Blood and Gold - Anne Rice [210]
He motioned to the door. Two young men at once entered the room, and I made them out to be the simple sort rather like the busy Edgar who was piling up the oak in the fireplace. There were richly carved stone gargoyles above the fire. I rather liked them.
“Two chairs,” said Raymond to the boys. “We’ll talk together. I’ll tell you all I can.”
“Why are you so generous to me, Raymond?” I asked. I wanted so to comfort him, to stop his agitation. But as he smiled at me, as if to reassure me, as he put his hand gently on my arm, and urged me towards the two wooden chairs which the boys had brought to the hearth, I saw that he did not need my comfort.
“I’m only very excited, my old friend,” he said. “You mustn’t be concerned for me. Here, sit down. Is this comfortable enough for you?”
The chairs were as heavily carved as every bit of ornament in the room, and the arms were the paws of lions. I found them beautiful as well as comfortable. I looked about myself at the many bookshelves, and mused as I have often done on how all libraries subdue me and seduce me. I thought of books burnt and books lost.
May this be a safe place for books, I thought, this Talamasca.
“I have been decades in a stone room,” I said in a muted voice. “I am quite comfortable. Will you send the boys away now?”
“Yes, yes, of course, only let them bring me some warm wine,” he replied. “I need it.”
“Please, how could I be so inconsiderate?” I replied.
We were now facing each other, and the fire had begun with a riot of deep good fragrance coming from the burning oak, and a warmth that I even enjoyed, I had to admit it.
One of the boys had brought Raymond a red velvet dressing gown, and once he was clothed in this, and settled in his chair, he did not seem so fragile. His face was radiant after all, his cheeks actually rosy, and I could easily see the young man in him that I had once known.
“My friend, should anything come between us,” he said, “let me give you to know that she still travels in her old way, rapidly through many European cities. Never to England, for I don’t think they want to cross the water, though no doubt they can, contrary to folklore.”
I laughed. “Is that the folklore? That we can’t cross water? It’s nonsense,” I said. I would have said more, but I wondered if it were wise.
He apparently took no note of my hesitation. He plunged on:
“She has for the last few decades traveled under the name of the Marquisa De Malvrier, and her companion the Marquis of the same name, though it is she who goes to Court more often than he does. They’re seen in Russia, in Bavaria, in Saxony—in countries in which old ceremony is honored, seeming from time to time to need the courtly balls and the immense Roman church ceremonies. But understand, I have gleaned my account of this from many different reports. I’m sure of nothing.”
The warm wine was being set upon a small stand beside him. He took the cup in his hands. His hands were shaking. He drank from the wine.
“But how do such reports come to you?” I asked. I was fascinated. There was no doubt he was telling me the truth. As for the rest of the house, I could hear its many inhabitants all around us, waiting in silence it seemed for some kind of summons.
“Forget them,” he said. “What can they learn from this audience?” he asked. “They are all faithful members. To answer your questions, we go out sometimes in the guise of priests seeking information about those whom we call vampires. We inquire as to mysterious deaths. And so we gather information which is meaningful to us when it may not be meaningful to others.”
“Ah, of course. And you take note of the name when it is mentioned in Russia or Saxony or Bavaria.”
“Exactly. I tell you it is De Malvrier. They have a liking for it. And I shall tell you something else.”
“Please, you must.”
“Several times we have found upon the wall of a church inscribed the name, Pandora.”