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They're seated in the ocean-front salon of the beach house belonging to Baylah's mortal companion. Jonathon and his nearly three hundred year old Tuareg princess ally listen to the tale of the vampirino known as Giacomo, a vagabond blood drinker, nominally part of the 'civilized' 'noble' line... but only just nominally. Baylah found him at the card tables up the coast, in Atlantic City. Night-folk have a thing for games of chance. It's said there's a special chamber, off the floor, of the legendary casino in The Hotel De Paris devoted to the wagers of life-eaters. Some say their loses are what keep Monaco afloat. You hear a lot of stories on The Riviera. The 'house' supplies them with plump, nubile refreshment, snatched from the shores of Sicily, Malta or North Africa and they fill its coffers.... But Giacomo tells a different tale. He speaks of his dark nativity....
Giacomo - I fought for The House of Modena, a lesser aristocrat, roughly equal to the knights and chevaliers of England and France. You know the history. The fighting never stopped. Each tiny city-state a 'potential' Rome, or at least an Athens. We accompanied a Neapolitan princess from her father's palace in Naples to our lord's holdings in the north. A beauty, she was. He sent a galleon powered by one hundred and eighty oarsmen comprised of criminals and Moorish captives. They were chained thirty to a side, sixty per deck, three decks in all and they rowed till they dropped. Replacements waited, ever at the ready, for the dreaded cry of 'bondsman UP!' As they scrambled through the slick, greasy darkness and slapped their asses down on the stained, fetid bench, the previous occupant, mercifully oblivious to it all, splashed down into the wine dark sea. The sharks dined well. The slightest hesitation on the part of any galley slave meant the sharks too. Can you imagine how they screamed?
In a quiet voice, Jonathon said - Yes I can. I was herded into a tenth century Provencal synagogue with hundreds of other believers. They burnt the sanctuary around us. The roof became an orange sky. Little children burst into flame in the oven-like heat. They sang prayers. They laughed deliriously. Those 'lucky' enough to squeeze through an opening in the wall (heated masonry crumbles, you know) were immediately hacked to pieces by crazed, hate riddled men at arms. But this is your tale. So please go on....
For a while there was just silence. Vampires can be a moody lot. Then Baylah got up, tuned out the lights and opened the draperies, revealing a moonlit sea. How soothing it was, just to watch the waves break upon the shore. How easy it is for night-folk to fall into a trance.
But then, after perhaps twenty five heartbeats, Giacomo went on - I had an enemy on board, my superior, a certain young gentleman hungry for a title or style (lesser title) like mine. He was ambitious. The army was one way. It's all he had. How he hated me. I didn't need this. He did. So one night he drugged my wine, shaved my head (oh, he had helpers. they always have helpers), stripped off my clothes and threw me in with the bondsmen. I was barely coherent when they whipped my ass and forced me up to take my place at the oars. Apparently I complained. I hesitated. I refused. No one so much as responded. They just wrapped me in weighted chains and heaved me over the side, into the chill, black sea.
I screamed. I gasped. My lungs filled with salt water. People say that. You hear stories. but can you imagine what that really means? Did you ever have pneumonia? Did you ever feel that sharp, little, biting pinch when one small part of your lungs fills up with mucus? Cough it up. Get it out, if you can. But we who've drowned know better. That sharp, little pinch is nothing. The lungs fill up like balloons. Sometimes they burst. Maybe 'burst' is the wrong word. I should say 'explode.' And I stood there, on the bottom, thirty fathoms beneath the sea. My eardrums were gone. My eyes, oozing jelly from countless tiny ruptures, pressed back into my skull. I was blind. I was deaf. My ribs began to crack and my cranium would most certainly have followed suit, had he not found me when he did... a vampire who walked the depths for pleasure. There's no place darker, or more desolate. Could I see? Could I tell what was happening? No, my brain was almost dead. But (and I learned this later) we shot up through the depths, broke the surface and vaulted toward the stars. He took my blood and gave me his. Was I healed? A little. Complete restoration would come later. But I was saved, in more ways than one... Now I am here to help. I've scanned your blog. I know. I know. I know you don't write it. Perhaps in isolated instances, but not too often. I'm aware of that. But, as a vampire, I recognize the truth of it. I remember the passage, not too long ago, when you said - This is the time of independent actors... I can see that. Banding together in large political blocs doesn't work. I saw what went on with you and the venerable Doctor Franklin. What a farce. Politicians we are not. I suppose it's an ego thing.... But I am here to help. Who should I kill first?
Baylah laughed. Jonathon didn't know what to say.
Just then, Baylah's wealthy, mortal companion came in, fresh from a stint at the casinos. (blackjack is his game). He looked at the new face and went - Jesus Christ, who's this one? Another vampire???
Baylah laughed some more.
Jonathon laughed too.
But Giacomo felt hurt and disrespected... After all, he did so want to help...
<more next time>
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