Vanities, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Vanities
More from Gail Z. Martin
About The Author
VANITIES
A Deadly Curiosities Adventure
by Gail Z. Martin
ISBN: 978-1-939704-00-9
© 2010 Gail Z. Martin, all rights reserved. This story may not be retransmitted, posted or reused in any way without the written permission of the author.
I was dead when I first saw Antwerp.
The year was 1565. I had only been dead for about one hundred years.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Alard was my travelling companion, and the vampire who made me. It was nighttime, and we came up to the deck of the ship to see the city as we came into port.
“I didn’t realize the city was quite so … big.” Alard had been telling me about the city for years. But even so, the sight would have taken my breath away, if I still had breath to take. Ships filled the port. Buildings towered over the shoreline, and the lights of the torches and candles glittered in the River Scheldt. Above it all were the spires of the Cathedral of our Lady, not yet one hundred years old, one of the newest of Antwerp’s wonders. Behind the cathedral, brooding and old, hunkered the fortified castle of Het Steen, still watching over the city and the river from the empty, darkened eye sockets of its deep-set windows.
“Big and full of diamonds,” Alard said with a grin that showed his elongated eye teeth plainly.
Before Alard turned me, I had been a petty thief in Bruges. A very good thief, meaning, I was good at what I did, although my marks might not have thought me a good person. I ate regularly, had a warm place to live, and eluded the Watch, which is to say, I was at the top of my game. Until I died.
I’d got myself into the home of a well-heeled nobleman, and managed to work all twenty of the mechanical locks on his infernal strongbox. That was my specialty, lockboxes. I had the touch for the gears and an ear for the way they fit together. The job had been worth the risk. The box was full of gold and jewels. I’d even thought that I might quit thieving and open a respectable pub if the take was large enough. Oh, I had plenty of dreams, until things went sour.
That night, I was spotted by the Watch when I was almost over the wall. I might have outrun them, except that I landed badly when I jumped from the top of the wall and turned my ankle. I ran blindly, and took shelter in an abandoned warehouse. Alard found me before the guards did. I knew what the Watch would do if they caught me. First, they’d cut off my hands for thieving, and then my head.
I can still remember what Alard said to me. Do you want to be the best thief in the world? Since the choice was between truly dead and dead with benefits, I took him up on his offer
And now, here we were sailing into Antwerp for the biggest theft of our, um, lives. For the first time in a long while I missed the way my heart used to beat faster before a job, the way my breath came short and quick, and the feel of a light sheen of sweat on my brow. But now I was stronger, faster and immortal, and I could levitate, a little. I still thought I’d made a good trade.
“Sorren, are you listening to me at all?” There was exasperation in Alard’s voice, but beneath it, joviality. On the whole, he was a very good-natured dead man, not at all the way I’d pictured a vampire back when I thought such things were only in children’s tales.
“When was the last time you were in Antwerp?” I hurried to bring my focus back to our conversation.
Alard thought for a moment. “I was here quite a bit during the textile “wars.” And before that, I made most of my fortune in the silver exchange with the Spaniards. But the first time I saw Antwerp, none of this was here.” He swept his arm to encompass the waterfront crowded full of buildings and wharves. “The Het Steen was newly built, and I always thought it glowered over the river.” I could guess where his thoughts went after that. He’d been the youngest son of a noble family, thrown into the Het Steen’s prison as security for his father’s debts. There he had languished, until a visitor came one evening and offered him a different sort of freedom. By my reckoning, that made Alard over three hundred years old. But to everyone else, with his blond hair, crisp blue eyes and slightly crooked nose in an otherwise perfect face, he looked like the young aristocrat he had once been, just over the cusp of thirty and certainly in his prime.
