The Maestro's Maker (21 page)

“To find the most beautiful park in the world, so that I can show off the most beautiful

girl in the world and make all of the young men jealous.” He bent down and kissed the

top of her head.

“The park...and the theatre?”

“But of course,” he said. “Especially the theatre.”

He stayed with her the rest of the afternoon. When I left him to find my own meal, he

was telling her of his adventures, and of Gunnar and Lucio. And Katarina.

But late that night she became worse, crying out with delusions. He called for Jean.

“Go find a doctor. Bring him back on the tip of your sword if you must, but bring him

back!”

Claudio held Camille’s trembling body close as she cried and mumbled incoherent

words. Before long, however, she went limp in his arms. I could do nothing for him as he

held his dying child in his arms. Jean returned many hours later, alone.

“He would not come, Monsieur. And when I drew my sword, he laughed at me and

threw me out. I could not find another. Monsieur, what is wrong?”

“It is no matter,” Claudio said dully. “I doubt he could have done anything.”

The men buried her next to her brother. We stayed one more day in the house. Claudio

wandered from room to room like a ghost. It was late afternoon the next day when we

left. On the main road, there were three young men walking. “Stop the carriage,” Claudio

said. “Stop the carriage!”

The young men, full of drink, laughed. “What does the respectable gentleman want?”

one of them called.

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“Are you familiar with le Chateau du Fresne?” he asked.

“Of course we are. We don’t have money, but we know where it is.”

Claudio tossed a pouch at them. It landed at the speaker’s feet. One of the other two

scrambled to pick it up and reach inside. “It is mine,” Claudio said. “I want you to burn

it. Burn everything. Keep nothing. Do you understand?”

The young man counting the money whispered to the speaker, who nodded, his tone

changed to disbelief. “
Oui, Monsieur
. We will.”

“Very good,” he said. “Jean. Drive.”

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Claudio had Jean drive us to the apartment where he took his mistresses and lovers,

and then had him get the spare key hidden under a stone in a nearby garden. “It is

amazing that it hasn’t been stolen away from me, yes?” he said. Behind us, a passing

older gentleman cleared his throat. Claudio turned and gave him a stiff smile.

The old man looked with interest from one of us to another—Victoire, his Pierre, Jean,

Bernardo, Florentine and myself—before returning to Claudio with a look approaching

admiration.

“Yes?” Claudio said with a hint of impatience.

“
Perdone,
Monsieur
, but I heard news that le Compte du Fresne had gone away, yet

you look remarkably like him. And this is, if I am not mistaken, his apartment.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Claudio said. “I’ve met the man. He is much shorter.”

He opened the door and stepped inside the stale, dusty parlor just as the gentleman

wished him a happy evening, albeit with a look of longing that suggested he would like

nothing more than to be invited inside. As soon as we stepped over the threshold, though,

Claudio quickly shut the door. Jean went into the bedroom with our things.

The parlor was furnished with a bar, a reading chair, and a bookshelf on which Claudio

kept many of the erotic works of the day. Florentine seemed drawn to them, making a

little “Oh!” sound and putting a hand up to her mouth with a giggle upon reading a few

of the titles. Excitedly, she pulled one out. Bernardo came over.

“Florentine!” he admonished. “You mustn’t read such things.” When he attempted to

take it, she clutched the book to her breast and turned away.

“Leave me alone, Bernardo.”

“But Florentine...”

I felt amused as I listened. Bernardo sometimes clung so tightly to his old life, even

though he was becoming adept at servicing vampires. I drifted to the window just as

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Florentine rounded on her brother and brandished the book at him. “You would have sent

me into a marriage knowing nothing, and you expect me to remain ignorant even now.

Remain the object of a man’s desire while taking no thought for my own pleasure?”

“It isn’t respectable for a young lady—”

“If being respectable means being dead inside, Bernardo, then I don’t want to be

respectable!” She plopped into Claudio’s reading chair, gave Bernardo a parting glare,

and opened the book, breathing heavily. Bernardo opened his mouth to continue, but

Claudio stopped him.

“Let her read,” he said. “I for one wouldn’t mind if she learned something. And if you

keep bothering her, she may injure you.”

Victoire joined me on the balcony. “I was serious,” he said. “I have given it thought.

I want to become as you are. I would appreciate it if you would consider doing this for

me.”

I nodded. “Has Claude-Michel said anything to you about it? I told him.”

He shook his head. “He has had things on his mind. But now, perhaps he will be free

to think of something other than revenge.”

“Perhaps. I will consider your request, Victoire, but I think you should speak with

your brother. I won’t do it if he says no.”

“Fair enough.”

“And I don’t know how long it will be before I can do it again, at any rate.”

Behind us, Bernardo stormed into the bedroom. I left the balcony to Victoire and sat

with Florentine, who was only pretending to read. She pressed her lips together angrily

and breathed heavily. I tried to take her mind off of her brother. “Will you read it to me

sometime?” I asked.

“Read it to you? Wouldn’t you rather read it your—” She narrowed her eyes, studying

me closely. “You don’t know how to read?” she asked, astonished.

I felt embarrassed, which was a thing that did not happen often. “I did not grow up

as you did.”

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“But you seem to know so much...”

“There are different ways of learning,” I said.

“Come here,” Florentine said. “I can teach you...”

And so it was the day after the last of le Compte Claude-Michel du Fresne’s life had

died. Claudio wandered around the place, touching his things. I wondered if he felt he

was touching things that had belonged to someone else, and if he was imagining happy

afternoons spent here in the arms of beautiful young men and women. I wondered, also,

if he had the same sense I did, that finally we were starting our new lives. I, for one, had

never imagined my life would change so drastically. I was going to go to him as he threw

open the windows and gazed out on the streets below, but Jean came back into the room

and stood by him instead.

