The Pyramids of London

FOUR

A drum. A smith’s hammer. A river that jolted and surged and pounded. The flow of it was so clear, from the tip of her nose to the smallest toe. Each inhalation made it flare, and Rian was light, a glorious blaze, a pillar of strength and power, exultant.

A white-gold flicker stabbed at her eyes and she winced, turning her head to an embracing blue haze. Her awareness shifted from the river inside to more familiar senses. Warmth. A thick stillness. A hint of sun-dried linen. Dull hunger. No pain. Legs and arms and the normal weight of self, comfortably supported by a well-stuffed mattress.

Behind her, a separate river pounded and surged. Something more than hearing told Rian it was there: a torrent of life separate and distinct from her own. Slowly, she turned back, lifting a hand to block any chance of looking directly at the dagger-point of incandescence. A man sitting next to the piercing light turned to place something over it: a ceramic shade that muted the brilliance to almost comfortable levels, except for a vivid rim around a smoke vent. With the glare cut away he became more than a shape.

“Lord Msrah.”

“The extreme sensitivity to light will fade in a few hours,” he said, voice soft and measured. “But you will struggle with the sun for some days to come.”

“That…is that a candle?”

“It is. Dama Seaforth. I owe you my deepest apologies for the inadequate protection of my House.”

Everything was blue-tinted, but she could see him quite clearly: a round-cheeked youth of middle height, hair held in a queue, dark skin highlighted by violet notes. The gentle irony he’d displayed during their initial interview in London was entirely absent.

“What was that…sphinx?”

He knew. She could see it, sense it, even as he shook his head.

“An attack aimed at Princess Leodhild, it seems, which fortunately failed to harm her. It does not pay to underestimate any of the Suleviae, even if the Sulevia Leoth is now more associated with Prytennia’s industry than her defences.”

Wondering why he lied, Rian slid a hand up to explore her throat, searching for damage. Questing fingers found only unbroken skin, but the memory of teeth, of pain and a sharp note of terror, made her shudder. And then start to think through how strange that encounter had been.

“That vampire—I met him in your library,” she said. “Not directly in the sun, but it was so bright in there.”

“Yes. A behaviour that develops as we age. All of us can tolerate a certain level of exposure to strong light. I could go upstairs now and walk in the garden if I wished. It would feel like death—I would, indeed, be slowly turning to stone, and would not recover fully until I drank. But there is also a…piquancy involved, should one be willing to risk misjudging one’s tolerance.”

Rian puzzled through this, and concluded that the library vampire had been hurting himself for the fun of it.

“He bound me,” she said, the words not quite a question. She knew what had happened, but wanted confirmation, to have disaster put into words.

“His only means of retrieving an exsanguincy,” Lord Msrah said. “Though I admit it surprises me that he made the attempt, since the danger of creating a ghul is high. And he is not fond of blood service.”

“I had that impression too.”

Trying not to picture herself as a ghul—a corpse brought to unlife by the vampiric symbiont—Rian worked herself gingerly into an upright position and was relieved to discover herself clothed, if only in a light sleeping gown.

“I suppose it’s an achievement to be bound to someone whose name I don’t know. Not even the line—is he Shu?”

“Amon-Re.” Lord Msrah pronounced the name as a distinct sentence, as if even speaking it was an event. “And it is an achievement to survive a bonding to that line in any circumstance. As for his identity, he has been calling himself Comfrey Makepeace, which I imagine is an example of his humour. He is better known as Heriath.”

It was not often Rian was reduced to gaping, but this was the last thing she had expected.

“The Wind’s Dog? That—?”

She almost finished with ‘brat’, and stopped herself with a deep breath. There was no-one in Prytennia who did not know the name Heriath, even though he hadn’t been publicly sighted since the disaster of the Three Sisters‘ War, and was thought gone to stone. He predated the Suleviae, and had been bound to serve their rule when Brangwen the First had been crowned. For the vast part of the Trifold Age he had been a moving force: assassin, spy, and agent of the Crown as Prytennia had expanded from one to three dragonates. It had been the Suleviae who had beaten back the waves of invasion that so frequently threatened Sulis’ domain, but until the Three Sisters, Heriath, the Wind’s Dog, had been a shadowy partner in every success.

