Anno Dracula - Kim Newman [103]
‘The Chinese believe that if you save a person from death, you’re responsible for the rest of their lives. Charles, are you prepared to take that burden? I’ve lived a long time and intend to live a great while longer.’
‘Geneviève, I think you unlikely to place too great a strain on my conscience.’
They stopped and she looked at him. He was barely able to conceal his smug amusement.
‘You only know me as I am now,’ she said. ‘I’m not the person I was, or the one I will be. Over the years, we don’t change on the outside but inside... that’s another thing.’
‘I’ll undertake the risk.’
With morning only an hour or so away, she was tired. She was still weak and should not have ventured out. The ache in her neck was worse than it had been. Amworth said that meant she was healing properly.
‘I have heard the expression before,’ she said.
‘The expression?’
‘“Lord of Strange Deaths”. One who goes by that title is mentioned, if very infrequently, in connection with a criminal tong. His reputation is not of the best.’
‘As I said, he is a devil from hell. But he is a devil of his word; he takes obligations seriously.’
‘He has an obligation to you?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Then you’ve an obligation to him?’
Charles said nothing. His mind was also a blank, except for a railway station sign.
‘You’re doing that deliberately, are you not?’
‘What?’
‘Thinking of Basingstoke.’
Charles laughed. And, after a moment, she did too.
37
DOWNING STREET, BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
Godalming was late for his appointment. His neatly bandaged cut throbbed, the pain unlike anything since his turning. His head was fogged by Penelope; the old, warm Penelope who was no more, not the new-born he had left in Cadogan Square. In the cab, he slumped into a daze, reliving the passing of his bloodline. At once bloated and drained, he remembered the Dark Kiss. As himself and as Penelope. This would pass.
In Downing Street, he was ushered quietly into the cabinet. In an instant, he was shocked sober. The room was filled, his private audience with Lord Ruthven superseded by what was obviously an important gathering. General Iorga and Sir Charles Warren were there. Also, Henry Matthews, the Home Secretary, and several other, equally distinguished vampires. Sir Danvers Carew, wearing his customary scowl, chewed an unlit cigar.
‘Godalming,’ Ruthven said, ‘sit down. Lady Ducayne will have to excuse you. We are discussing the evening’s atrocities.’
Godalming, befuddled, found a chair. He had missed the second act, and would have to pick up the thread.
‘The Carpathian Guard has been grossly insulted,’ Iorga said, ‘and must be avenged.’
‘Quite, quite, quite,’ mumbled Matthews. Not generally reckoned to be among the Government’s ablest men, he was sometimes unkindly likened to ‘a French dancing master’. ‘But it would be unwise to fly off the handle, what with the current delicate situation.’
Iorga thumped with a mailed fist, cracking the table. ‘Our blood must have blood!’
Ruthven looked with distaste at the damage the Carpathian had done. The fine finish was ruined.
‘Malefactors will not be allowed to escape unpunished,’ the Prime Minister told the General.
‘Indeed,’ put in Sir Charles. ‘We confidently expect arrests within twenty-four hours.’
‘Just as you have confidently expected at every opportunity for the last few months in this Ripper case,’ snorted Matthews.
The Home Secretary had quarrelled with the Commissioner before, notably in a bitter jurisdictional dispute over who was finally responsible for the newly formed Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police. At first, each had claimed the dynamic detectives as their own, but, of late, both had been less keen; especially with the Whitechapel murders still unsolved.
Sir Charles was angered by the needling. ‘As you well know, Home Secretary,