The Eternals Read online

  Chapter Four

  -

  Blackmail

  One plus to being a fugitive was the solitude, no dandy idiots flouncing about the place, no effete quips to grate on the palette. However, the realisation I might never return to high society was a bitter pill to swallow. I could live without women, I hoped, even more so for my fellow man, but no longer having anyone to moan about was hard to accept. Then there was Linka, the girl of my dreams. Once met, never forgotten, even the thought of her stirred my soul, or it would have if I'd had one.

  * * *

  A uniquely altered part of the world, the amalgamated Himalayan plateau and Rhineland's Alps combined both rugged individualism with spectacular size and it worked. I liked it although I ventured the gale blowing across the massif to be a future annoyance. A north wind whipped across mountains silhouetted by dusk in wisps of propelled snow. I tugged up my shirt collar and awaited the inevitable.

  Wicked gusts slapped at my shirtsleeves. Like a scarecrow caught in a storm, my arms whirled me around in circles. It grew so bad that in the end I just rolled them up. That led to a complimentary coating of ice. I tapped at my arm to the chinking of cracked mirrors and the revealing of pale skin beneath. It was all most disconcerting.

  But what would have proven certain death to the living, or so I imagined, was no more than a hindrance to me. My dead body was beyond chilling, beyond freezing and way beyond being abused by such paltry, elemental fare. However, it was not beyond sunlight. That little nugget required some lateral thinking. I could not go back, that was clear, but neither did I know where forward would lead. The powers that be altered the landscape with such regularity that if I proceeded across the mountaintops en route for Old Hungaria, I would as likely end up in the Orient. Bereft of choices, I mulled my fate.

  I took one last look back to the scene of my shame, the Comte's palace still dozing, then set off across the jagged peaks.

  I walked through the tiring dusk and into a more peaceful darkness. The obsidian night refuelled my waning fires, and I pressed on regardless of the inclement weather. It was quite something to have the world to myself and I revelled in it. Being so close to the sky was peaceful in a way and I had little to complain about. But, as time dragged on the inevitably of an approaching day played on my conscience.

  If King Rudolph and his colleagues followed, I suspected I would have sensed it, and I sensed nothing. I expected they chased their tales in aimless circles, as always, scouring the palace for my sheltering form. At some point they would realise me gone but not until they'd wasted hours in the searching. I hoped my departure would have no comeback on Merryweather. Even if his aid was unexpected it was, nonetheless, appreciated. The poor chap really had looked heartbroken at Chantelle's passing. I just wished I'd had the foresight to quiz him on how and where she was found. I'd an inkling she wouldn't have looked as glamorous as when last I'd seen her.

  A permanent death was probably the best thing that could have happened to Princess Chantelle. The planet was in the unquestionable last throes of life, not that anyone ever discussed it, and if she could have chosen a way to go, blown to smithereens, or lover's bite, I expect the bite might have been the favoured option. Or maybe that was vanity speaking. After all, biting was something an Eternal should not have even contemplated let alone partaken of. I stopped in my tracks, balanced on a precarious rock that overhung a vast chasm, and scratched at my chin. Was I being vain? No, I thought not.

  My inadvertent pause gave me cause to have a good look about. I was glad I did. For way below, though still up in the clouds so to speak, the stars which had prickled to life, outlined a multi-towered and somewhat extravagant looking building. It had the ring of something I recognised but couldn't quite place. Either way, the prospect of cover from the oncoming dawn was a major pull. I hadn't seen so much as a cave to hide away in and the bulbous clouds looked heavy with snow, yet another annoying inconvenience to add to my accumulative list!

  So, I headed to the distant mirage in the mountains, leaping over boulders, scrambling down sheer cliffs and making a right royal mess of my only outfit. It was an almost impossible destination for most people, but I could be very determined when the need arose.