The vampire she had met bore no resemblance to the Heriath of legend, but Lord Msrah seemed quite certain.

“I…am surprised to be alive,” Rian managed. Not only because the Amon-Re line—that of Egypt’s rulers—was said to kill almost all who hoped to be raised to it, but the potency of a vampire’s blood increased with age. Lord Msrah was entering the ranks of Shu seniority at four hundred years, but the Amon-Re line was altogether a different order of strength. Heriath…at minimum he would have to be twelve centuries.

“Your will to live is clearly far from trivial,” Lord Msrah said. “I regret that I can no longer accept your service.”

He took an envelope from the table, handing it to her. Heavy with some object, it was addressed in a loose, looping scrawl. It took Rian several blinks to decipher the word ‘Wednesday’.

Tugging the flap open, she tipped out a key: heavy, tarnished, and as large as her hand. A faded paper tag was tied to it with fine cotton thread, the writing tiny and exact. An address in London. There was nothing else in the envelope, no note or explanation.

“I don’t feel any particular compulsion,” she remarked. “I could simply not go to this place, couldn’t I?”

“I do not recommend that course. Although it is common for a colony to decline and the bond to fade if it is not maintained, there is always some slight chance of a neglected symbiont spontaneously separating from the original colony’s will. In your case, because both your blood and ka had been drained so heavily, the Amon-Re symbiont was able to completely dominate your system. If Heriath does not affirm his control of it—and soon—your colony will achieve independence and finish raising you.”

She would become a vampire. There would be no going back from that after ten years. No strawberries forever.

“And he—I take it he’s no longer here?”

“The attack was two days ago, and the party from London returned the morning after. The key was forwarded when I sent word to the palace that you appeared likely to survive.”

A little cough of laughter escaped Rian. “He’s not going to make this easy for me, is he?”

Her reaction brought an answering smile to Lord Msrah’s boyish face. “Very likely not. But I have a suspicion you are equal to the challenge. You are at least alive to face it, and for that I am very grateful. There is a variety of etiquette involved in dealing with another’s Bound, but do not hesitate to apply to me if you are in need. I will not forget—”

A quiet tap interrupted the Nomarch, and the room’s blue haze brightened by several degrees as the door opened. Evelyn looked in, and Rian realised that she’d felt the approach of another living river before he’d even knocked.

“My Lord? Mayor Desh-aht has arrived.”

Lord Msrah rose. “Thank you, Evelyn. Please assist Dama Seaforth with anything she requires.” The vampire bowed to Rian, repeated his apologies and regrets, and left.

“How are your eyes?” Evelyn asked, as the door closed. He crossed to grip Rian’s hands. “And the rest of you, of course. I am so sorry, Arianne. What a mess this has become.”

“It’s certainly not what I was expecting,” Rian managed to say, struggling with a sudden rush of sensation. Concern mixed with a deep note of grief, and then cutting through it a spike of straightforward desire, reminding her of the thin cloth of her gown and making her almost sorry when he released her. “I feel…unexpectedly good, actually. The candle was a challenge, but I can’t remember the last time I felt so physically well.” She touched her throat again.

“One step toward godhood,” Evelyn murmured, sitting in the chair Lord Msrah had vacated.

Rian gave him a startled glance for his tone. “Don’t tell me you’re a Marculist?” The argument that those who Answered were not gods, merely ‘powers’ feeding on souls, enjoyed an increasing popularity, but Rian hadn’t expected to find a proponent at Sheerside House.

“No. Gods are gods. That our understanding of them is limited and contradictory is far from surprising. Still, I’ve met dozens of vampires, and many more Bound, and though they—we—are certainly god-touched, thanks to whatever strain is living in our blood, there’s no sign that even Hatshepsu was able to use rept as a stepping stone to transcendence. Like all other mortal-born souls in the Egyptian field of influence, vampires become ba, and then ready themselves for the journey to their Otherworld. Vampirism doesn’t even require allegiance.”