I wasn’t convinced that, despite the care Alard devoted to teaching me to choose a wardrobe befitting my new station in life, I’d ever look the part of a noble with as much grace as he did. I’d been in my late twenties when he’d turned me. My hair was a dark, unremarkable blond and I was wiry and thin-built. Great for slipping through windows, but not so good for impressing women with my physique. Alard told me once that I had good enough looks to not stand out, and not quite perfect enough looks to be remembered. I wasn’t sure whether or not that was a compliment, but being easily forgettable is good for a thief. In fact, the only feature anyone had ever really remarked on was my eyes. They’re blue-gray, and my mother said they were the colour of the sea when a storm’s coming. I worried, a bit, that being dead might change them. It didn’t.
“We’ve got a busy schedule ahead,” Alard said, with a note of resignation as if he realized I’d been woolgathering again. “Let’s get below and take our bags. We’ll wait until the rest of the passengers are off the ship. The less notice we attract, the better.”
We’d taken a night passage ship for obvious reasons. There were few other passengers, and the inside cabins were ridiculously cheap. The ship had seen better days, and its captain was happy for the coin. Even so, I had the feeling that Alard knew the man. Alard knew everyone. Now, with a big job in front of us, that could be both a blessing and a curse.
Alard left me with the bags. “I thought we were supposed to be two gentlemen on holiday,” I grumbled. I wasn’t surprised to find Alard’s bag was heavier than mine.
“Who told you that?” Alard’s tone was flat, but a smile quirked around the corners of his mouth.
“Forget it.” While I would have found the bags heavy as a mortal, their weight wasn’t what bothered me. They were bulky and awkward, and I wasn’t happy being the valet.
“Two gentlemen might be remembered. As a collector of fine art and artefacts, I might even be remembered. No one will take a second look at my valet.”
“Thanks a lot.”
I followed Alard through the winding, cobblestone streets, taking every opportunity to twist my neck to see the buildings around me. I hadn’t existed for enough centuries to become jaded yet, and part of me hoped I never would. Even Alard, as old as he was, still managed to have a spark of curiosity about him. He’d told me once that the vampires who survived the changing times were the ones who never stopped being curious. Then he told me that by that measure, I’d outlive them all. I’m still not sure whether that was meant to be a good thing or not. I took it as a plus. So far, being dead (perhaps “undead” was a better word) had been good to me.
Alard stopped in front of a small shop several streets behind the waterfront. A sign said “Vanities,” and, from the window I could see that it was one of the antiques and curio shops that Alard favoured.
“In here. Be quick about it.” Alard motioned for me to maneuver our bags through the narrow door. The shop looked closed. I was about to protest that breaking into a shop might attract the attention we were trying to escape, when a lamp flared behind us, its glow shaded to avoid making it too easy for passers-by to see.
“Alard. Come in.”
I put the bags where Alard bid and followed as Alard and our host continued, more than began, a lively conversation. Two things stood out to me: they were obviously old friends, and our host was clearly mortal.
“Drink this.” Alard must have known that after the voyage my hunger might endanger our host. I usually had good control, but it wasn’t wise to be in close quarters with such fresh, delicious blood when I hadn’t eaten. He handed me a goblet of blood, goat blood by the smell, and while not my favourite, I was hungry enough not to quibble.
“I thought you might be hungry, so there’s a flagon for each of you.” For the first time, I got a good look at our host. He was an older man, perhaps in his late sixties. Spry but beginning to show his age. He had a bald head with wisps of white hair that refused to lie flat. He squinted like a scholar, and he wore a jacket that looked worn at the elbows. “I’m Carel. Welcome to Antwerp. You must be Sorren.”
Carel motioned for us both to take a seat. We were in a fairly large sitting room. Everywhere I looked there were manuscripts: old, leather-bound illuminated manuscripts, and such a multitude of trifles and treasures that I hardly knew where to look first. The books alone would have been worth a small fortune. Alard had been expanding my thiefly education to recognize value that the commoner might overlook.
