The Rift Walker (25 page)

“What do you mean I'm not an Equatorian official? I'm the next emperor.” The American pursed his lips behind his black beard and gave Lord Kelvin a suspicious squint. Then he jerked his chin at the body of Constantine across the room. “Maybe you've had a bit of a shock yourself. He's not sleeping; he's dead.”

The prime minister remained stoic and refused to acknowledge Clark's disrespectful comments about the emperor. “At best, you were in line to be prince regent. That aside, the emperor has a unique legal status that transcends the mortal man who holds that position. That status cannot be diminished until certain procedures have been undertaken. In short, despite what may lie under that flag, Emperor Constantine the Second is indeed still alive.”

“Are you insane? Look, you've got a city about to explode and you're sitting here scribbling. You need a man who can hold this town together. You need me! Now, when do we stage my coronation?”

“There will be a coronation.” Kelvin paused to inspect a memo thrust in front of his face by a clerk blandly unaware of the crackling situation over the table. He made a few notes in silence and handed the paper back. “Where was I? Oh yes, there will be a coronation at some point in the future, although it may take a while because some of the imperial regalia appear to be missing. Perhaps the vampires took it. Such scavengers. Most inconvenient. But the object of that coronation will be His Imperial Highness, Prince Simon. He will be named Emperor Presumptive.”

“Simon?” Clark was red-faced and aghast. “That boy!”

“He is young, I grant you. However, I will be named regent. And I believe we can convince Lord Aden to assume the role of prime minister. That will invest Prince Simon's government with a comforting continuity and solidity.”

“Simon is second in line! I'm married to the heir!”

“Yes? Perhaps you've noticed the heir isn't about. She has fled the Empire, and even as we speak, Commons is in the process of officially removing her from succession.” Kelvin took a moment to consult his pocket watch. “It took some effort to gather a quorum, a breathing quorum anyway. The vote may well have taken place, but communications being what they are, it's difficult to know. But I assure you, the outcome is not in doubt.”

“No, sir. I won't have it, you insane bastard.” Clark drew closer and the Persian marines inched forward. “Constantine is dead and gone. Princess Adele is the heir to the throne. And I am her husband. Perhaps you recall? You were at the ceremony. You pronounced us man and wife.”

“I did indeed. But even my pronouncement isn't sufficient. You see, for a marriage to be legal, the banns must be signed and notarized by the proper authorities. Since the princess, let us say, departed the altar prior to signing the paperwork, your union never occurred. In the eyes of the law, you are not the husband of Princess Adele.”

“You miserable mule!” Clark slammed his fist on the table. “Do you think I'm going to stand here and let you pull my throne out from under me? Do you imagine in your wildest dream I'll let some glorified librarian stand in my way?”

“My dear Senator Clark, you have nowhere to stand. You have no voice in our government.”

“We're at war and only one thing counts in war! Let's see if your papers can stop a bullet.” Clark's hand flashed to the flap of his holster.

Captain Eskandari lunged for him, and his firm hand gripped Clark's wrist as the pistol cleared. The Persian commander's service revolver pressed into the senator's midsection.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw the marines with their rifle muzzles less than a foot away from him. The American's brow knit in confusion. “What in the hell are you doing, Captain?”

Eskandari said, “Your weapon, if you please, sir.”

“I don't believe I heard right.”

“Surrender your weapon, Senator. Now.”

“You cannot possibly be supporting this pathetic worm. You're a soldier.” Then Clark locked eyes with the Persian and read the man's earnest gaze. He let the pistol drop noisily to the table.

Eskandari gave a polite nod, released his grip on the senator, and picked up the gun as he stepped back. “Thank you, sir.”

Clark smoothed his tunic and tugged his sleeves. He regarded the Persian with his best man-to-man stare. His voice was slow, measured, and reasonable. “Captain, there are times in history when mighty forces turn on the actions of a single man. Today, my friend, you are that man. The future of your empire is being decided here in this room, now in this moment. Look at us, Captain. Who do you trust to guide the future of your nation, to lead your armies into war, and to ensure the safety of your children? Me? Or that man sitting there?”

