Hall”. Mayhap he was referring to the end of Scarrowfall. How does it go, now? “Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt; Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow—”’

‘“For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.”’

De Montfort and the hunter spun around as one, as John finished the line for them, stepping from the shadows.

Before John could blink, the hunter had dropped the wooden chest and was within arm’s reach, but the vampire had not paid full attention to the weapon in John’s hand. The Tesla pistol discharged with a blinding flash of light; the range was so close that John smelt his own hair singeing along with the vampire’s dead flesh.

The creature’s scream was deafening. It collapsed to the ground in a charred heap, its long black coat in flames as flickers of blue lightning danced across its body.

John had no time to savour his triumph. A fist clubbed him in his cracked ribs so hard he was lifted from his feet. He landed, crumpled and winded, in a tangle of thorny brambles that conspired to keep him from his feet. De Montfort stood above him, the vampire’s mask of calm replaced by a bestial snarl.

‘Wretch! Muck-snipe! Hairless ape! Ezekiel was the first among my followers; the most gifted and the most promising of all my subjects. You would kill him without a thought, and in doing so remove all hope for his kind? Truly you prove why humans are to be despised.’

The Tesla pistol was lost in the thorns, and John gasped for breath, trying desperately to think of a plan. He felt cold hands upon his throat, lifting him effortlessly from the undergrowth, hard fingers tightening like steel bands. He saw stars. His legs kicked thin air.

‘We started this dance in Hyde,’ de Montfort said. ‘I should have made certain to kill you then. I shall not repeat the mistake.’

John felt himself being carried away; the crimson sky swirled above him, and he searched deep within for some escape, some tactic, or weapon.

With every ounce of resourcefulness he had left, John grabbed the kitchen knife from his belt. He had no time to think; he certainly could not aim his thrust. Instead, he plunged the knife forwards with all of his strength, and felt the blade pierce hard flesh.

The pressure around John’s throat was relinquished at once, and he fell to the ground. His head lolled over the edge of the cliff, and for a moment his discombobulation caused him to think he was falling. Everything spun, the rocks below lunged up at him invitingly. With a hoarse gasp, he rolled away from the precipice as fast as he could.

De Montfort was already rising, plucking the knife from between his ribs, growling like a cornered wolf. His eyes gleamed in the growing light, though he squinted against the sliver of sunlight that cut through the flaming sky. John remembered the speculation that sunlight might weaken the vampires, or certainly hurt their eyes. The shadows all about grew thinner by the second; John forced himself to his feet, knowing that de Montfort was at as much of a disadvantage as was possible.

The vampire looked at the knife in disbelief, glared again at John, and advanced.

‘That is twice you have cut me,’ de Montfort said. ‘Let us see how you like it.’

John had nowhere to go—the stone wall blocked his escape on one side, and the precipice on the other. He kept the sun—and the cliff’s edge—at his back. He put up a pleading hand, and allowed his pain and tiredness to show, knowing that his vulnerability would encourage the popinjay. Only when the vampire came within striking distance did John pull a snub-nosed pistol from his pocket, firing it before it was even fully levelled. The first bullet struck de Montfort’s knee, the second his belly.

De Montfort stumbled forwards, his leg buckling beneath him. A lesser man would have crumpled, but John reminded himself that this was no man he faced. John pulled the trigger a third time, but de Montfort was already on his feet, and deflected the pistol with a swipe of his hand. He took a swing at John with the knife; even though he was squinting against the rising sun, he still found his mark. John could not parry the blow, and there was nowhere to escape to. He felt the blade cut into his face beneath the eye, slice into cheek and gum, crack into his jawbone. John cried out in abject pain. De Montfort snarled in triumph.

John’s agony was so great he could not keep his feet. He crawled on his belly, sensing de Montfort standing over him, and rolled onto his back to face his enemy. De Montfort stooped, the knife aimed at John’s throat. The vampire was a silhouette against the sun now, a black shadow of death.

The sun was at his back; the precipice was right behind him…

Digging deep into all of his reserves of fortitude, John kicked out at de Montfort’s wounded knee, and fired every bullet he had. All but one flew wide. That one struck de Montfort a glancing blow upon the head, spinning him around. John pushed himself upwards, and delivered a shove into the vampire’s back. It was feeble, but it was enough.

De Montfort’s shiny shoes slipped upon the rocks, and he pirouetted almost gracefully as he fell from the cliff-top, down towards jagged rocks and foaming sea.

John flopped down upon the edge of the cliff, his body ablaze with agony, muscles numb from exertion. He reached to the chest that the hunter had carried, and clicked open its latch. Within was a king’s ransom in gold. John laughed bitterly. Whatever else de Montfort was, he could add thief to the list.

John stared out across the cove as more gunboats arrived, flying the Union Jack. He fancied he would just sit until someone came to find him. He had nothing left to offer Queen and country this day.

‘So, brother, you have denied me my revenge.’

John closed his eyes at the sound of Lillian’s voice. He did not know whether to be thankful, or whether to curse her timing. A moment’s respite was all he wanted.

He turned, astonished to see her dragging Prince Leopold along behind her.

‘De Montfort was mine to kill,’ she said.

‘I think we both had enough cause,’ John replied. ‘Besides, it was him or me. And as your timing was so bad, I’m rather afraid it had to be him.’

She nodded, and turned to the prince. ‘There you go, Your Royal Highness,’ she said. ‘John has avenged your mother. You should be glad.’