  In more hours than I would have preferred, I was standing before one of the largest wooden doors I'd ever seen. The door, set in walls of polished rock whose quartz components glistened like a second Milky Way until snuffed out by a smothering of cloud, barred my entrance. Time being of the essence, I banged upon the door.

  “Please, go away!” an immediate and rather vulgar response.

  “I am in need of assistance,” I tried.

  “Please, be so kind as to leave!” The voice echoed straight back with a hint of an oriental accent.

  “Look!” I said more forcefully. “I'm asking politely to be allowed refuge before I become a blackened smudge on your otherwise immaculate building. However, I'm sure I could just bash this door down, and then bash you for your inexcusable attitude. Think hard about it, take a moment, then let me in. Please.”

  I thought the please a friendly touch even if it grated. My threat seemed to have the desired effect, too. The man paused in his response, as though thinking, which gave me chance to admire the basic but high quality architecture of the exterior facade. Then, I got my reply.

  “Oh, in that case…go away!”

  Violence is never pretty, especially when orchestrated by an aggrieved Eternal. As a breed, Eternals were prone to temper, which harkened back to their distant, vampiric past. However, I was not. If I ventured into the realms of hysterical pain infliction, it was inevitably down to a carefully imagined and well thought out plan. If one was to give in to the inner beast it should be done with the intention of not needing to do so twice.

  That was how a large, splintered hole in the not quite so impressive wooden door stood at my back, whilst I stood upon the throat of my shaven-haired irritant. He looked somewhat shocked at my tattered-shirted appearance, unkempt hair, and razor talons close to his face. One would have said he was the most shocked Eternal they had ever seen, and frankly, I would have agreed. That's why, as I bent ever lower, talons paused to strike, it surprised me to see him force a smile and utter the words, “Welcome to Shangri-La.”

  * * *

  I followed the monk, one of many that patrolled the outer boundaries of that supposed blessed and eternal place, through courtyard after boring courtyard. One could only look upon so many Zen gardens and peaceful terraces before it irked. Circular mouthed Koi burst upon the surface of multitudinous ponds like heavy rain. Their incessant drive for food made me wish to fling the lazy things from their liquid realm to fetch their own whatever-they-ate. Shangri-La looked so geared to the attaining of nirvana that the monks must have been even more bored than they looked. I, on the other hand, had reached enlightenment a significant amount of time ago, when I realised all was to end and me with it.

  After a thoroughly mazy walk, we reached a many turreted and grand looking building. If not mistaken, I'd have said the place coated in gold dust, a very nice touch, and peppered with many variant sized rubies. It wasn't your picture postcard image of a basic existence, but it gave it an edge over the rest of Shangri-La. Into this bespeckled palace we breezed before my escort bowed low, his pathetically small canines just visible against his pursed lips, and left me before yet another imposing doorway. I wasn't forced to suffer the abuse of my arrival as they opened without a knock into a small but impressive throne room.

  “Good morning, Jean, well almost,” came the authoritative voice of a figure I instantly recognised as the Marquis de Rhineland.

  “A bit out of our league with this place, aren't we, Marquis?” I ventured.

  The Marquis uncrossed his fat appendages, stepped down from his granite carved throne, and stood before me, legs akimbo, in a supposed heroic pose. My stomach turned in disgust as his continued to wobble.

  “Not really. Times change, places move, and I with them, my
friend.”

  “I'm surprised you didn't set your monks upon me. I thought you hated my guts,” I said, blunt, as usual.

  “Why would I hate you? You're the one man brave enough to keep the Marquise off my back.”

  “Only when I have to.” I said. Then thought I maybe better not had.

  “Yes, well,” he murmured.

  “I presume the repositioning of Shangri-La to have been your doing and not the Marquise's?”

  “Ah, told you it was her idea, did she?”

  “I think so; I wasn't really listening at the time.”

  “Well, it wasn't.”

  “Your little haven away from the wicked witch, eh?”

  “Hmm, you saw the costume then?”

  “I had the unfortunate privilege of escorting it.”