“Bernardo has claimed the couch in the bedroom,” he said. “He says he refuses to

sleep in a bed of decadence.”

Florentine snorted softly but did not look up from her book.

“He will learn,” Claudio said. “Perhaps he will appreciate the company of a young

man near his age. Perhaps you can help him understand pleasure.”

Jean nodded. “What are we going to do, Monsieur?”

“Whatever we want,” Claudio said. “There is always the New World. Perhaps it will

benefit from a civilizing influence. But for now,” he said, “I want you to buy food and

wine. I put some money in your pouch.”

When Jean had gone, Claudio went into the bedroom. Florentine and I looked at each

other. A wicked smile began to form on her lips. “Let’s go,” I said. We found Claudio

with his violin, and all thoughts of mischief left us. He had not touched it since I had

brought it home, and I had wondered if he liked it at all. But now, he handled it with

such gentleness. At the first touch of the bow, it screeched as if in pain, but he adjusted

it patiently. First one string, then another, then back to the first, until the sounds it made

were something approaching music. Then he put it aside and stood, smiling wickedly at

me and Florentine, just before turning to Bernardo, who closed his eyes just as Claudio

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turned toward him. A normal man, I thought, would not have seen the boy’s eyelids

move, but I knew Claudio had, as I had. Claudio smiled just a little, then began to remove

his blouse. When he was nude, he lay down. Florentine and I joined him.

While I undressed on the other side of the bed, Florentine perched on her knees

between us and kissed him on the lips. “Have you decided I am not a monster?” he

teased.

“You have done nothing to me a husband would not have,” she said with a shrug.

“And that was a life to which I had resigned myself.” She tilted her head and grinned.

“But you are much more handsome, and I am glad that other man is gone.”

Claudio scowled. “François?”

My heart lurched at the mere sound of his name. I wondered when we would see him

again. Gunnar used to tell me that exiled vampires always had a habit of returning. They

lived so long, it was inevitable.

Florentine nodded. “I did not like him.”

“Well,” Claudio said, pulling her close. “You will not have to worry about him again.”

Nude, I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips with my thighs. He looked up at me.

“You look very pleased with yourself,” he said.

“We have reached an agreement,” I said. “She will teach me to read, and I will teach

her other things.”

She and I shared a look, then a kiss.

“Ah,” Claudio said. “Poor, poor Jean. We will be exhausted by the time he returns,”

he said, and began untying Florentine’s bodice.

* * * *

alone. Bernardo lay on the couch with his back to us and his arms crossed. Jean poured

wine for us as we stumbled into the parlor, awakened by the first hesitant sounds of

Claudio’s violin.

“Oooh,” Florentine said, accepting her glass. “Play something lively.” She yawned.

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We were all still nude from our afternoon tryst. Jean had taken off his shoes and let his

hair down, and Bernardo would not come out of the bedroom.

“Lively,” Claudio said, thinking. “This one.” He launched into an old dance tune he

had heard Katarina’s father play long ago. “I am surprised my fingers can find this one,”

he said. I watched him and, for a moment, saw him as I had the very first time. He smiled

as he played.

Florentine opened her mouth wide and laughed, then sprang into the middle of the

floor and grabbed Jean’s hand, making him dance. Then she let him go and came to me,

tugging me toward Jean, dancing with both of us. When the tune ended she clapped her

hands in childlike glee.

“That was wonderful!” she said. “Play another.”

Claudio glanced toward the bedroom door. “Bernardo should be with us. It is not

good for him to sulk so much.”

Florentine pouted. “I would prefer it if he stayed away,” she said loudly.

Claudio clicked his tongue. “I see I will be forced to spank the two of you like

children,” he said. “Jean, tell Bernardo we will dress if he is bothered by such a display

of bodies. But make it clear I expect him to come here and stop acting like a spoiled

child.”

“
Oui, Monsieur
,” Jean said, and went into the bedroom. The next moment, Bernardo

appeared in the doorway like a ruffled cherub.

“I apologize,
Monsieur
,” he said, glancing at his sister, then turning his head. “This

is all so strange.”

Claudio approached him, his hair wild from sleeping and sex and playing. “This is

pleasure. In return for taking your body—and your sister—I will provide for you pleasure

and freedom. Adventures. Every young man dreams of adventures, no? I know the life

you’ve left behind, Bernardo. It can be a prison. But you and I, we are free men.”

He nodded. “I will try, since it seems I have no choice.”

“Good boy. Jean, wine for Bernardo,” he said with a flourish of his free hand. “Chloe,

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dance with him. Florentine is a terrible slave-mistress who wants me to play until I drop

of exhaustion,” he said, flashing her a wicked smile. She returned it, then trotted off to

the bedroom.

“I will put on clothes for my dear, dear brother,” she said in the voice of a taunting

child.

“I will join her,” I said.

Jean drank his wine as though kissing it from the glass, keeping his eyes on Bernardo,

laughing at his discomfort. When we returned in our nightgowns, Bernardo came to me

as though for protection. Claudio smiled, and continued to play. I think we were innocent

in some way then, because we were so young.

As the afternoon light faded, Claudio played, still nude, telling stories of ageless Pan

and his pipes. He did not stop until twilight made the sky purple, and we stopped dancing

to stare out the window with gasps, and cries of, “Look!” Then, the tune he had been

playing screeched to a halt and he walked to the window.

“My house,” he said.

In the distance, a fire raged, and we knew the young men he paid had kept their

word.

“You will have a new house,” I whispered. He nodded. I could feel his body shift

suddenly, as though something swelled inside him. Again, he brought the violin to his