Lord Kelvin didn't allow for any dramatic, thoughtful pauses. “Captain Eskandari, please escort the senator to his quarters.”

The marine immediately extended his hand toward the door, inviting Clark to go ahead of him.

The American displayed a lopsided grin. “Okay. If that's your decision, so be it. But I'll warn you, son, once I know where a man stands, I never forget it.” He turned to Kelvin. “So let's get this straight. I'm your prisoner?”

“Oh, by no means. You are a guest.”

“So I can come and go as I please?”

“Oh, by no means. You have the freedom of the palace, as long as you have an escort to ensure your safety…in case we experience violent insurrection.”

Clark barked a cynical guffaw. “You know the worst thing about you, Prime Minister? I can't tell if you're joking or if you're dead serious.”

“I'm afraid I haven't time for making jokes, Senator.”

“That's what I figured. All right, Captain, let's go.” The American spun on his heel and strode from the room so quickly his Persian guards had to sprint to keep up.

Eskandari gave Lord Kelvin a curt bow, then came to attention and saluted the flag-draped corpse of the emperor before he followed his men and his guest.

B
UNIA, THE NORTHERN
capital of Katanga, was a booming metropolis set among retreating forests. Only a decade ago, it had been a small town with a few stone buildings and great swathes of brick and thatch structures. Now the city core was indistinguishable from any great city of Africa. The center hosted a fine palace structure with grounds and parks with numerous surrounding buildings, many still under construction. Multiple shining copper domes added to the grandeur of the city.

The once fractious and rebellious region now ranked as the most important in Katanga. The vast copper deposits of the Zambesi homeland were still important, but the Great Lakes were a treasure trove of gold and other ores, and provided access to the magnificent Congo River Basin with its rain forests full of lucrative timber. But even more important was the raw power of the region. The Virunga Mountain Range that ran the length of the Great Lakes district was one of the most active volcanic regions on earth, and the technicians of Katanga were masters at harnessing the limitless geothermal power beneath their feet—the Forges of Virunga. Thousands of factories and foundries were folded into the jagged mountains from Luta Nzige to Lake Nyasa. Tapping into the fiery power source, the workhouses ran nonstop with countless lines of workers filing in and out. Cast iron. Steel. Airship yards. Steam locomotives. Finely machined tools. Textiles. In any drawing room or factory or dockyard across Equatoria or Africa, or the civilized world for that matter, a goodly percentage of the objects owed some part of their existence to the Forges of Virunga. So cheap was the power source that it was more economical to ship in raw materials, and ship out finished products. This fact made King Msiri and his monopolistic Guild of Smiths very rich and powerful men.

Princess Adele stood on a balcony overlooking a garden of colorful flowers and palm trees. The spacious guest quarters were adjacent to the royal palace, or boma. The ceilings were high and the windows wide. Breezes cooled somewhat, though the air had grown ever more damp. A storm was coming with the purple clouds that reflected the rising sun.

An elderly woman approached with a tray of fruit, bread, and tea. She was short and round with a colorful dress and head wrap. She smiled at Adele. “Would you care to eat, Your Highness? You must be hungry.”

“No, thank you.”

“The king could be hours more. He is notoriously slow.”

Adele smiled. “Thank you, but I'm not hungry.”

“Here.” The woman set the tray on a low table. “For when you are hungry. Shall I brush your hair?” The old woman was so kind and unthreatening that Adele didn't react when she touched her hair. “It will make you feel better.”

“I believe I'll wait.” Adele actually found the fingers of the woman comforting. She didn't resist as hands slid through the tangles and touched her scalp. She had always enjoyed traveling in Africa because of the people's unpretentious warmth. Then the woman drew strong fingers down her neck and along Adele's shoulders.

“You are exhausted. You need a massage. I can summon someone for you.”

Adele closed her eyes briefly at the soothing touch and, against her will, said, “No. I will wait.”