  “Lucky you. I didn't see you enter together.”

  “You were there?” I asked, somewhat surprised at the usually retiring Marquis.

  “I had business there, that's all. I have no time for those masquerading idiots. They'll still be waltzing when the world collapses. In fact, I'd be surprised if half of them even noticed.” He gave a tut that sent spittle flying from his gelatinous jowls.

  “I take it you still believe we're all doomed?”

  “I know we're all doomed. There's a distinct difference.”

  “I see. Well, before that happens, could I trouble you for a drop of blood? I'm running a little low.”

  “Bah!” The Marquis grunted at my question.

  “Don't change the subject, Jean. I see through you.”

  “I hope not. I intend to remain entirely visible throughout my non-life.”

  “Even at this very moment, eh, murderer?”

  “Ah, you heard about that. Would it help if I told you I was innocent and they'd got it all wrong?”

  “Not really. I couldn't care less who you have or haven't disposed of. You're one of the few people in this decadent world that is unpredictable, and therefore interesting. I would sooner turn my wife in, than you.”

  “That's neither reassuring nor saying much,” I commented.

  “True, but I mean it. So what if you butchered Princess Chantelle, as long as you did it quietly, who's bothered!”

  “I thought, I had.”

  “Ah, so you did do it,” he said with a body shaking chuckle and a slap to his thigh.

  “Damn! You always were a smart one, Marquis.”

  “Please, Jean, call me Vincent.”

  “All these years and I never knew you were a Frenchy.”

  “It wouldn't sit well with my title to admit it.”

  “I suppose not. But doesn't that make you as false as those you disparage?”

  “All with good reason my friend, all with good reason,” he said, and touched the side of his bulbous nose.

  Nose touching was at the point of becoming an annoying habit in my interactions with people. I had no interest whatsoever in knowing their little secrets, yet felt honour-bound to do so.

  “Anyway, names don't come anymore French than Jean.”

  “Ah, but that is through parentage, not allegiance. I neither chose it, nor wished it, and unfortunately have not had the time to change it.”

  “Well, I'm glad you've cleared that one up,” he said, with such a look of exasperation that I felt I may at last be getting to him. “Now, let's see if we can't alleviate your hunger pangs.”

  At that, the Marquis smacked his blobby palms together and retook his place on his false throne. I waited where I stood, as there were no other chairs in the vicinity, until two shaven-haired monks, who might have been twins, hurried into the room with a collapsible table, a chair to match, two crystal cut glasses and a large decanter of sloshing, red liquid.

  “Will you pour, Jean?”

  I didn't need asking twice, and levied out two large glassfuls of the purest, crimson blood I'd seen in years. The Marquis took his proffered glass and then watched intently as I sampled from my own. And how I sampled! It was delicious, almost beyond words.

  “You like?” he asked, with an eager-eyed stare.

  “I do. I can honestly say that's the best drink I've ever had. Do you bleed animals for it if there are still any?”

  “Oh, good Lord no! Let's just say I have good taste.”

  He seemed to forget that I knew his wife, but I let it slide on this one occasion.

  “Anyway, my dear fellow, you have caused me somewhat of an inconvenience,” he continued.

  “In what way?”

  “In the way that if it is found by others that I shelter you, I could well be for the proverbial chop.”

  “If you can put me up for the night, I dare say I can be gone straight after sunset,” I suggested.

  “I'll think on it and let you know tomorrow.”

  I didn't like the sound of that but was in no position to say anything. So, I didn't.

  We finished the decanter's contents in relative quiet before the Marquis clapped his fat hands together and had a monk lead me away to my bed chamber. I thanked him of course, but was not overkeen on turning my back on a man I'd made it my job to antagonise, albeit through his wife, for a great many years. Again, other than sleeping with one eye open, I didn't see I had much choice in the matter. I made a point of noting I did not like having no choice in matters and would make a further point of remedying it at the earliest opportunity. That was an awful lot of thought about something generally accepted as free, but choice was something I enjoyed and held as a necessity.