“What do you see, Sorren?” Alard downplayed my guesses that he could, as my maker, at least partly read my thoughts. But there were too damn many coincidences for me to doubt. I’d learned to keep my mouth shut when I was mortal. Now, I’d learned to keep unflattering comments in the back of my head, where they hadn’t quite taken form as words. I was grumbling a bit to myself like that now, and if Alard read it, he didn’t respond.
“I see pottery, probably Greek, definitely ancient. The gold jewellery on the desk: Egyptian. I’d have to be up close to know the dynasty. The brooches on the shelf are ancient Celtic. Nice work, too. From the number of manuscripts, I’d guess someone ransacked a monastery. The inlaid box is a miracle, but I’ve no idea where it comes from.”
“India,” Carel replied offhandedly. “Not surprised you couldn’t place that.”
“You’re a collector?”
Carel gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of sorts. It was dark in the shop when you came in, and we hurried you through, so you probably didn’t get much of a look around. I deal in treasures and antiquities, most legal; some not so much.”
“You’re our fence.”
Carel chuckled. “Really, Alard. You can take the thief out of the alley, but have you taken the alley out of the thief? I prefer “merchant,” thank you.”
Before we could quibble more over wording, the door opened. Alard moved before the handle turned, and I was just a blink behind him. Without a word, we’d both flattened ourselves against the ceiling. Mortals rarely look up when they’re indoors.
“You’re at the shop late, aren’t you?” A young man walked into the room, and from his manner and the resemblance, I knew he had to be Carel’s son. To my surprise, he glanced upwards. “Hello, Alard. You need to change your hiding place.”
Alard grinned and drifted down to the floor. I followed him. “No one but you ever looks up in here, Dietger.”
I took another look at Dietger. He was about my age, or at least the age I appeared. He had light brown hair, and his eyes were a cold blue, like mine. His jacket was newer and less worn than his father’s, and I noticed that someone had replaced its buttons with old Roman coins. A chain with an amulet hung around his neck. When he shifted his stance, it disappeared into his shirt, but I’d seen enough to know that it was Etruscan, and magic.
“I guess father didn’t tell you that I think he ought to cut down on the side deals,” Dietger said, directing his comments to Alard. “He’s getting too old for this kind of thing. It’s dangerous.”
Alard chuckled. “From my perspective, he’s still a young pup.”
Dietger rolled his eyes. “Easy for you to say. But it’s too dangerous. You and …” He looked at me and realized we hadn’t been introduced.
“Sorren,” I supplied.
“… Sorren can get yourselves out of a jam if a deal goes bad. You’re not what you appear to be. But father doesn’t have your defences. I thought we’d covered this last time you came.”
“We did.”
“But you’re back.”
Alard shrugged. “It was too good of an opportunity to miss.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“We’re going after the Black Dragon.” Carel spoke. Alard raised an eyebrow. I probably looked surprised. No one had told me anything except that the job would be big, dangerous, and worth it. Dietger’s eyes widened.
“No. Tell me you’re not.”
“It’s the best chance we’ve had in a century,” Alard said, and his voice had gone serious. He wasn’t trying to use his vampire powers to sway Dietger’s mind, so I figured he actually liked the young man. He was trying to persuade him. Obviously, we were going to do this the hard way.
“Seventy men have died trying to destroy the Black Dragon,” Dietger said. His tone had grown resolute. “I don’t want father to be the seventy-first.”
“Who said we were going to destroy him? The Black Dragon can’t be destroyed. He can be bound. He can be weakened. His alliances with mortals can be subverted.” Alard clucked his tongue. “My dear boy, I haven’t survived all these centuries picking fights I can’t win.”
“It only takes one.” Dietger was going to be stubborn.
“This might be a good time to tell the thief what he’s stealing.” Everyone had forgotten about me, but I knew that when it really came down to the wire, I’d be the one doing the real work.
“Now’s as good a time as any.” Alard withdrew a folded piece of parchment from his vest pocket and laid it out carefully on the cluttered desk. Carel and I clustered around it. Dietger gave a sigh and joined us after a moment. I took a good look at the drawing. It was of a necklace with a pendant made from what appeared to be a cluster of small gemstones set in an unusual pattern. Rather garish, but no one asked my opinion.