The woman then took Adele's hands and stared at her while slowly kneading her knuckles. There was something so relaxing in the old woman's strength. Adele felt the tension leave her as she momentarily forgot her many obligations.

The woman said, “You have come far to reach us.”

“I have.”

“You have far to go yet.”

Adele exhaled sadly. “I do, I'm afraid.”

The woman kissed one of Adele's hands. “Bless you, my child. It is hard for you, I know.”

The princess looked curiously into the dark eyes of the old woman whose soft gaze was warm and reassuring.

A sharp sound from the hallway knocked her back to the present. The old woman released Adele and gave the princess a quick reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

“If you need anything, daughter,” she said, “I'll get it for you.”

Before Adele could reply, the old woman trundled through a side door and disappeared. Greyfriar entered and crossed to the balcony. He lifted a hand to mop his brow, but quickly dropped it.

“How are you?” Adele asked suspiciously.

“Perfectly well.” He tapped the helmet. “In fact, I'm fearful of catching a chill.”

“Shut up,” she retorted softly. “Do you need to feed?”

“No. With no activity, I require no sustenance. However, you should eat. And sleep.”

Adele leaned against the stone balustrade. Seconds later, she began pacing, tapping her thigh with her fingers.

Greyfriar crossed his arms calmly. “Impatient?”

“I want to get things settled and make contact with Alexandria. I wish King Msiri would just speak with me.”

“He is a king. And this is his country.” He laughed. “I'd have thought you would be better at being a prisoner.”

“It's boring.” She folded her arms across her chest in mock exasperation. “So what else can we do while we wait, besides stare at trees? And wait for rain.”

“We focus on what we can do. We can plan. Prepare contingencies. If Msiri grants us asylum, what next?”

Adele tapped her bottom lip, contemplating. “I'll need to arrange a meeting with my father. Without Senator Clark around. What do you think? You're a prince. I need your perspective.” She wrapped her arms around him languidly. Immediately his arms encircled her.

“I'm rather a bad prince. You need Cesare's perspective. He's quite proficient at manipulative politics.”

“Well, using Cesare's methods would be a bad idea. Slaughtering Senator Clark is not an option.”

There was a long silence. Adele pushed away and looked up at Greyfriar's covered face.

He glanced down. “What? Oh, I agree. We shouldn't slaughter him.” He tilted his head as if in thought, then said, “No. No. You're right.”

She patted his chest with a sarcastic grin. “You're wicked. I love that.” Then her expression became contemplative. “Time is slipping away. It's already summer.”

“Will the war begin without your wedding?”

“I don't know.” Adele turned back to gaze wistfully at the lush gardens. “And if it didn't begin, would that be a bad thing?”

“Not to me.” Then Greyfriar asked, “But are you willing to be the woman who spoiled your people's best chance to defeat the vampires?”

“Is that what you think?”

“I'm asking you. What will your history say of you? Will they build a monument to your honor or to your failure?”

“I don't care,” Adele said in frustration, placing her hands on the railing with a deep sigh. “Even if I never go back, Simon will grow up to be emperor under my father's tutelage. History will probably say how fortunate Equatoria was to avoid the reign of Adele the First. Vampires captured her and the experience drove her mad. She fled the altar and vanished into the desert with a masked man, never to be seen again. Next page.”

“Does that epitaph satisfy you?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps there are greater things for me than being empress. Mamoru seemed to think so.”

“Perhaps.”

Adele grew excited by a sudden thought. “I should find a way to bring Mamoru from Alexandria to teach me here. I could learn more about geomancy. He believes I will change the world. Perhaps I can find a way for our people to coexist.”

Greyfriar remained silent, but his lack of response shouted his doubts.

The young woman turned. “You don't believe me?”

“I do, of course. My only question is whether there are any humans other than you who would not prefer to wipe out all of my kind if they had the power. Including your Mamoru and your Colonel Anhalt. You and I are unique. I am a vampire fascinated by humans. You are a human intrigued by vampires.”

“Maybe I can change others. Perhaps I can change everyone.”

“Perhaps.”