He leaned forward then, and brushed fingers to the back of her hand, making Rian realise she’d raised it once again to explore her throat. Notes of sympathy and concern showed her that that first flood of outside emotion had not been imagination—and that a conversation about Marculism did little to ease certain memories.

“I knew another Bound who had come to the role through a near-exsanguincy,” Evelyn told her. “He found much to be pleased about in his position, but it took him years before he did not need to brace himself, just a little, before his Master fed. To train his mind not to expect pain and terror and death come far too early. I truly am sorry, Arianne.”

“Were…were they at least able to kill those sphinx things?” Rian asked, because the idea of being bitten again did seem to be something she was not ready to think about.

“No. Both of them were successfully driven out of the building, where Princess Leodhild could call upon larger triskelion to defend her. A sight not usually seen outside the solstices, and cause enough for any attacker to retreat.” Evelyn chuckled. “Or it could have been the vision of Prince Gustav bounding about naked and waving an axe of prodigious proportions. No-one’s venturing a guess as to where he produced that from.”

Rian shook her head, trying to fit these events into her own personal puzzle. “So it was definitely an attack against the Sulevia Leoth? The sphinx I saw didn’t look like an automaton. Some kind of living statue.”

“Yes. You can imagine how all this is being received. Egypt was already a favoured suspect for the windstorm problem—weather vampires, after all—and while Egypt and her client nations aren’t unique in producing statues resembling our night visitors, the probable link is hard to overlook. The reactions have been—” A grimace competed with a bubble of laughter. “Wrong of me to react with fascinated interest, I know, but the whole world is shifting in response to the possibilities. Is Egypt attempting to annex Prytennia? Will it move on other client nations? Are local vampires to be trusted, or do their pilgrimages, and the jot they’re required to send to Thebes, make them automatically suspect? It’s a tremendous mess right now, and so exhilarating. All of which is beside the point. Are you hungry?”

“A little. Less than I’d expect if it really has been two days.”

“We poured enough diluted honey down your throat to make the difference, I expect,” Evelyn said. “I’ll fetch you a tray. There’s a water closet through that door.”

Honey for the hive, Rian thought, as he departed. Binding her to the line of the pharaoh, and to the Wind’s Dog: someone considered amoral and deadly, and who had sat in a library hurting himself and thinking about photography.

Her infiltration of Sheerside House had lasted less than twelve hours, and she was left not only with the ongoing problem of the children’s maintenance, and the prospect of travelling urgently to London while avoiding light, but a state of thraldom to someone she suspected she would find very annoying. Every plan undone, the destruction neat for its completeness. Lips curving in sour appreciation, Rian shook her head to clear it, then began putting the situation in order.

Lord Msrah had not told her what he knew about the sphinxes, and she had not told him that the Wind’s Dog had made a last-ditch effort to save her life because one sphinx had appeared specifically interested in her. There were few enough reasons such a creature would be determined to kill Arianne Seaforth. She had annoyed the occasional person, but owned little intrinsic significance, and no reputation beyond notable parents. Only her presence at Sheerside House, combined with a connection to a double murder, seemed likely to produce an attempt to remove her from play.

The vampire Heriath had saved Rian so he could question her, because the sphinxes had also targeted Princess Leodhild. If they had—somehow!—been sent by Aedric and Eiliff’s murderers, then she would be able to put the Wind’s Dog to good use. He, presumably, would be less eager to accept the easiest solution than the Caerlleon authorities, who’d shown no interest in looking beyond the surface of the deaths. And, after centuries spent as the Suleviae’s personal agent, Heriath would have both experience and the resources of the Crown at his disposal. So, the wrong vampire might not be such a disaster after all.

By the time Evelyn returned, Rian had settled a rough course of action, and was ready to be interested in food. She looked over the well-appointed tray with rising anticipation, then paused to pick up two thin blue envelopes. Telegrams. She would not put it past her three enterprising charges to be demanding updates.