  The monk led me through the less plush corridors of the Marquis' domain until we reached a small room with a single rather shabby-looking coffin at its centre. I thanked my guide who closed the door behind him with an echoing clunk.

  The coffin smelt as stale as the rest of the place, but did at least have a black, velvet interior. The thing fit like a glove and I was soon fast asleep.

  * * *

  I awoke to the smooth silence all Eternals preferred first thing in an evening. The coffin lid opened with ease and I climbed out in a particularly good mood, only to stand upon something crisp that rustled like an overburdened tree in the wind. It was a sheet of paper that I stooped low to collect. I presumed someone had left it there and that in my tired state the previous night I hadn't noticed it: I was wrong. It was a letter and addressed to me.

  Dear Jean;

  This is an impolite and blunt note to an impolite and blunt man. To cut a long story short, we know where you are. That is of course obvious from the fact you are holding this letter, but less so that you are alive whilst reading it. We know what you did, how you did it, and why you did it.

  They were wrong on that account, as even I didn't know why I'd done it. Nevertheless, I continued reading.

  We have a proposition for you, Jean. This will not clear your name, we make no promise of anyone even ever liking you again, but it will stop your heart being staked and your head being thrown in a fire.

  Again, I did not care if anyone liked me, but I did rather prefer my head being kept on my masculine shoulders.

  We want you to assassinate King Rudolph. This is non-negotiable and you will never know who sent you this letter. But, for what it's worth, it is honourable. This is a matter of great expedience. We cannot stress this enough. You may carry out our request in any way you see fit, or we WILL kill you.

  I reread the letter to make sure I'd fully digested the words, and then digested them in the literal sense, not having anywhere better to stash it nor wishing others to ever see it. You could never be too careful where blackmail was involved. I knew better than most, I was a past master of the art.

  Brushing myself down in a pathetic attempt to look presentable, I then did the only thing open to me: I went in search of breakfast.

  Chapter Five

  -

  Moving

  Retracing my steps from the previous night, I soon found myself alone in the palace's main chamber. The small table remained set before the throne and had a replenished de
canter upon it. Decorum stated that to wait for one's host would be good manners. I had none, so helped myself. It was as though I'd dived into a pool of virgin's blood, as the metallic purity of the crimson liquid slipped down my throat. I had to applaud the Marquis, he had excellent taste.

  I was about to take a second glassful when a faint buzzing became noticeable. At first, it sounded like a bee in a bottle which quickly became a hive of such creatures. I was then more than a little disturbed to feel the floor lurch and had to rescue the decanter before it crashed upon the marble. Out of practicality, I decided it best to drain the vessel of anything that could otherwise splash on the floor and go to waste. I gorged myself and was glad I did.

  Wiping the blood from my face with a grubby shirtsleeve, I set off for the gardens hoping to find out what transpired. That was not as easy as I'd hoped. The floor lurched from one side to the other and me with it. The last time I'd experienced such sensations I was crossing Lake Lucerne in an annoyingly small pleasure boat with a tedious Viscount's daughter, whose name I'd long forgotten, and her less than ironclad stomached friends. A wind had sprung up and turned our jaunt into an undulating nightmare. I crouched in the keel like a whimpering child – I hated water – and had to be extracted by force. Not a memory I wished to recall nor relive.

  Unsure what to expect, I exited the palace shocked to see nothing at all. Where once were Zen gardens there was only grey fog. I crunched my way outside a touch further, but it availed nothing. The fog was thick enough to slice. That got me wondering about the crunching sound, which had not been there previously. I crouched down on my haunches and touched the ground. My hand sank into a deep semi-solid: snow, and lots of it.

  “Honourable, sir, may I escort you to the side of Our Lord?”

  “Why,” I said to a monk who materialised out of the gloom, “is God here?”

  “Yes, sir, our God,” he replied, with a respectful inclining of his head.