“That’s the Verheen Brooch,” Carel said in a low voice. “No one’s seen it in over a hundred years. I thought it was lost.”
“Not lost. Purposely hidden. We made a deal with the Verhoeveren family to be the guardians of the brooch once Edmund finally tracked the thing down the last time it got away.” I heard a note of anger creeping into Alard’s voice that made me look up. “The fools were supposed to keep it inside the magical wards and out of sight.”
“What happened?” Carel asked. He looked worried, too. Even Dietger appeared concerned. I was obviously the only one who hadn’t been in on the story.
“Their dim-witted granddaughter, Anique, found it after her parents died in that carriage accident a few months ago. I’d brokered the arrangement myself with the grandfather, and come back for good measure when he died to make my point to his eldest son. They understood how dangerous the brooch was. Obviously,” Alard said, disdain clear in his voice, “the girl’s parents never took her into their confidence. So we’ve got a debutante planning to wear the Verheen Brooch out in public at Lady Evelien’s ball.”
“The only thing more dangerous than wearing that … thing … is trying to sell it. Are you trying to get us all killed?” Dietger was angry now. I could smell his anger. Underneath it lay fear.
“I’m not going to sell the brooch,” Carel replied calmly. “Alard and I are just going to make sure it gets into the hands of a responsible guardian.”
“If the brooch is so dangerous, why not just destroy it?” As soon as I’d spoken, I felt like I must have sprouted a second head. Everyone stared at me. It was my turn to feel righteously annoyed. “How come the mortals here know all about this, and I don’t—even though I’m the one stealing it? You said this was a “big” job. You didn’t tell me there was a dragon involved.”
Carel sighed and exchanged glances with Alard. “Perhaps we should all sit down. This could take a while. I’ll fetch more tea and blood.”
“I’ll get those, father.” Dietger looked happy to leave the room. I suspected he would have been even happier if Alard and I had been the ones leaving.
“The Black Dragon isn’t a dragon,” Alard said. “He’s a very old spirit, one that finds a new body to possess every lifetime or so. I don’t think he ever was completely human. Someone imprisoned him long ago in the New World, but the damned Spaniards set him free in their quest for gold and silver, and brought him over with their loot. That idiot, Pizarro, never even wondered why the people he conquered had so many relics hidden and locked away. All he saw was treasure. Never occurred to him that it could be anything else.”
“What was it, if not treasure?” Mention gold, and my fingertips get itchy. I can’t help that. Thieving is in my blood.
“Oh, some of the pieces were decoys. But several of those beautiful breastplates and necklaces of gold, silver and gemstones were magical. They were objects of power, and strong magic users had charged them with spells to keep what was bound beneath those towers bound forever.”
“And it’s taken us several lifetimes to find those pieces again and get them back into the hands of people trained to use them as intended,” Carel said tartly as Dietger returned with the drinks, and a hunk of bread and cheese with ale for himself.
“So this Verheen Brooch is an object of power?” I sipped the blood. That kept me from watching the pulse beat in Dietger’s neck.
“And if the granddaughter is wearing it, that means the brooch has been taken out of the vault where it was sealing in something that really shouldn’t get out,” Carel finished.
“Antwerp is built on a very old, very large, mound of earth. There are stories from the city’s beginning about strange creatures exacting a terrible price for crossing the river,” Dietger said, and I guessed he’d been an unwilling pupil of his father’s. “Legend says that the city was made possible when a hero battled a giant and cut off his hand. Hundreds of years ago, those dark creatures were imprisoned in the mound beneath the city, and in the deepest caves. Objects of power guard the entrances to that prison. In this case, the home of our debutante lies directly over one of the main shafts into the caves where the spirits are imprisoned. That’s why we felt the need to ward it with the brooch. Now that the warding is compromised …” Alard let his voice drift.