“I understand your skepticism. Even I don't grasp the knowledge I might command, but I've felt it and used it. It's immense. It's inexplicable. I don't know where it could lead.”

“No, you don't.” Gareth gathered her again in his arms, trying to forget the taste of death in her. He regarded her softly. “Perhaps you will work miracles.”

She put her head against his chest.

There was a sharp rap at the door. Anhalt peered in and then glanced down at the floor. “Pardon, Your Highness, but we are summoned to King Msiri.”

King Msiri rose to greet Adele. He was a remarkable figure, tall and strong and of an indeterminable age, likely a vigorous midforties. His face was lined with concern, but not burdened. His eyes were sharp, but not wary. He wore a loose white shirt and linen trousers with sandals, along with a leopard-skin band around his head. His smile was comfortable. He threw out his muscled arms as if family had just arrived.

“Your Highness, what a delight to see you again!” He loped around a long table piled with fruit, porridges, and sweets on copper trays with gold pitchers full of steaming, fine-scented coffees. The king took Adele's hand and kissed it.

“Your Majesty,” she replied with an enchanted grin. “It's been years since we last met in Alexandria. Thank you for granting us an audience. Please forgive my poor Swahili.”

“Nonsense. You speak like a Katangan. Come. Sit. Eat. Have you breakfasted yet? Of course not. Then, please!” Msiri virtually pulled Adele to the table and held a chair for her. The seat was magnificent teak with a creamy hide upholstery. Then he extended an arm to her companions. “Don't wait. There is no formality at breakfast. This is my private chamber, so I beg you to relax. Colonel Anhalt, please. I am well versed of you from your old friend General Ngongo, commander of my Mountaineer Brigade. He is on a scouting mission in the Rwenzoris, but will come as soon as possible to greet you himself.”

The Gurkha was taken aback by the king's attention. “Thank you, Your Majesty. General Ngongo is a fine officer, and I am grateful for his kind words.”

“Here, have a mango.” Msiri tossed a fruit to Anhalt and then eyed Greyfriar. “And you, sir, are the Greyfriar? Of course you are. Why else would you be dressed so.”

“I am, Your Majesty.”

“I have heard many stories.” The king leaned back in judgment. He glanced at Adele, who was already ladling thick soup into a bowl. “That's cassava porridge, you know.”

“I know,” she replied. “It's one of my favorites.” She knew a few of the customs of Katanga. First and foremost, it was poor etiquette not to eat in front of your host.

“Good for you. You could use a few pounds, poor girl. So, Greyfriar, what will you have to eat?”

Adele dropped her spoon with a jarring clatter. Msiri glanced at her momentarily and then back at Greyfriar.

Greyfriar stated, “I prefer not to eat.”

“What?” Msiri asked in confusion.

Adele came to his rescue. “He has a tropical malady. Being from the north, the climate has been debilitating for him.” She winced at her own poor attempt at a lie, but the king didn't seem to notice.

“Ah, yes. I understand.” The king smiled. “Our doctors will see him. We've done remarkable things with fevers.”

“No, no,” Adele replied casually. “We couldn't possibly encroach further on your kindness. He's recovering well. It's not a serious tropical malady.”

Msiri shrugged, and as he went to resume his seat, he saw Anhalt still standing formally next to the banquet. “Are you plagued by fever too, Colonel?”

“No, Sire.”

“Then eat!” The king grabbed a plate and piled it with fruit, bread, and strips of meat. He put it down forcefully and lifted a chair an inch or two and dropped it. “I find it difficult to trust people who don't like to eat. The infirm excepted.”

Greyfriar inclined his head graciously.

Adele wiped juice from her fingers, exclaiming without pretense, “Oh my God these papayas are good!”

Msiri laughed appreciatively with a voice that rolled around the chamber. Huge overhead beams were carved intricately from single trunks of forest giants. There were exquisite sculptures of wood and feather as well as metal, and the walls were made vibrant with bright wall hangings. The king alone occupied this large second-floor chamber, where the sounds of government and the surrounding city were drowned out by the roar of rain through the open window.