Chapter 6 #2
There were many entrances to the Ossuary all around London, though some were harder to get to and a few areas had been rerouted due to the construction of the London Underground. But they were all secret, and under a rotating cycle of guards.
Genevieve’s lip curled. That hadn’t changed much since the Drau—since Rupert’s reign. So much for the change that they had hoped for.
Sparrow had told her once that centuries ago, no vampire had truly lived in the tunnels—they had just been handy byways between houses, and the vampire residents had kept to their cellars and storerooms in the homes where their people had resided.
Some smaller vampires with less prestigious families and resources would take a house together, and those with no monies had frequented the graveyards.
But the Great Fire had occurred, and it had become prudent to have a safe refuge to which to retreat.
And later the population had soared, and graverobbing had become more common, and then Rupert had come to power and set the restrictions upon the doors.
No one could leave without their maker’s by-your-leave.
It was a leash, a choke chain yanked whenever their creations fell out of line.
If told to stay, they had to stay. And there were guards at the entranceway to make certain of it. Safety, security, secrecy were the bywords.
More like strangulation, Genevieve thought.
Wrapping her talent around her like a cloak, she stepped silently up to the vampires on guard at the entrance closest to St. Paul’s.
The door was not propped open, so she would have to wait.
She stood for a good, long time, but she was used to that.
Finally, the doors that barred the way to a long, rickety basement stair opened and someone exited.
Moving rapidly, she slipped through the doors just as they swung shut.
She relaxed. They had not seen her.
But then, no one ever did when she used her talent. “Passing unseen,” Elspeth called it.
Genevieve passed through into the Ossuary’s tunnels and followed the snaking paths until she reached a crevice with a convenient stone for sitting and settled in.
Vampires had very good hearing, and from this position, she could hear the comings and goings of those who went in and out of the Ossuary.
She called it her “listening post” and she had several places in the Ossuary she would sit and listen to those around her without being seen.
Sometimes she did rounds through the Ossuary, making sure that no one was causing trouble or bothering those who could not speak against them.
She watched the Ossuary dwellers come and go, creeping up to the doors and humbly requesting to go and feed or complaining to the guards that the policies were unfair.
She also saw those who were able to come and go without any questions—the aristocrats of vampire society, those who did not live in the Ossuary but came to view their creations and walk among the rabble.
Many nights, it was a fruitless endeavor, sitting alone in the dark.
But some nights, she got lucky. Like tonight.
Under the far-off, rattling roar of the Underground that had become a regular occurrence, she heard someone snap, “—Suppose we’ll just have to try again with a quicker dagger this time! ”
The corners of Genevieve’s mouth turned down in grim unsurprise.
“It isn’t wise,” a woman replied. She sounded as if she were trying hard to hold on to her temper.
Genevieve’s eyes widened. She knew that voice—everyone did. For all Genevieve’s time as a vampire, that voice had been synonymous with the Draugodrottin’s. Gisela, the prior master’s woman.
“You’ll just let him sit on Rupert’s throne—”
“Let, after three attempts, the last only a week ago? We need a new approach.”
Footfalls came closer, and Genevieve stood and pressed hard against the side of the passage. See me not. See me not.
The woman passed close enough for her to feel the whisper of her gown, and the man carried a cane that he tapped nervously against the pavement. She did not recognize the man. After they passed, she turned and followed.
The man insisted, “If we could get a large enough group together, rather than just one or two at a time—”
“And what if he takes us all out in one fell swoop? What then, Horace?” Gisela asked in a flat voice as the train noises died away.
There was no answer. After dying once, vampires became very cowardly about the process.
Horace. Genevieve didn’t know that name. it was possible it wasn’t the name the man was currently using. Her old master had commanded her to address him as “Bacchus,” but his name had originally been Cuthbert.
Gisela continued. “He is gathering people to him. Etienne Flambeau, Dominic Penrose, Joseph—”
“Joseph? That traitor—”
“He was always too soft. But Kendrick’s support is growing.”
“So we must strike now, before he grows stronger—”
Gisela snapped, “We’re not discussing this here. Come.” She turned down the path that would lead out of the Ossuary.
Genevieve stayed still and silent until she could no longer hear them.
Kendrick had shown no inclination to take on any of the problems that beset the Ossuary—a bitter pill to swallow—but neither had he exerted his will in any onerous way over its inhabitants. And if he passed out of existence, one of them would take his place.
A phrase written on a wall in a language that no one else could read was too weak to hang her hopes on. It had simply been a quote from the poem “Widsith,” after all, something to counter Rupert’s rough declaration of power.
But how had he known it? Was he a scholar, or was he really as old as the Exeter Book that contained the only version of the poem? And oh, if it had been a portent, a true promise…
“‘Taet waes god cyning,’” she murmured to herself. That was a good king.
Genevieve patted her pockets. She had just enough of a newspaper left to leave one more note.