“Lyle asked me to pass on his considerable distress and to request the honour of taking you to lunch,” Evelyn said. “Since this Makepeace fellow apparently resides in London, and Prince Gustav is in residence at Alba Place, Lyle will at least be on hand if you find yourself in need of assistance.”

“What do you know of Makepeace?” Rian asked, slitting an envelope to distract from her surprise at what he plainly didn’t know. Then she frowned at her first telegram, attention stolen almost completely from Evelyn’s response.

HEARD GOOD NEWS STOP, it read. TEMPORARILY RETURNING ALBA BUT INSIST LUNCH SOONEST STOP HAVE EVELYN PASS ON ADDRESS STOP UNTIL RETURN LYNSEY LOVE TO HELP STOP LYLE

“…been down several times before,” Evelyn was saying. “My mother remembers him showing up early in her service, so he’s at least a century-passed vampire. A sun-seeker too, from what I’ve seen of him, which tends to suggest age, though it apparently can come on quite early in some of the strains.”

“All vampires do that then?” Rian asked, handing him the telegram in order to stop herself from reacting to a sought-after name. “Lord Msrah was telling me a little about it.”

“Relatively rare behaviour, from what I understand. While the rept state is several steps up from mortal decay, most stone-blood don’t seek it prematurely.” He smiled down at the telegram. “Prince Gustav must have whirled himself back to Din Eidyn and dragged poor Lyle in his wake. But Lynsey will definitely be glad to do anything she can for you. She lives for rescues and grand causes.”

“I have no idea who Lynsey is,” Rian said, quite as if she hadn’t come to Sheerside House specifically to find a ‘Lyndsey’ somehow connected to the place.

“Lyle’s little sister. Very active in the United Albion League, and thoroughly redoubtable. I’ll give you her London address, and pass on yours. And, if you permit, come to visit myself, when I’m free to do so. Currently our usual schedules are completely disarranged.”

“Of course,” Rian said, the warmth of her response not simply because she had found a breadcrumb to lead her through the maze around Aedric’s death. “I’ll have to apologise to Dama Hackett. I suppose this will delay all her plans until another replacement is found.”

He looked away. “Delia…her room was opposite Princess Leodhild’s. The sphinx crashed right through it.”

“She—? I didn’t know. How awful.” For a moment Rian felt a distress disproportionate to the death of a kind stranger, a jolt to make the room swim. Realising she’d put her hand to her throat yet again, she forced it down and added: “I’m sorry Evelyn.”

“I was teasing her only a week ago, about her long list of frivolous things to do. And now the most I can do is rationalise death, tell myself Delia had lived a long and comfortable life, that it was quick, and she wouldn’t have known or suffered. She is seeing Annwn now, and is surely a strong enough soul to travel on a grand tour of the Twilight Islands. But that is what my head says, while my heart shouts ‘unfair’ and tells me I failed her.”

“Dance in the snow.” In response to his startled glanced Rian went on: “It’s what Dama Hackett told me she planned to do. You can’t undo what happened, but you can dance in the snow for her.”

Evelyn shook his head, but then his lips shifted to a reluctant curve. “That sounds like Delia. And she would enjoy the idea, very much. She always made fun of my attempts at dignity. Will you dance for her with me? Some time after Midwinter?”

Rian agreed readily to this, and watched a part of Evelyn ease as he told several fond anecdotes of a woman who had been part of the extended family he’d known growing up, and who had obviously been an early crush, words never spoken making her loss doubly regretted.

Sampling breakfast, she tried a segment of peach, then opened her second telegram and read it in silence.

“It’s Wednesday at the moment, yes?” she asked.

“Thursday morning.”

Rian read the telegram over, and said: “Then I need to check some train schedules. A late afternoon express to London would be ideal, to minimise the amount of sunlight I have to deal with, and also to leave after meeting a train arriving at four.”

“And you need to do that—?”

“To collect an express delivery from Retwold School. My nephew and both nieces have managed to get themselves expelled.”