John staggered to his feet, Lillian offering a hand to help him. He looked at her most sternly.

‘Do not forget our father so lightly,’ he chided.

‘What of him?’ Lillian asked, and John realised then that she had not heard.

‘Oh, dear sister, forgive me. I mistook your ignorance of the matter for coldness.’

‘Tell me, John.’

‘Father is… he is dead, Lillian. He died in the attack on London, at the Queen’s side.’

‘I do not believe it,’ Lillian said.

‘I saw him myself. He is gone. Dear Lillian, I am sorry. When I said I had cause to kill de Montfort, that is what I meant, for he was the engineer of our family’s misfortune.’

Lillian bowed her head for a moment. When she looked up, her demeanour had changed. She looked cruel, reptilian almost.

‘He was not alone,’ she said, her voice like ice.

The next instant, she had thrown Leopold to his knees, and had her garrotte about the prince’s throat.

‘This is your doing, you pathetic coward,’ she cried. ‘Your selfishness, your treachery. You gave de Montfort all he needed to destroy the Empire… the world! You do not deserve to live.’

The prince wept. John grabbed his sister’s arm.

‘Lillian, think what you do! This is a prince of England.’

‘He did it intentionally,’ she snarled. ‘He stood beside the Nameless King, and pledged his allegiance to the Knights Iscariot. It was all a plot, John. A plot that has robbed us of our queen. Of our father.’

John could not take it in. All he knew was that his sister had slipped once more into the guise of callous killer, and in her new form that frightened him more than ever.

‘Whatever he has done, he shall answer for it, but not here, not to us!’ John said.

‘He will live out his days under house arrest,’ she snapped, ‘or at worst in an asylum. A prince of the realm will not be hanged, not for any crime. Is that justice? He was complicit, brother. Should he not pay the same penalty as de Montfort? A price that you yourself meted out.’

Her words stung, for John had himself abandoned his mission for the chance of revenge. He had not thought it wrong to kill a vampire. But here was Prince Leopold, a human being, threatened by a vampire no less. A vampire who was John’s sister, who had earned his loyalty a hundred times over.

He touched her arm again, more gently.

‘And I was wrong to do it,’ he said. ‘I cannot take that back, but I can stop you from making the same mistake. You know that killing Leopold will not be forgiven. It would make you an outcast.’

‘I am already an outcast!’ she cried. ‘Look at me, John.’

‘I see my sister!’ he shouted back. ‘You have been mistreated beyond my imagining, I know that. But you are still the girl I grew up with. I would not have you live the life of a fugitive, or be incarcerated in Cherleten’s laboratory. I would have you restored to your station in the Order, to return to your people. I told you that there would come a day when even you cannot stand alone. This is that day, Lily, and I stand with you, as I promised I would. There are those who will look upon you with suspicion, but I am not one of them. Our mother will not be one of them. Do not let her lose a daughter as well as a husband.’

Lillian faltered. John did not know if she was still capable of tears, but she looked for a moment as though she might shed them. Instead, she blinked away her sadness, and put away the garrotte, placing the locket around her neck once more.

‘We need to find Smythe,’ she said.

‘Smythe? But—’

‘No arguments, brother. If we do not get you stitched up soon, the ladies of London shall gawp at you even more than they will at me.’

John wanted to smile, but could not. He did not protest when Lillian bade him lean on her, nor when she grabbed the wailing prince by his hair. Together, the three strange companions staggered to the gate, and to de Montfort’s carriage, leaving the chest of gold on the cliff’s edge.

EXTRACT FROM THE
GAZETTE
7TH NOVEMBER 1879

In what is believed to be an unprecedented move on the part of the royal family, the heir to the throne, Prince Edward, has deferred his coronation until such time as the state of national emergency has passed. Speaking at an address to the House of Lords yesterday, the prince said: ‘What England needs—what the world needs—at this difficult time, is continuity and stability. There is none to whom I would entrust the stewardship of the Crown’s fortunes than my father. I hope, my lords, that I may count on you all to wish King Albert a successful reign, for his success will mean victory for us all against the rising tide of darkness.’

EXTRACT FROM THE
ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS
10TH NOVEMBER 1879

WHAT IS THE SHADOW ON THE SKY?

In the wake of the devastation that saw Her Majesty the Queen murdered in a dynamite attack, a plague of madness terrorises London, and a strange phenomenon hangs in the sky about the city. The Prime Minister yesterday called the shadow, ‘An as yet unclassified psychical manifestation, linked almost certainly to the death of Catherine Fox, the Queen’s royal adviser.’ Though he would be pressed no further, leading Majestics and psychical researchers alike have expressed grave concern about what this means, for similar ruptures in the fabric of the world were felt upon the death of her sister Margaret, which spelt the end of the fledgling ‘United States’.

The violent tearing of the ‘veil’, and the resulting deaths of so many Majestics upon the streets has seen entire districts, from Rotherhithe to Dagenham, fall into the Thames, widening the river to almost four miles at its most extreme point. This tragedy only echoes the great catastrophe that befell New York City in ’73.

Already, the outpouring of Riftborn across London, visible to even the most unimaginative citizen for the first time since these troubles began, has caused untold suffering. Many loathsome creatures have not yet been banished whence they came, and are said now to stalk the streets and alleys of the notorious
via dolorosas
.